feralfae

Happy Birthday to you! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! Happy Birthday Dear Marty! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! And a thousand best wishes for a wonderful coming year! WIth Much Love, *<twinkles>* FeralFae

Thank you all for the notes. It feels good to still be able to visit here and find the wonderful fellowship, the caring and the support continue. It's almost the end of February, and lots of memories always come up in this month. I do still have some emotional vulnerability, and I don't expect it will dissipate entirely. But I am busy preparing a paper on my site that I'll be presenting in April. It is an ancient observatory with boulder effigies, including mammoth effigies. It is a lot of fun, but also a good discipline for me, as it definitely occupies my mind. I am still solving its puzzles and slowly deciphering the site. And aren't we all solving puzzles, as we slowly pick up the pieces and put our lives back together? There are still empty spots in my days, for I am now doing solo all those daily rituals that we did together. Thank you for making this place a sanctuary, thank you all, it means a lot to me to be a part of this community of healing, loving hearts. *<twinkles>*

Dear Kay, Your continuing love and friendship have meant a great deal to me. Thank you for your constancy, kindness and for being you. Your loving and kind heart touch so many people. Thank you for being in my life all these years. *<twinkles>*

It is my hope that this letter finds everyone recovering in the peaceful sanctuary and the lovingkindness of this community. I could not be more thankful for this wonderful sanctuary, for the loving people here, and for Marty's unswerving devotion to her life's mission. I often say, "I am in the Service of the Maker of the Universe" (kudos to Madeline L'Engle) and Marty is one of those wonderful souls who follows her life path with special beauty, grace and love. Thank you Marty, for all you have done and do to support, validate and nurture us through our loss, as you walk with us on this path of grief, and for your constancy, your respect and your concurrence with here as we share in this communion of loss and grief. Thank you. There are people whom I have met here, with whom I still hold a special friendship and shared support. You know who you are. Thank you for your presence in my life. Today is the 11th anniversary of Doug's death. For years, I was unable to even say "Doug died." I would say he passed on, left, escaped, anything but the stark finality of "died" for such a spirit as he shined on the world. He was an extraordinary man of exemplary integrity. When he left, my world crumbled. And yet often, I felt him with me when I needed strength, courage, a peek at the topo map for this peak I was climbing. And when I felt myself falling into darkness, Doug would be there to rescue me and help me climb again. But I had no goal, no certain peak on which to focus. For years, our shared focus had been on keeping Doug alive, praying for a miracle, participating in clinical trials, foreign and domestic. And being who we were, even in those last weeks, I expected a miracle. And Doug remained determined to stay, not to leave. Doug died at 10:20 PM on February 7th, 2012. A few minutes later, a great horned owl came and beat its wings against the bedroom window. It had been perched in a tree for three days, very near the house. As an ornithologist and a falconer, Doug has a special affinity for owls and raptors. I have stories. When Doug died, first I wanted to go be with him, but that was not allowed, although I had it planned. Then I realized half of me was gone, and all I could do was revolve in circles. Finding this community helped me to finally regain some objectivity on my deep state of grief and my life-encompassing loss. And here, I found people who would walk this painful but necessary journey with me. The journey slowly became a blessing of re-discovering solo me, of remembering my life before Doug was diagnosed with cancer. Now it is 11 years later, and I am thriving. I slowly immersed myself once again in my archaeology. I am now in my second year on a site I discovered three years ago. It is an ancient astronomical observatory, arranged in boulders that were left by the melting glaciers and moved by late Pleistocene people to form long lines pointing to the Equinox, Summer and Winter Solstice Sunrise and Sunset, and more. I have not been this excited about a site since an Illinois archaic rock shelter I investigated almost 40 years ago when I was still at Northwestern. And you will know whereof I speak, when I say that the recovery from the amputation of half of my life, our shared spirit and our shared sense of being, has been a rough time. Sometimes I thought I would never be comfortable in the world again, much less back to exploring and discovering and researching. I am thriving. For the discovery of and initial findings on my site, I have been recognized with a Research Fellowship from a private foundation. I feel as though I am back in the world. My world. And I do not think I would have healed so much, found and rescued this much of myself, nor even would I have understood this journey of grief had I not entered this community of lovingkindness and understanding, compassion and generosity of spirit which I have found here. This community is a true blessing for all who need its healing and restoration. Thank you, thank you. Blessings to us all. *<twinkles>*

