In the dark of a dark year

When the sun goes pale
And the earth turns cold
Let us do as our foremothers did of old
Gather round the fire with our stories and songs
And dance in the dark of the year.
(Margaret Nelson & Susan Urban)

In years gone by, I'd have been out dancing the new year in with the contra community. Now I can't dance, though I'm frequently part of the band, though not tonight. Instead I try to get a last word in on a blog I've not put a first word in yet this year.

I found it hard to write about, for 2009 was a year of nearly unrelenting sadness, grief and wrenching change. Some of the big changes were winding up even before last January - the change from part time camp director to full time office worker was a seismic shift in my universe. It was the end of thinking of my self primarily as an art teacher. Though I shan't catalog it month by month, the first big hit was April 15 (as if the omens weren't bad enough)- The death of my last dog, Kipling, He was a very good dog- the merriest most joyful thing on four paws through most of his life, running and barking so happily through the world that it became his name: Runyard Barking Kipling. the world's smallest good looking sheltie. His size and cat-like scrumpty dog noises that subbed for purring endeared him to people who were more cat than dog oriented. Those who live alone understand how having a critter in the house takes on additional significance, and how fierce that loss can be. I was far from the only one of my circle who lost beloved pets this year. We shared how the span of this dog's life or that cat's life defined an era of our own lives

Through spring I watched the decline and ultimate failure of the newsletter and folk group I'd poured so much energy into. Ruth's "just let it go..." while sage advice, was bitter to follow.

In the natural course of things, death comes to our parents. I've lost all of mine decades ago. but friends are now coming to that stage in their life, and it's difficult to be a party to this grief. In situations where I've known parents as their own persons, its harder still. Half a dozen folks I'm close to grieved parents lost. Several widows mourned their partners of half a decade and more. But it wasn't only those rich in years who were lost this year. There were children, and grandchildren, beloved cousins, brothers, sisters, all lost to people I hold dear. Horrid illness, heartrending accident, shocking suicide. Holding the hands of friends wracked with grief happened over and over this year, like no other I can recall. Even the year both my Father and my husband died was not plagued like this.

The death that cut closest to the bone for me was Mary, in June. She had been my example of "miracles can happen" -to have her chemo drugs' bad effects come back and take her out was devastating, horrible and shocking. The wonderful times we'd shared in the spring when her vitality had her coming to dance to a band I play in made the shock more intense. The benefit concert we'd had for her, in retrospect, like a wake with her there to enjoy herself, in good heath, full of joy and hope.

From church - the loss of old and dear souls, and a pastor leaving, with but a few weeks notice. Loss of pastoral leadership there and at work at the same time was vrey unsettling.

Summer came, and there were no little girls to teach. Felt most peculiar, though I did not miss the hard physical work of dragging stuff in to school, nor did I miss the stress that dealing with all the details caused. I went through the house, ridding myself of things to do with teaching that I'll not be needing & had a huge garage sale. Looking at decades of "stuff" collection and feeling an uneasy blend of relief to be clearing out things and dismay that I really won't be needing them.

My annual trip to the Fox Valley was marked with huge changes - long time favorites changing lineups, retirements, performers and groups I know I won't be seeing again... and people who usually are there, who weren't. In all that change, it would be fair to say there were some happy events, joyous fun, grand music made, but the tradition, it's a-changing. At Fox Valley some of the losses that hit the folk world were observed, discussed, mourned. The litnay of loss to the folk world I inhabit was striking in how many who've been sources are gone: Sandy Paton, Mike Seeger,Mary Travers, Tommy Makem, Tim Hart among others. The repertoire of what I sing, how I sing it and how I know about the songs would be so very different without these folks.

I know so much of it is the age I'm getting to when Friends prepare to retire, move away, shift their lives. With my peers, I prepare to become "the older generation." but I thought it would be a more gradual shift, and not knocked silly by grief and loss so much all at once. I'm praying for a different sort of year in 2010, where change is for the better, grief is not the keynote.