Planting when the tears are close

I don't wear pink ribbons for breast cancer, even though I have friends who are survivors.

I will love you fiercely, but until a dying friend of mine asks me to wear the colors, I won't.

Breast cancer usually is healable now, but not always. I'm loving two incurables--a woman with small cell lung cancer and a man in the last stages of pulmonary fibrosis. I suspect both have led more productive lives than mine. I am left to remember them. I don't know why.

I am very tired of writing these blogs, but they have been a very big part of my life for some time. Surely things will get more happy.

I am not yet 70, doing well, living well, exercising. I am beginning to think I am jinxed. Except I don't believe that. If the younger folks in my life also begin to die off, I will rethink.

As I am losing these dear friends, we have had rain and the advent of another spring. I will plant flowers and tomatoes and peppers and attempt to find more productive activity for my dogs than digging in my raised bed.

It helps to grow as we lose. At least I have found it so in my own life.