I need more Goodbyes (No. this isn't a joke)

Keep saying Good Bye.  This is what someone, not a widow, advised me to do long ago.   Say more Good Byes.   Say Good Bye to his things.   She said that making room in my house was akin to making room in my heart for others.   Except that, 'Hello?!?', my widow's heart was already hopelessly empty.    Why was I going to underline the fact by emptying my house?    Yet I made the hundreds of donations to the dump and the library and the thrift shops.   Each new empty space I created underscored the fact that I was alone, beyond anybody caring about how I began or ended my days, about how I felt about things, about what I wanted for dinner.   Well, the spaces I created didn't stay empty long.     They still don't.

What I really need is someone who cares how I begin and end my days.    A confidant.   A BFF.  Some Moms have tight relationships with their kids and others, who want to hear the details of their day.  I didn't want to ask my step kids to be my confidants, and I didn't want to drive away friends with chatter only husbands, good husbands, can entertain.  I used my journal to record my thoughts, and finally this blog.

Much to my surprise, a confidant has appeared.  I've mentioned him before.  And this incredible BFF makes Good Byes doable, even purposeful.   But I have to ask: Which came first?  Making room in the house, then in my heart?   Making room in my heart, then in my house? 

I believe we never dangle all alone in space, beyond God's care and concern. Ideally, people are the 'boots on the ground' experience of God's love for each other.   But that's not how I experienced widowhood.  My husband's boots had fallen silent.  Other boots would come, help for a while, then depart.  Silence.  I felt very unappealing.   It was a very very long time before I pulled my own boots on and started walking.  That's me in the picture above, before I found my boots. 

Wouldn't you know, at this point boots on another pair of feet ambled in.  They have stayed awhile.  I'm making room for this dude.

Make room for others.  Because they're waiting, in anticipation and pleasure, to meet you. 

If I keep this up, I'll have a life and space in my house for him.

Am I better off without him?

"Goodness.  I didn't divorce him!  How can you even ask me that?"

But I do ask that.

Am I better off without him?

This whole idea came up when I looked through old files in my art studio yesterday.  I hate to admit it, but some of these files are nearly twenty years old. There are snippets of articles and notes.

I found a note my late husband wrote to me on March 26, 1996.

Dear ____,   What we did last night was devastating, and I'm still angry.  Yet I see you and our union as a blessed gift from a loving God.  I am sad that we hurt each other from our woundedness.  Love, ___

I guess the argument he's referring to was a doozy.  We had rough times in our marriage, especially a six year spell from 1991 to 1997.  Often, during this time, I seriously contemplated this question "Would I be better off without him?"  I stayed on the fence a long time, and some would say circumstances merited my departure.  Then, in 1997, I jumped off that fence toward him, toward us.   Not that circumstances were a lot better.  But, like the pearl which forms around an intrusive grain of sand, we faced what was hurting us and held on together.  We learned.  We grew.  We shed entrenched beliefs that were really harming us.  We had five very very good years beyond 1997.  And when his terminal disease hit in 2002, I unleashed every tool and effort to add months to his life, as did he.  Together we added 36 long months, each a hard won pearl in our strand. 

Am I better off without him?  I'm better off without the pain and daily struggle when times were tough.   Now that my grief is spent and I'm tickled to be alive, I'm better off without the pain and daily struggle his death left me.   And the pearl necklace we created?  It is in my past, in my heart.   Every once in a while I see evidence of it, like this note, which I'll hang on to.

Am I better off without him?  I am better off because of him. 

And, I am better off today because of the help I've received, and because of the choices I make.  Well, not all the choices.  But enough good choices mixed with these have added up.  I am better off than when I first lost him. 

A new strand of pearls is emerging now.  I have to remember that making pearls isn't fun, but it is worthwhile.  Turns out the strand won't be all pearls.  It has diamonds here now, sparkling in today's light.

Am I better off without him?  Difficult question.  I am blessed to have diamonds in my life at present.  I hope I will have more diamonds in that thing called the 'future', but the future has no guarantee.  In any case, I know I can make pearls from grains of sand, and try to do so every day.  If that most terrible grain of sand called death intrudes upon me once again I'll ask for help.  How would we make it through life without each other?

Do you see the day when you will be better off without your late husband?

What am I to do?