Thank you Marty and Kay, Thank you Marty. I do so love the fairy! Kay, I Hear you! I know, so many times all I wanted was to leave here and go be with Doug, but knew that was not my decision to make. Yes, I agree with you — now we look for smaller treasures, among friends, church, family, the beauty of the earth. You do so much giving, supporting and helping, and I have always admired your beautiful spirit and generous heart. I am very glad you had George in your life and heart. I am glad I had Doug in mine. We go on, truly, but life is not quite the same, nor is it as shining and beautiful without our loved ones here to share the beauty with us. Peace to our hearts. And Marty, I like you new hair style. Very pretty. Thank you for this place of safety, lovingkindness and healing. Much love, *<twinkles>*

Dear Tribe, It's Tuesday afternoon here in Montana, with snow clouds scuttling over the Divide and gliding down into the valley. Probably iced rain and snow. I am laughing at myself and wanted to share this with you all here. But first, thank you again for being a safe and healing place to open my heart and life to all of you. At my astronomical site, there are also many sculpted boulders. Quite remarkable. Recently, I found a beautiful boulder effigy of a mother and baby wooly mammoth. This makes four mammoth effigies I have found in my survey area. I'll post the mother and baby here. This is a women's site, as they were also the sky watchers and the artists. This is a monumentally sacred place. An entire new chapter of my life, clamoring over the shattered rubble of pieces of my life now discarded. I truly was a victim of a horrible bit of criminal activity, and I am sure that they have injured further their individual, pitiable lives. But I am over that now, knowing Someone else can handle all of it. Then, I realized that I was grieving for letting go of these ten years of mourning, of the years and years of successful trauma therapy with a loving and caring trauma therapist, and the healing of my body from years of caregiving 24/7. It was a safe and necessary cocoon while I healed, grieved, found myself as I put back together my shattered psyche. Time to fly (again.) I am sitting here with this big grin on my face and the twinkle is back in my eyes. You see, I am doing very well, and I don't need to wear a mantle of grief any longer to honor Doug. I have a world-class site which continues to fascinate, charm, and inspire me. I think I am truly ready for this next big adventure, courtesy of my Grandmothers, who led me to this beautiful site, which is slowly revealing itself as my ability to see improves. (5 surgeries so far, last one next week, and I know it will be a piece of cake.(not that I am eating cake, back in training.) My 20/15 vision is restored, one last tweak. I have two new knees and they are working well. I am not allowed to run, but I can walk and climb, and bike, and ski. I am coming back to life after ten years of often wanting to go be with Doug. I have found my solo balance, or at least most of it. Two of the Mammoths: the artist had a richness of material in this terminal moraine area of glacial till and erratics. The quartz intrusion is the tusk, and note the stepped back. This may be petrified wood, don't know yet. Calf also has stepped back. Pleistocene site, around 13,000 years old. Right on the edge of the Keewatin ice field. Yes, that is a petroglyph on the other boulder. I am having entirely too much fun, as Doug would say. Thank you all for being my Tribe all through these ten years of healing. I am not sure I would have made it without your loving and compassionate friendship. May your every moment be beautiful and blessed. *<twinkles>*

