When Death leaves you in the Lurch

 



First, You Cry.  Remember that book from the 1970s?  In it, Betty Rollin wrote of her transformative experience with breast cancer.

I stumbled on a more recent book of hers: Here's the Bright Side: of Failure, Fear, Cancer, Divorce, and Other Bum Raps , published in 2007.   I'd say widowhood qualifies as a bum rap, wouldn't you?  Death left us in the lurch.  No way around it.

There is a bright side. I couldn't say this better, so I'll quote a large portion of her book.  For all newer widows reading, remember - I've been at this eight years.  Eight years.


"I woke up one morning and realized I was happy. This struck me as weird. Not that I didn't have all kinds of things to be happy about—love, work, good health, enough money, the usual happy-making stuff. The weird part is, when I thought about it, I realized that the source of my happiness was, of all things, cancer—that cancer had everything to do with how good the good parts of my life were.

When I thought about it more—and looked into it and started talking to other people—survivors, not only of cancer but of various other of life's infinite variety of bum raps—failure, divorce, illnesses and reversals of all kinds, death of a spouse, and so on—it turned out I was not alone. It turns out there is often—it seems very often—an astonishingly bright side within darkness. People more than survive bum raps: they often thrive on them; they wind up stronger, livelier, happier; they wake up to new insights and new people and do better with the people around them who are not new. In short, they often wind up ahead. There are even studies, scientific studies (!) that show that people often say they have benefited from the terrible things that have happened to them.

Coping well is part of this phenomenon, but there's more to it than that. Within each form of misery, there seems to be something of worth, a hidden prize waiting to be found. Sometimes it's found right away, sometimes not: a painful, debilitating divorce or widowhood can lead, gradually, to a new tranquility within and without. (Not to mention the possible emergence of a swell new mate. Have you ever encountered the particularly dipsy-doodle joy of a newly married widow or widower? A person who thought love was forever buried with a deceased mate, but by golly, here it is again!) "

..........

 

Thank you, Betty Rollin, for your eloquence. 

 

Widowhood, you left me in the lurch for a while, but you have given me new life.  I haven't had a sign of grief now, in what, weeks.  I'm happy. Wow.  I got to discover these ~

 

Faith in God and His/Her Provision

~~~~

 Doing what needs to be done 'well enough' is well, enough