I'm torn, confused about my future with a man I love.  Here I sit, talking to myself.   Can you help? 

~~~~

"Dear self. Be happy.  This is just a fancy way of saying..."

"What do I want to do with the days I have left?"

"Envision life is supporting your happiness".   

"Support for my happiness?" 

"You have a little say in this, you know." 

"Look, I'm happy if the sky isn't falling in. "

 

"Widowhood happens. You actually have it a lot better than most widows. You got to say good bye." 

 

.......................

"Look in the mirror."

 

 

 

~ ~ ~P ~E ~S ~S ~I ~M ~I ~S ~T ~ ~ ~ 

"Wow.  This post sure is a downer."  

 

"Life is what happens to you whether you believe in it or not."

"Will life bring me happiness?

"Do you need it to?"

"More than ever."
 

"Dare to be an optimist."

"But I had this experience."

 

"Chicken Little"

 "....The sky is not falling?"

 

"I'm sure I can find a fox who agrees it is."

 

.......................

 

"Be happy."

 "And when the does sky fall in?"

 

"Add another acorn to your collection."

 

 "Look , wise guy.  If an acorn falls far and fast enough it can kill you.  That's what losing a spouse is like."

 

"Did it?"

"Yes.  It killed part of me."

 

"Then don't sit under an acorn tree." 

 

 

               
Link to the story of Chicken Little: http://eleaston.com/chicken.html

 

interesting....

I have no idea how a new relationship will turn out and I'm completely comfortable with that.

I don't know if I'm coming or going and I'm completely comfortable with this.

I'm not feeling lonely, and this is a new feeling. 

I just saw my neighbor, a very recent widower, who was married for 53 years.  His beloved wife was suffering for the last seven years and he took care of her at home until she died.  Now he's been alone  four months.  He reached out to me and I'm happy to be there.

I talked to another neighbor yesterday.  Her husband is fighting his new diagnosis of cancer. My first impulse is to help in any way I can.

There was a time I had nothing left to give.  Now I have enough to give. 

I think this is Post widowhood.

In the emptiness I meet my architect

Things I'm learning on this, my private retreat in Down East Maine.

Though fear stands at the portal of ME,

and would easily be my architect,

I am not my FEAR. 

My FEAR is not me.

I am instead NEEDINESS.  Incompletion.

Blindness. Unknowingness.

I give these attributes my consent.

My architect, is LOVE.

Blockage by fear

is a path well known and well worn.

Its crime? Blocking vibrant life, earthy love,

 and ME, most of all.

I've learned the password to move past my fear.

It's simple and profound.

 "You are welcome, ____ _______(my name)"

said with whole heart and will.

Inside what have I found? who? ME?

I stand inside, pliable, still blind,  uninitiated.

I infer my footing because

LOVE has me in sight. 

                                                                                                      'poem' by GowitheFlo

I hope I can continue to tell you who and what I find. 

In over my head, again

I know that feeling.  Fear.  Perplexity.  Being leagues beyond my comfort zone.  Aware that abyss of  abandonment is only too happy to welcome me back.

Soon I head out in my small RV for a trial run of a couple hundred miles.  I'm starting to load it and test its systems.  Once upon a time my late husband and I headed out in it, to cherished places only campers go.  This year marks the eighth annual trip I've made on my own since he died.  However, before I head out, a few things need fixing.  Easy fixes.  Yeah, for a welder or a plumber.

Uh, oh.  I see my little pity party coming.  Get out of here!  OVER MY DEAD BODY will I give up RV'ing to avoid a difficulty or three.

Fear.  Perplexity. I know you well. Sometimes I try shake you off, with liquor, or shopping or procrastination.  Pretty stupid.  Prayer can work OK on fear, but I've yet to master miracles that fix problems.  Better to try to master the task.  And lighten up!  

Last year, hopeful that learning to swim would help me with fears beyond the water's edge, I began a DVD course called "Total Immersion".  I'm up to lesson 7 out of 10, and yes, learning to swim is actually teaching me life lessons.  For instance, a body will float if it just relaxes.   Water is friendly.  Keep any muscle not needed for forward propulsion relaxed.   (Actually very few muscles are needed for forward propulsion.)  Conserve energy, breath efficiently, and maintain focus for the long haul.  Trust the process of learning one drill at a time.  The joy of swimming will result.

So I'm trying to hang in there, learning what I need to live a joyous life.   Yes, I'm in over my head.   But, every once in a while, when I 'get' how to do something and actually get it done, my head breaks free above the surface and my heart breaks free with a joy I can't contain.   Initiating that flip from fear to 'I get it!' takes a surprisingly small amount of energy.  Now the flip itself takes a bit of time...

"It's OK.  Just start where you are. Just try....,  OK, try again.... OK....try AGAIN... You go, girl!!!"

How do you deal with being in over your head?

Roots or Wings?

