An off-white ceramic cylinder and a few fake orange and yellow flowers were my undoing a couple weeks ago. 

You’d think a few fall decorations could go up without knocking me flat. Not so.

That simple vase and those cheesy flowers are decorations Momma brought with her the last time she came for Thanksgiving. It wasn’t our last holiday together. That Thanksgiving dinner was at her house and was the year she taught my son how to make her dressing. He and I were cooking because she wasn’t up to it. So, decorating for fall is one of the times when I come undone by memories of my late Momma.  

I share this moment because we’re nearing the holidays. And because rising interest rates, drought, and a national farm policy that’s in limbo are adding stress for farm families. And then there’s a recent conversation with a friend who lost her husband before he reached 50. A heart attack. I gave her three tips: give yourself permission to cry – and to laugh – when you talk about him; give yourself grace when vase moments happen; and plan for the anniversary of his death. You’ll be steamrolled that day. 

She questioned the anniversary thing. Would it be harder than the holidays? Yes. Because folks will show up for you during the holidays, especially the first year. They might not remember the anniversary. They won’t know about the little things that were just between the two of you. Or why you’re crying because you have to take your own garbage to the road on Tuesday nights. 

We simply don’t know what somebody is tripping over on any given day. Mourning. Financial pressure. Illness. Addiction. Sometimes we simply close our eyes because it’s too much to take on. 

Remember Joe Btfsplk from the Li'l Abner comic strip? He was the guy with the dark cloud constantly over his head. (I had to look up his name.) I once had a co-worker who carried a cloud for years.  His wife filed for divorce. He took in a parent with Alzheimer’s. His house burned down. He was constantly struggling financially. Over and over the storms roared. How do you fix it? 

We don’t. Instead, let’s toss aside the arrogance that leads us to think we can (should?) fix everything for everybody. And we simply do what we can. 

Randomly type a text just to say hello. Stop in the road for a two-minute conversation about the weather. Mail a mid-week postcard. Deliver a cup of coffee. Show up anyway that suits you.  

When I lost it over a stupid vase? My husband walked in, had no idea what caused the tears, but chose not to ease back out the door. (Bless him.) Instead, he wrapped his arms around me. He didn’t speak. I didn’t explain. 

Just show up.