Dear Hildegaard

Bees, melancholy, and homemade pesto

Dear Hildegaard,

You tell everyone about how you got stung by a bee. You don’t have many words yet, so instead you point to your cheek - right where it stung you - and say no, no, no. 

You told your grandpa over the phone and you told the neighbor while she was watering her garden. It’s been a few days since it happened, and still, when you see a bee in a book, on the television, or find the stuffed bee your grandma bought you, you pause and process. You point to your cheek again and nod as if you have accepted what happened but are not quite ready to stop telling the story.

This is good, because it has taken some of us adults years to realize that the only way to heal from a thing is to tell the story. And not just once, but often, until it doesn’t sting the way it did when it first happened. 

But it’s hard. So I’m glad that you already seem to understand what it takes to heal.

Dear Hildegaard,

For days, we had your name written down two different ways in dry-erase ink:

Hildegard

and

Hildegaard

The nurses all had different opinions about which spelling was best. Some said it was a unique enough name already without the double aa. Others thought that if we were going to go for it, we might as well go all the way. We eventually decided, right as we were getting ready to leave the hospital and sign your birth certificate, on the double aa. Why? I’m not really sure, other than that it looked right. It felt right. Just like naming you Hildegaard. 

There is a famous saint with your name. She was a composer, a poet, and a scientist. And there is a kid detective on a TV show with your name. And there are probably a few old German milkmaids out there, still alive, living on mountain tops, with your name. But mostly, it’s yours. And I hope you like it. 

Dear Hildegaard,

Today I had a fit of melancholy that I hid, of course, until your nap time, at which point I threw myself on my bed and laid there as if filled with pounds and pounds of sand. It happens sometimes. Not as often as it used to, thanks to fluoxetine and the sun being out, but it does happen. And it’s not usually caused by current circumstances (because I am beyond happy with you and your dad and this blessed life I have been given) as much as being reminded of things that have happened before. They call these “triggers,” like when you see a bee on the television and suddenly point to your cheek. When a trigger pops up, I can tell myself that the past is not repeating itself, but my body sometimes tells a different story.

If you inherit some of my chemical and hormonal imbalances, or experience your own losses, traumas, and pain (Lord, please spare her as much as possible), I want you to remember a few things:

1. Sadness is not a sin.

I used to think that depression was a spiritual issue. If you were depressed, you just needed to open the Bible, preach the truth to yourself, and stop being so selfish. And sometimes that’s true. But as the years have gone by, I have realized that depression has many sources and just as many manifestations. God knows this. He knows that we are made of dust (Psalm 103:14). If any Christain tries to tell you that grief, sadness, or lament are less spiritual, remind them that Jesus - our Savior - was called “The Man of Sorrows,” and was “well acquainted with grief.” Remind them that God calls himself a Refuge and High Tower for a reason. 

2. How you feel right now isn’t how you will feel forever. 

This one’s important. When you’re in that place of darkness, it can be hard to see anything else. But one of my most cherished truths in times of deep melancholy is that this moment isn’t everything. It isn’t the rest of my life. It isn’t what defines my relationships. It doesn’t tell the whole truth about my past or my future. When I was going through my divorce, a friend gave me a coffee mug that said: “The best is yet to come.” I drank from it so often - gripping its handle like a life raft - that the lettering eventually faded. But the truth remained. 

3. It is important to give grief it’s due then to “do the next thing.”

You can’t always push the heaviness down, because if it is rooted in trauma, it will eventually demand it’s due. But you can say, “I will give you this time, these tears, or this nap, but then we are going to get dressed and do the dishes.” This isn’t a “pull yourself up by your own bootstraps” lecture, or some “grin and bear it” advice, but rather an invitation to ground yourself in the present, in the routine of daily life, which has so much power to draw us out. The dishes and the bills and kids laughing are your life, too. The darkness isn’t all there is. 

Elizabeth Elliot was rather stoic, but I think her advice is still relevant for other personality types. After all, she lost everything more than once. When suffering, she said that it has helped to “do the next thing.” In other words, take a step. Just one step in the right direction. So I put on my pants, and I gather the empty water bottles from my nightstand to throw in the trash. I make myself something to eat. I write you this letter. 

Dear Hildegaard,

Here is my recipe for homemade pesto. In the summer, go out into the garden and pick a few leaves off some of your greens like your kale, your arugula, and spinach. Then grab a bunch of basil leaves, and a few other herbs you like (this morning I chose some fresh dill). Wash them, and let them sit on a paper towel. 

With a hand blender, mix some nuts with a glug or two of olive oil, then add garlic. As far as nuts go, the traditionalists will tell you to use pine nuts, but I like to use almonds or cashews because it gives the pesto some sweetness. Blend in your greens, some salt, and parmesan cheese, and then taste it. If it tastes right, put it over some pasta or chicken. If it’s not there yet, add more salt or olive oil. Maybe a squeeze of lemon. If you want to make a creamy pasta sauce, add an avocado. 

You can’t go wrong. Each batch will taste different depending on your mood and the greens you choose, and that’s part of the fun. 

Homemade Pesto Recipe

With a hand-blender, mix the following:

• Olive oil

• Salt

• Nuts (pinenuts, cashews, almonds)

• Basil 

• Greens (kale, arugula, spinach)

• Garlic

• Parmesan cheese 

Taste and add until it’s right.

Cover image by Kevin Doran