I draw my nourishment from the sky.  Give me wings!!!
This quote from Laurie Helgoe, PhD., author of Introvert Power means a great deal to me:

"One day, when I was carrying my daily load of clutter, I heard a voice from beyond.  Now, with piles so high, I'd never heard from the beyond.  But Beyond called, "I am sky.  I am wide."  I said,  "Shh, you can't say wide.  You'll get arrested."  Sky replied,  "I can't be held."  I said, "Can you hold me?"  Sky replied,  "I have plenty of room,"  and her gusting winds took me up and away."

God, I love the sky.

Suffering still?

Suffering.  Got this one down pat?  The Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale rates the death of a spouse as 100 out of 100, then divorce at 73, marital separation at 65, death of a close family member at 63,  jail at 63.  For me and a lot of us widows and widowers, the actual death and loss of our spouse's company is a mere 100.  It's what comes before or after death, soldiering on in the midst of crisis, that lives somewhere north of 100 on this scale.

I haven't wanted to write about my philosophy of suffering.   I am reluctantly willing to enter it if I have to.  There, I guess that's my philosophy.

I can tell you suffering ends, like all of life's cycles.  I can tell you my life has a shot at shining again precisely because I'm trying to stare that sucker down.  Here are a few things I've tried.  I've had limited success but it's gotten me this far, able to write this blog. 

Out running it gets my endorphins going.  Out sourcing it takes some of it off my plate, if I can afford the hired help.  Out drinking it puts a damper on it temporarily, but I don't recommend it as a rule.  Out shopping it is for me about as dangerous as drinking.   Out eating or out cooking it doesn't appeal, which is a blessing, maybe?  Out humoring it hasn't worked, though it seems to work for a lot of people.  Out socializing drains me, but that's because I'm an introvert.  Out suffering it makes me a matyr nobody likes to be around.  And transcending it makes me a pompous idiot even I don't listen to. 

So my next strategy is outsmarting it.  How?  By listening that little girl inside me.  Maybe I can learn to out love suffering by loving her best I'm able.

Post Mortem

I just finished my 'transitional' relationship.  My first involvement of body, heart and soul since my husband's death.  I'm so glad I took the chance with this man, because it was wonderful to have a man's arms around me again.  I came to love him, too, and that's never a loss.

It began on JD's 64th birthday, April 4, 2011, and ended on his 65th birthday, 2012.  On his birthday.  In a garden, after treating him to lunch.

Let's back up to one year ago. My first deep infatuation had just ended without consummation. The floodgates of female passion had opened wide and had no where to go.    Well, one way to get over someone is to meet someone new, right?   Enter JD.   He was friendly, handsome, and harmless. Totally trustworthy. But with four underage kids still at home he was Mr. Mom. With full and fair disclosure, he said the kids came first, he came second, and any woman came third.

I was lonely.  Maybe if I approached him as 'summer fling' material, I could swing this.  Maybe we could be more, my heart and body said during the fall.  We'd come to love each other in a way.  Twice we came back together to try to work something out.  Still, I was stunned when I heard the "I'm just not that into you" speech last Tuesday. Could have fooled me. He had invited me to Easter dinner with his family.

Did I want to go through the door he had just shown me?  Next day, on his birthday, I made sure I understood him correctly.  Yes. This time the good byes were for real.  I cried, and surprisingly, he did, too. 

                                                      JD, I so enjoyed knowing you.

HOPE

Hope springs eternal?  If it did, there would be no suicides. Hope is rare, and precious, and pops up when we least expect it. 

Like this morning.  Out of nowhere, my thought:  I would be happy if I had a vibrant online presence.  Probably came from writing my hundredth online dating profile. Well, maybe my thirtieth.   I absolutely love writing them, fashioning a presence out of thin air.  They are all 'me' but 'me' is a moving target as I grow.  I am having fun popping up on screens and getting feedback.  Some of it is weird, but when it is, it ends up in the trash bin.

After playing such a consequential role aiding my late husband, I like being loved, or appreciated, for simply who I am, not what I will do for someone.  I know each one of us has something unique to contribute, and I think mine may be the 'get away from it all' variety, though I'm still trying to figure that out.  I've always wanted to provide a sanctuary for people, where they can return to themselves refreshed and re energized.  I do it with little interference, much color, and hopefully grace.  HOPEfully, I will invite more people into my life.

I'm a single person now, reinventing my life.  It's tiring, it feels terrifyingly hopeless, it's draining.  But it isn't impossible.  And if it isn't impossible, it's worth doing.   Even if this is the last chapter of our lives, it can be our finest.