Recovering both from Doug's death and the aftermath of his low character family has been a long, difficult, painful and enervating process. I am stronger now, and can look back on a lot of what happened and see my own growth and understanding of people. And while my faith was shaken, it is now much stronger than it was in 2012, when Doug left. At long last, I am back to being immersed in my archaeology. I am back on the board of an archaeology organization I helped to found in 1993, enjoying my field work, and preparing a paper for presentation next summer. I have a lovely little field office near the astronomical observatory (7-9K BPE) I am investigating, have some wonderful field staff, most with their PhDs already, and looking forward to presenting papers again. I am also working with other Traditional people to protect and preserve sacred sites in North America. Along the way to today, there were times when I was devastated by the ugly things said about me both by the low character people and by others who had a need to control. I am touched by and strengthened through the love and compassion I find here among others who are grieving, growing, and slowly shaping new lives without their beloved. I think Doug's death gave me better tools to cope with my mother's death. For that gift, I must thank Marty and Kay and everyone here who held me up, encouraged my healing, and kept me in their prayers. There are not enough good words to say how much this comforting and affirming place has meant to me. It has been almost ten years since Doug left. I am finally strong enough to go through many of his papers, notes and messages as I sort, sift, and release those things. Thank you to everyone here who has helped me to heal from the devastation of the loss and its aftermath. Thank you to everyone here who, through their own grief, helped me to articulate and accept my own grieving process. Thank you to everyone who helped me with tools, thoughts, prayers and their lovingkindness and goodness as I sorted and put myself back together from the loss and the trauma. This place is still a sanctuary of kindness and goodness for me. Thank you. Much love to everyone on their healing journey. *<twinkles>*

Dear Marty, Your loving notes are always a smile-bringer! *<twinkles>*

Dear Friends, It has been nine years since my Doug left for what I imagine is a healthier and happier life. This is the first year that the ache and longing have not overtaken me on February 7th. I did not collapse into the despair and grief of loss, but was able to hold up beautiful memories with gratitude as I carry these times in my heart. I did look at some photos and videos, and smiled with joy and gratitude for sharing my life with this magnificent man. I look around at all the work he did on our home, on the forest here, and at the trees he planted, the bird houses he made for our mountain bluebirds, and I see his loving care all around me. We wrote together and won awards for our writing, and that is a special marker for our life together. It is a solace and a warm comfort to feel his loving presence, even though his body is gone forever. On some days, his spirit is still very strong here. Even as I type this, I turn my head and smile that our Creator was kind and loving to bring Doug into my life. And my life goes on. I am back to doing archaeology and anthropology during the summers, and research during the winters—such is the life of a field archaeologist! Yet, even when I am out in the field, I can sense Doug's presence, watching over me and filling my heart with joy. Doug had a very strong sense of the presence of G*d, and that sense of presence grew stronger for him during the last year of his life. I am thankful he had that strong relationship, as it certainly guided his life and influenced mine. I have learned to live solo again, but will always carry with me that sense of life and of Creator. I don't know what blessings are ahead of me, but after nine years, I think I am back to being whole within myself, as a solo person with her own balance. Although it has taken this long, it has been a journey of discovery, healing, growing stronger, and sorting myself out. I am especially thankful for Marty, Kay, and other friends who have supported my on this journey; who understood my pain and loss and gave from their caring hearts to ease my pain. The support and lovingkindness here has been a gift which I did not earn, helping me navigate a place I never wanted to go, and validating my personal journey while encouraging my healing. Thank you. I am forever grateful for this loving place to bring my heart for mending and healing. And, of course, *<twinkles>*

Glen, thank you for your sharing here. I am so sorry you have lost your mother and I so thankful for you that you have your wonderful Trish and dear friends with you. Your heartfelt account of your mother's last days is truly touching, and gives us all the opportunity to share this time with you. Your mother was a remarkable and determined woman, and you have, with your beautiful recounting of her struggles, brought her alive her for us all. Peace be with you as you go through this time of grief. You have my deepest sympathy, from my heart to yours.