~~~~~



A fighting spirit,  mine, and yours is there when I need it

~~~~~

A welcoming heart and open mind is all Life asks

 

Who would've thought, that terrible day death changed the landscape, that the struggle would pay off so handsomely?

 

 

Down, not out... finally

Hurricane Sandy came along last week.  Funny how it reminds me of the way death approached, bearing down with relentless purpose, without consideration or gentleness for anyone it would harm.   Like the death watch, all one could do was prepare, then hunker down.  Like death, it claimed victory, destroying what it could.  Like death, it left survivors to rebuild from scratch.   Like death, it's really hard to find the humor in it.

But, you know, for most of us this hurricane wasn't death.  Sandy was strong where I live, and I hunkered down.   She blew over, only leaving me without power for six days, with a huge tree down and my precious routine disturbed.   Sandy was a mere blip on my emotional radar, especially when the power came back on.

True, a lot of people are in crisis, displaced, never to return to the life and neighborhood they knew.  How different is this from surviving widowhood?   We take stock.  Visible losses are attended to.  We rebuild a life.  New routines get established.  Everything looks normal, to others.  Feeling normal is another issue.  Healing the internal wounds takes the time it needs to take.  We couldn't do it without each other.

I hope everybody has survived Sandy intact.  More importantly, have you survived the death of your spouse intact?  Yes, and no.  Death gave me one really great gift - I take far less for granted.  And I've learned that being intact really isn't necessary for a really good life. 

How are you doing it?

Something's gotta give

I'll start with a list of what's NOT going to give.

My self worth.  My spirit must be free to soar.  Crushing is not allowed.
My fun.  Why do they call it 'down' time?  It's 'up' time.
My needs.  Barbra Streisand is right. People who need people... 
My health.  Comfort food with no nutritional value is not comfort food.
My bills.  First things first.
My cats.  Fabulous company, but I did stop at two.
My friends.  People who lift my spirit, and want me to lift theirs.
My goals.  Even little ones I celebrate.
My coffee.  It's good for us. At least that's what they say this year.
My wine.  Ditto.
My family.  Constant motivation and inspiration on how to get along.
My laptop.  And, for the well dressed PC, virus, spy, trojan, malware protection.
My color.  I don't care if black, white and gray is in fashion.  It's not for me.
My garden.  My labor of love, and cheap therapy.
My faith. Couldn't breathe without it.
My hair color.  Enough said.
My New York Times.  This is not a paid endorsement.

What's gonna give.

A clean house.
Sales of any kind.  Well, ideally.
Expensive entertainment.
Facebook.  Once a week is enough.
Home cooked meals every night.
Magazine subscriptions.
Saving the world.
Keeping up with the Joneses.
Self sufficiency.
________________
________________
________________
I know I should add more.

What's on your lists?

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.

Can't I keep even my HAPPY memories?

Recently, I found myself commenting on another person's blog post.  As usual, in the act of writing, I learned something about myself.  I have no idea if what I wrote is wise, or good, or necessary.  It's about letting go of even the happy memories.

When my husband died some seven years ago, I was more than happy to let go of some memories -the difficult periods we shared.  Letting go of cancer's agony was a particular joy.  I was also happy to let the memories of discord between us go.

Here's what I wrote:

"In my journey it's necessary to get unstuck even from happy memories, since I can't access that life any more.  What I can access, however, is the present moment, and enter it wholly."

For me, happy memories might keep me stuck.  My husband might become sacred, burnished in time and fabricated into a legend.   That would certainly interfere with new connections!  So, when a happy memory comes along I let it go.  Dwelling on a dead man feels, well, foolish. He's history. 

Well, duh.

I wouldn't be writing this blog if it weren't for his, and our, history.  Here I am, trying to make sense of memories.  Sense of the absent him.  Sense of me without him.  Sense of a present without him.  I am coming to love the present without him.  But clearly, I am not doing it without him.  He's here, in this blog. I'm quite confused.  Does post widowhood mean abandoning any reference to him in my life? 

What do you think?  Are memories useful or not?

Happy Anniversary

Happy Wedding Anniversary. True, my husband's been dead some seven years, but I celebrate his gift of love just the same. Each year, if I'm able, I return to a campsite way up Maine's coast, where we would celebrate our anniversary. Perhaps in the future I will have a reason to lay down new patterns of celebration. I hope so. I am soooo ready!

His absence is a gift I've come to appreciate. In the emptiness I've discovered my neediness. I've discovered my fear and confusion. I've discovered my compassion and tenderness toward my neediness, fear, and confusion. I'm also amazed to learn that the more I welcome this emptiness and enter into it, the more I can welcome others into my life. Grief isn't all that bad, because letting go gives me more space inside to love anew.

I've come a long way. I've a long way to go. I'd like to share a little bit about me to give it context.

I was born April Fool's Day, an unexpected gender from an unexpected conception, cross eyed and needy. Mom and Dad thought they were quite through having children, but into the family I popped. Mom, already overtaxed in her capacity to mother, let me believe I was the final straw, calling me her accident, her mistake. Of course, I figured if I was smarter, or prettier, or popular, she'd welcome me. But, try as I might, I never became enough. I then tried to 'un' be, figuring if I disappeared, I wouldn't tax her capacity too much and she'd be at least grateful.

Unfortunately, neither approach resulted in a single "good job!", "I love you", or affectionate hug. Oh, dear. I then built a wall so high inside you couldn't see me and I couldn't see you.  I wouldn't have to feel the sting of rejection should my neediness show and someone not have the capacity to fill it. 

