We’re having November today, this last day of September. It’s Michigan, so…it is raining and I am grateful. Grateful it isn’t snowing – which feels like it could be just two degrees away. And it is dark. Perfect weather for me these days. I am dark. The sadness does not seem to be subsiding. I guess I thought it would by now. There is definitely a risk that this mood has become habitual; my new default.

It is not quite noon yet and I have managed to tick off two people already. Said the wrong thing the wrong way. It’s a talent and the day is young. It’ll happen again. You could be next.

Meanwhile, I think I’ll just go back to bed and start over later – right after I feed the birds. I’ve been feeding the songbirds again the past few weeks. I had stopped the past couple of years because of the resident bear. The bear has disappeared. That makes me sad. Not that I wanted to get to know the bear personally, but I did feel it had a right to be here, out in the country. Apparently the DNR did not agree. They “relocated” it. I don’t even want to know what that means.

The songbirds bring me joy. And I seem to have little joy these days. I’m having to learn to find joy in new ways. The old sources of my happiness are not working. Birdseed is a small investment, and although money is too tight for comfort, I will find a way to afford it. I feel like I can’t afford not to. I’m taking it out of the grocery budget, which has taken a hit lately anyway. No more pizza or carry out, less organic produce, a few less eggs. Anyway, it’s worth it. I’ve managed to be healthy for 73 years so far; I’ll manage a while longer. Birdsong goes a long way toward bolstering my mental health.

Bird seed also invites mice and squirrels, and they like to find their way inside this time of year. It’s quite nice in here. But the house has had some recent reinforcement, so hopefully it won’t prove a problem. Some of this I’ve done myself in the way of simple tasks like caulk and insulation stuffed in cracks and around doors. I’ve cleared the vegetation away from the foundation and spread gravel. And this past week we got a new roof! Woohoo! Now, that is cause for celebration. Of course, in my little AuDHD brain I had conjured all manner of great and good imaginings about the effect this would have on lightening my stress. It hasn’t come to pass. Yet.

The job is not entirely complete, though it will be soon. As much of the house structure is original to it’s 1955 build, some of the attic was discovered to be rotten. Apparently one of the crew put a foot all the way through the soffit overhanging the porch. It is now hanging in splinters from a gaping hole…talk about inviting critters in! Fortunately no one was injured, the materials have been ordered, and the contractor will return to make the necessary repairs. I am relieved. The agency paying for the roof had a contigency allowance, and they will grant me the few hundred dollars overage to the loan. Phew! I am grateful beyond words.

Somehow I am still sad. I maintain that there is an anxiety that sets in as dusk comes, a kind of “sundowners syndrome” that I believe is related to ADHD; it subsides with darkness. So I try to distract myself from it in the evenings with television series and movies, but it is a teeter-totter of emotions. Binge-watching the new Mackenzie Crook series, Small Prophets, was absolutely delightful. As you would expect. But I made the mistake last night of watching an Irish film, 500 Miles, with one of my favorite actors, Bill Nighy. Loved listening to him with an Irish accent! It’s a beautiful film actually. But so sad. Don’t watch it unless you’re ready for a cathartic wail. Nobody does sad like the Irish. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me…my Irish is showing…

You and I both know this pervasive sadness is straight up grief. It began with the death of my familiar last October. My beloved feline companion died after an infection from a simple medical procedure. It’s been almost a year. Then my former husband died unexpectedly from a fall in April. That has really hit me hard. And then my son’s near death experience this summer. The hits just keep on coming! At any rate, it has never been like me to be so sad for so long. But things are different now. I am different now. I am far more vulnerable. And far more available to it.

I’m not telling you this to garner sympathy – I’m telling you this in hopes that you might not have to go through this same intensity of grief for this extended period of time. I know you can’t avoid loss or grief. I know you can’t control it. But here’s what I wish I would have done sooner: I wish I would have practiced gratitude like my life depended on it. ‘Cause, guess what? It needs to be habitual – our new default. It takes practice, the noticing. So let’s practice, and while we are doing that, I’ll be out back in the shed…