Dear Glen and all, I often think the time we spend here, expressing the feelings which seem to surround loss, death, and grief is the time we are journaling among caring people, who can read our words and validate our feelings. I still carry some guilt that I could not save Doug from cancer. We went to extraordinary measures—clinical trials, special doctors, diets, cancer consultants, trips out of the country—willing to try almost anything that we thought might save him. Realistically, we gained three more years for him than the oncologists thought he would have. But still, I felt a lot of guilt that I could not find a way to save him, although I have no background in cancer care or medicine. Somehow, I felt I could have done and should have done more. Even now, eight years later, I still have attacks of guilt about not being able to save his life. Yes, there has been great sadness and grief about his leaving, but there is also some part of me that finds it hard to let go of the guilt. And so I want to say a word of solace and caution: when we lose someone very close to us, it is easy to feel guilty that we could not overpower death. Sometimes, we are able to escape death and live longer, but sometimes, it is simply time for that person to go. While we are feeling guilt, out of balance, lost in the world, and have that huge gaping hole in our heart, we are very vulnerable. Be careful to not make any big decisions, do not let bad people take advantage of you, and stay close to those you know you can trust. especially because of the guilt, we often attempt to compensate of make things better by making changes, even seeking out a new social group. Our best resources are our family, church, close friends, and coming here to share and vent, to be among others who are grieving and sharing their stories of loss. Take time to plan before making decisions. Discuss major decisions with family or your financial advisor. So many time I have been ready to run away from my home and all that is here, just because the memories of Doug still live here. Now I am glad i waited all these years, gaining my own balance back, able to make my own decisions above the fog of deep grief and guilt. So, come here, journal here if you'd like, share your sorrow and your feelings of guilt and being lost. We hold each other together here, helping each other to find balance, helping each other put our lives back together in this new pattern that often has no partner, parent, sibling, or other loved ones. But here, we can vent, share, support each other and find peaceful ways to go forward with our lives. It is a slow process—and wanting out of the pain makes it seem even longer. This is a wonderful place of support. It is a sanctuary against the demands of life and the world. Here is a safe place to share and heal. I am very glad we have found it. *<twinkles>*

I have finally finished (I think) going through Mother's papers. I'm still sorting Doug's papers too, and so this whole process of going through Mother's things has brought back a lot of the sadness and grief from Doug's death as well. I'm glad I had a break, a respite from it all to go out in the field, but have been back home a few days and while I rest, I have been sorting more papers. I spend a couple hours on Doug's papers, then a couple hours on Mother's papers, then I leave both asks and do something else. But the grief is so strong here in the house, where there are reminders of Doug all around me, as well as stacks of Mother's books. I think the hardest part is still wishing I could have had better visit and talks with Mother. Thank you Kay, for knowing how hard it can be to break through and communicate with someone who is mentally ill. I am so sorry you could not communicate with your mother either. Yes, it is a great comfort to know that they are both safe, out of pain and confusion and fear, and at peace now. To have that assurance that things will be all right for her now, and that when I see her again she will be free from the fear and confusion is something I can look forward to having happen. *<twinkles>*

Doug left on February 7, 2012. So I recently passed the eighth anniversary of his escape from his cancer-ridden body. I remember the fifth anniversary was at a time when I was first accepting that I could let go of more of his things. That he would not need them any more, ever. I realized then that I needed to begin to build my own solo life, and that it needed some direction. I think Doug is with me most of the time, and certainly when I need him to help me with some question or issue. But every anniversary, every birthday, and every time something reminds me, then I am back with Doug for a second, and then we are only a memory again. Although I see our life now through a lens of sadness, I can also see and feel the joy we had, and the great marriage we made together. I celebrate with you these fifth anniversaries, and all that joy you remember, and all the love you continue to feel, for always. *<twinkles>*

Dear Yoyoma, I am so very sorry that you have lost your dear mother. I am glad you have found this caring place. I am so very glad you are having these moments of respite. I remember when I first had them, and also felt guilty, as though by having moment of joy, I was somehow abandoning my heavy cloak of grieving widow—which I then felt I would wear always. Mind you, it was almost two years before I had my first moment of pure, distracted joy–I was admiring a cloud. And I almost did not let Creation give me a tiny dose of joy because of a sense of guilt if I were not in deep sorrow always, forever. I learned an incredibly valuable lesson: I could hold on to those tiny bits of the Light of Joy, even as I walked through the "valley of the shadow of death" which we must walk if we have loved. I began to see these moments of joy as little reminders of the Promise of G*d: that as long as I stayed on my Path, and did not try to lead from my emotionally shattered spirit, I was going to be okay. I could not yet imagine that time from my broken place of bottomless grief and despair. I could be able to smile at the clouds scuttling across the Divide, enchanted by the endless beauty of this Earth. We are the stewards of the Earth, so I am back to teaching about that when I can find an ear. Cherish those little bright moments as medicine pills from your future joyful self. You are taking baby steps of healing from your grief. Your healing has begun. Brava! *<twinkles>*

Dear Marty, ♥️♥️♥️ right back to you and Much love *<twinkles>*