My husband was a big part of my healing, and I'm pretty angry that he isn't around any more to be my fan.   I know my biggest fan is God, amorphous as He/She is. I trust I'll grow, that when I say an unconditional "Yes!" to life, no matter what its circumstances, a larger love will manifest. It's just so bloody lonely sometimes. Still, the love story this anniversary celebrates is but a part of the larger love story I'm still writing. I would dishonor my late husband's love for me if I didn't enter this larger story.

 Happy Anniversary.

What's going on here?

Positive:  I don't need to be around  for someone who is here all the time.  Freedom!

Negative: I don't need to be around  for someone who is here all the time.  Loneliness.

I'm tired of trying to frame post widowhood in an optimistic manner.   I'm aware we widows and widowers are expected to make the best of a difficult situation, 'get over it', "get on with it', 'grow out of it'.  We're congratulated when we pick up the pieces and start over.   We create the stories of triumph over adversity.   If it makes others feel better, yes, tidy endings do happen.   Love does reenter the picture.  Happily ever after is yours for the taking.  Hey, if you're lucky, your loss can be new material for a sitcom!

Now, the real picture in this blog writer's life. Seven years trying to make the best of things, not succeeding too well at the moment.   Seven years living in survival mode wedging bigger and bigger pockets of thriving in.  Focusing on making something that's my own, even if it's not the best.   Even if it's not making any sense.

News alert: I  have not made sense of the tragedy I encountered, yet it's the most common tragedy of all.  After all, everybody dies.  I feel stupid and clueless. 

Winston Churchill said something I identify with.

"Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm."

God love him.

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?

It's a beautiful day

I just can't see it.

I saw a dead deer by the side of the road, and an official town truck stopped alongside.  Two men in their fluorescent orange vests had wrapped a towel around her and were about to heave her into the bed of the truck.  "That could be me!" I wailed.

Life gets bleak when I look ahead, if it's love I'm looking for. 

I finished the bike ride for our local cancer center.  53 miles in under 4 hours.  3649 feet ascending and 3649 feet descending.  Slower than the racers half my age, but faster than I rode it two years ago.  Fast down some hills - 35 mph - and la dee da slow up some hills - 5 mph.  I was easily the oldest woman cycling the route.  I did feel tired afterward, but I didn't feel sore, not even the tiniest little bit.

Five years ago I couldn't have done this.   I was out of shape and grieving.   I weighed 149 and wore size 12.   Then I saw someone cycling in the mountains of Tuscany. What freedom!   What gorgeous landscape!   What vitality!   I want that!  So with that in mind, I put myself on a weight training regimen.    When I wanted to quit I held out my carrot - that cyclist in Tuscany was me.  I bought a bicycle and bribed myself to go 4 1/2 miles.  Then more. Then more.   I found an auction site offering a discount bike trip for two to Tuscany, and I bid my birth year.   Wouldn't you know, I won?   Guess I was meant to go.
That was five years ago.  I need to believe I can see a beautiful day, today.

What's the big deal about fitting in, anyway?

Fitting in smacks of rooting oneself, and I prefer wings to roots.  I don't want to fit in and be stuck.  I want to leave my own trail.  And connect with others who leave their own trail.  

I'm especially uncomfortable fitting in to widowhood.  Maybe it's the age I was when he died.  52.  Maybe it's the brevity of time we had together. 23 years.   Why not make this my opportunity for reinvention?   Take those paths not taken while married?  Create and enjoy my own bucket list before my own end?   I'm here, outside coupledom, outside family life, looking in, yes, and also looking on.  Outside the most substantive and fulfilling relationship I've ever known.   Not living a life I thought I'd have.  No male cheer leader, no live in helpmate, no seat mate.   But... I have lust, for life.

That lust came back.  Still, I have felt rather insubstantial without him, like a 'better half' marking time.  Insubstantial unless I fit in to coupledom.  Then yesterday, like a bolt of lightning, I sensed the words: I am substantive.  I am substantial without him.  And without another him.

Tomorrow morning I ride my bicycle 53 miles to raise funds for the local cancer center.  This nearby facility provided my late husband the nuts and bolts care his distant treatment centers couldn't.   I'll likely see familiar faces.  I'll see a lot of determined people.  I made my first ride on its behalf two years ago.  It's long and it's grueling.  That first time, I rode it in memory of him.  This time I'm cycling for all of us.  I'm riding for all of us who feel crippled and scared.   I'm riding for all of us who want our strength and our lust for life.  We are substantial. 

Make our own trail!

Blueprint

Everybody receives the 'givens' of life, the air, sunlight, gravity, hunger, sleepiness, wakefulness to name a few.  I believe we also receive a blueprint from God that is uniquely ours.   Circumstances hopefully draw its  purpose and beauty into existence.

Well, I haven't had the best circumstances.  Much of my life I've said to my Designer "I'd rather have somebody else's blueprint".    It seems God forgot to include a porch and front door on my blueprint, and I see great porches and front doors on other peoples'.  I do know He included a few sub cellars and a widow's walk in my blueprint.

But where's the porch?  And the front door?  I've discovered a back door.  That's how people gain access to me, kind of hanging around long enough that I grow comfortable and invite them into my 'work in progress' home.  I rarely invite an interesting new person in directly.  I see others do it. Could be I have boarded up my front door and forgotten how to use it?

I'm reminded of the results of a personality test I first took twenty four years ago, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. This test reveals four dimensions of one's personality, the first dimension being how we interact with the world and where we direct our energy.  We either have a natural preference for the outer world as extroverts, or for the inner world as introverts.   Extroverts are approachable and meet new people with ease.   Extroverts have wonderful front doors.  Introverts avoid being the center of attention and find chit chat draining, if not pointless.   Not surprising that we can't locate our front door.

