More about..........Bear

Melancholy. That is probably the best word to describe how I feel when I write or talk about him. I often still 'tear up' when I think of him......remembering incidents that occurred during the short time I knew him.

He was definitely not a wealthy man. He owned five acres of land in the boonies, and hauled water for himself and his 'four leggeds'. Yet his life was richer than any I have ever known. He lived as one with the land, and understood how to use the gifts given to us by Earth Mother. He drove a 1970-something Chevy truck, which ran on a lot of gasoline and many, many prayers. He did not have electricity, depending instead on a small generator to keep his fridge cold. He did not have running water either, depending instead on rainwater for his personal needs and the water he hauled for his animals and drinking. Propane gas for cooking rounded out his utilities. Yet, he was just as likely to open a can of cold beans for dinner.

He loved animals, and he had many. There was Cody, the wonder horse, and Gravy, his cantankerous mule. There was Miss Petunia, the pig he bought for food, but could not bring himself to slaughter. Chickens were everywhere, and dogs of various shapes, ages, and breeds abounded. His favorites were the Catahoula's, who bred well and have several offspring in and around Chloride and Kingman. Inside the house were cats, and a cockatoo.

Personal belongings were few and far between. He did not wear jewelry. He was a crafter, so many of his belongings were handmade, either by him or his wife of many years, BJ, who passed over several years ago. He was a simple man, living a simple life. And living it to its fullest.

I finally got to see where and how he lived about two months after his passing. Tumbleweeds had taken over most of the property, but the rose garden was still recognizable. The wire for the corrals was gone, taken by someone who probably thought he needed it more. All the animals were long gone. Cody and Gravy had been sold to a young family. Miss Petunia, the chickens, the dogs and cats, and the cockatoo had all be stolen the night Bear had died. Gone, too, was most of his truck. It had been ransacked that same night. Entering his home was not easy. It looked like vultures had taken everything. The fridge, the furniture, the dressings. All gone in the blink of an eye. There were some things scattered around the floor - cans of food, utensils, bedding and curtains. No respect here, I thought.

Betty, Terry, my son and I made our way to the rose garden. Bear had left a will, we all knew it. In it, he had said he wanted to be cremated and buried in the garden next to BJ. Since the strongbox which contained the will had disappeared also, his 'estate' was to be considered 'intestate'. After the gunfighters had finally raised enough money to pay for his cremation, his long-lost daughter stepped forward and claimed his remains. We had been in contact with BJ's family, and they asked if we could return her to her family. We found a small statue of the Virgin in the garden, and started digging there. About four feet down, we found her. Bear, always without money, had found a pale green cookie jar, and had used it for the remains. The jar was beautiful, covered with the daisies which BJ had loved. We looked at each other and laughed until we cried. This was SO Bear. We scattered white sage and sweetgrass in the hole that we had made, as a sign of respect, and then filled it in. All the while this was occurring, two butterflies stayed with us. A small yellow one, and one that is called Painted Lady. I now know that the painted lady was BJ, and the small yellow one was Bear. Both butterflies disappeared when we had finished, but the yellow one stays with me. I see it everywhere, at all times of the year, in all kinds of weather. And as long as I see that butterfly, I know that Bear is still with me, hovering and protecting.

There will be more about Bear in another blog. This one has been difficult to write, because it reminds me how cruel people can be, but also of how loyal others are.

P.S. When my time comes, I want to be cremated and put in a cookie jar. Preferably one that represents the Pillsbury Dough Boy, or the Sta Puffed Marshmallow Man. Or.....one that is shaped like a bear.

A Special Gift

Our paths are different yet parallel, and so are our lives. She is younger than me, perhaps as much as 15 years. She is tall and slender, as is her twin flame. She first came into the shop several years ago, as part of a three-some. Now they are a two-some, happy in each other.

Her path is very spiritual, as is mine. Sometimes she walks with me on mine; other times I walk on hers. In either event, we walk together as one. She will very often feel my physical pain. She knows when I am in any sort of danger, and can usually warn me in time. We are each other's 'sounding board' for any dilemma that confronts us. We protect each other with 'gifts'. Our gifts to each other are different from what you would expect. Feathers, animal bones, stones, animal teeth, herbs. Things that protect each of us from whatever we are facing at the time.

We have known each other many times, in many ways, in many lifetimes. We are comfortable being in each other's company - whether in person, on the phone, or in dreams and the spiritual realm in which we live.

Our personal lives are so much the same that it is sometimes scary. We have both been through abusive relationships, family difficulties, and the loss of loved ones. She can hear my Bear. I know this because she has told me many things that only he and I would know. We have few common friends, and none of them knew Bear.

Does it bother either of us that we have such a close bond? Absolutely not. We both know that we were supposed to find each other in this lifetime, and that we will be protecting and helping each other when we pass into the next.

Tony

Although we shared 14 years of our lives together, my good memories of him are sporadic, at best. I remember our first meeting (he prepared a coffee takeout order for me); I remember watching Secretariat winning the triple crown with him; I remember our wedding day; I remember some of the Christmas times we had; and, I remember the days when I gave birth to our children (his greatest gifts to me).

I was a different person then. I was much younger (late 20's), in good health, and full of love and life! And he was a different person, too. Always laughing. Always drinking. I think our problems started during our second year of marriage. His drinking got heavier, and the fights quickly escalated and became more frequent. Knowing that things would only get worse, I decided that divorce was my only option if I was going to survive. After 10 years of marriage, I did divorce him and moved back to the continental United States with my children.

Over the following years, we all changed. I found the path I was to follow, my children grew into adulthood, and he just got older and continued to drink. I know that several women came after me but I refused to let it bother me.

In my eyes, he died right after the last time he hit me. In my children's eyes, he was their father. And that, of course, is how it should be. I raised my children to be strong, respectful, and honest. People tell me that I've done a good job raising them. And, I am proud of them both.

Tony died this past weekend, just past his 74th birthday. While I do not grieve his passing, my children have lost the man who was their father. Dealing with this is going to be difficult for them both. Neither of them knows what emotion to feel. He was the man who gave them life, yet they both were witness to the person he was. I grieve for my children, and hope that I have made them strong enough to get through this trying time.

And to you, Tony, rest in peace.