Sometimes, I can’t think of anything to write. This week has been one of those weeks. Today’s post is going to be short. And I am trying to find the words to write.

The rules that govern my content on one of the blogs I write for (I am writing a post for three different blogs each week) say that I can’t mention politics, because it’s too divisive. Nor can I give advice or talk about my personal coaching business.

So, what do I want to write about this week? Weeds.

Yep. Weeds.

This week, I spent a couple of mornings outside in my yard using a weed eater to knock down some of the weeds that have been growing rapidly after lots of rain here in San Diego County over the last few weeks. Weed eating is hard work. Not that I am afraid or don’t like to do hard work, but it is very tiring.

What struck me is that a couple of weeks ago, I had already started to pull weeds in the yard by hand. I have never liked to pull weeds, especially by hand. In that moment, I remembered how many times Suzanne used to plead and negotiate with me to do any kind of yard work when we owned property together previously.

Suzanne and I at her favorite nursery/garden center just a month before she died

It also struck me how much she used to love the idea of having a nice little manageable garden that had lots of pretty flowers, some fruiting trees and maybe a little vegetable patch. I never really shared that vision in the same way, because I hated to do the work it required.

I bought nearly three acres of land last year, almost a year after she died. Now, I maintain it on my own. Again, I have made it so that I am the one who must pull the weeds and do the weed eating. So, as I spent that time walking around the yard, carrying a ten-pound weed eater for several hours this week, I couldn’t help but think of all the times I used to begrudgingly do any yard work with Suzanne.

What I wouldn’t give right now to be doing anything, let alone pulling weeds, with her. And I know I will never be able to do that again.

I have been trying to think of the right words to write about the feeling of missing her while I am outside doing the work. Wishing she was here to share in the work with me, living in this house—the first I have ever owned without her.

Happier times, when we had a gardener and didn’t have to pull any weeds…!

Instead, I now spend my time working on my home and thinking about what my life will look like in future. Recently, I started dating someone; and I truly believe I found the person who will be the one who comes and shares this home with me (after the self-isolation period ends).

But I still worry that although we have talked about it, maybe we will find ourselves incompatible in our lives here. She worries about fitting into my life because I am so used to being on my own here. I worry about how to help ease those fears. Will she like it here? I hope so. Will she want to do the same things Suzanne used to do in the garden? Maybe. Will she want to help me build a manageable garden with some nice flowers, some fruiting trees and a little vegetable patch? Absolutely.

But the hard work still gets to me. The only thing I can think about right now is the weeds. And no one else is here to help me pull them out of the garden. So, I must keep doing the work alone. Without Suzanne, without my new person. Alone. Pulling weeds.