When I first took the test at age 34, I assumed my extreme introversion was a result of a difficult childhood.  I've since learned that only my insecurity and shyness were.  92% introversion remains.  Must be in the blueprint for me.   Time I started examining it.

It will sort itself out

Seductive words, aren't these?  I could be ill, or worse, dead if I wait for life to sort itself out. Time will sort me right out of existence!  I'd rather take a more active role in my fate, with eyes wide open, a deep centering breath, willingness, keeping an open heart and mind, faith, taking action.  I like the 'forge ahead' way to sort my life out.

I only get so far into my unknown future before I run back to the comfort of the familiar.  It's time to do an inventory of the ingredients of my existence and bring them to the table.  Sort them out.  Perhaps my course will become apparent.  Joy and purpose will return to my life.

Inventory

Not very clever, but smart enough.  Creative, relying on my Creator.  Socially insecure among people I don't know.  Ambitious.  Sensory and sensual.  Stubborn and strong.  Optimistic and trusting.  Lonely, in large ways and small.  Loving, with a heart that can burst.  Honest.  Healthy.  Selective.  Focused.  Receptive.  Financially secure, a biggie. 

Ah!  I see it right there.  The piece that's out of joint.  Ambitious.  I want to lay the groundwork of my present and future in such a way that I matter and delight others.  I am ambitious not only to be relevant, but to impress others.  I want my ego stroked!  Darn!  This is tripping me up.

If I don't have to pander to my ego, a lot of possibilities emerge.  Here goes.  Eyes wide open, deep breath, less ego, open heart, open mind, faith, action.

Continue sorting. Only keep what's useful for God, the author of love, to use.

 

Uncovering the 'me' without a 'he' or 'them'

I haven't had a 'he' living under my roof for six and a half years.  No 'thems' for over twenty years.  I don't miss the 'thems' but I do miss the 'he'.  I marvel at women my age or older who love living by themselves.  They say their life is so full.  Their time is their own.  It is meaningful and purposeful and enjoyable. 

I can't imagine this attitude.  Perhaps my time with my husband was too short, only twenty three years.   Perhaps it's my sex drive.  Perhaps it's my age.  Perhaps I simply want the male version of the species to balance my female version.  Perhaps I simply need help.

After his death, huge slices of me fell off, the 'me with him' parts.  Some were quite a relief.   Some left a gap in my fun meter.  Some were crippling; they revealed my undeveloped capabilities.  Widowhood is just one bloody challenge after another when you've lost the other half.  I made the mistake of thinking the couple we were was 'me'.   That I could do what 'we' could do.  Travel as boldly.  Plan household projects as broadly.  Dine out as frequently.  Entertain as easily.  Get as much done in a day's time.

Man, it was a big learning curve to just to keep my head above water.  Inevitably I got stronger and scaled back.  So who is the 'me' without 'he'?    Not simply the scaled back version.  I am a version that didn't even exist when he was here.  I just wish I could celebrate this fact.  Maybe scaled back enthusiasm is appropriate? 

   


  

Enthusiasm

Yeah.  I remember enthusiasm.  Definition: 1. intense and eager enjoyment, interest or approval.  2. a thing that arouses such feelings.

Friends and family enthuse over their interests, and their enthusiasm is contagious, or at least a joy to watch.  If they go on too long, though, I feel sad, out of the loop.  My own enthusiasm is weak.  It has not roared back to life.  In fact, I had more when my husband first died, because I was still going strong with his love.  My priorities were obvious to me.  In the fifth and sixth years, it dribbled away quietly, when I least expected it to.

I embraced my future. I have opened so many new windows in my life to offer lifelong pleasure.  I took up bicycing, running, swimming.  I build new projects.  I continue to garden, travel, camp, eat out, play piano, attend concerts, visit family and friends.  I created a new home that I and my guests truly love.  I've dated and fallen in love (didn't last) and taken a lover (grew tired of just that).  I participate in community both off and online.  However, my enthusiasm has not roared back to life.  I have faith that I'm on track, but a deep loneliness permeates my life.  I need the twinkle in my eye.  Can something  I haven't tried be the answer?  I can't fit another activity into my day.  I would love to fit another mate into my day, but the fact is, not every wonderful and deserving person finds an appreciative mate.  One thing I haven't tried is an expectations adjustment.  My life doesn't have nearly the color and enthusiasm it once did, and perhaps I'm tormenting myself by asking it to. 

Close your eyes.  Clear your heart.  Let it go.




 

Once a Day

I've never been a fan of routine and regimentation.  Unless it's coffee first thing in the morning.   But all of us have a list of  'got to do's'  just to break even in life.  Some people thrive on that list.  I suspect these are the left brain people, a nice orderly people that feel a sense of accomplishment putting a slash of ink through undone business.   I inhabit the other side of my brain mostly, and circle round a task, picking off lesser 'to do's' until I hone in on what really needs to be done.  But I take satisfaction in crossing the 'got to do's' off my list, too.

We know the chaos of widowhood, when the foreign tasks of closing a life rudely push aside routine and the solace it can bring.  Executor duties are complicated, tedious, and frustrating, but they do end, because Uncle Sam insists on it.  Closing a life's history and meaning take far longer.  These overwhelming tasks replace the routines that once grounded our lives.  It's like cleaning up after the tornado that decimated your house and whole town.  At least that was the way it was for me.  I needed to clean up, move on, and make a new life.  If I was fortunate, I'd find new satisfactions that would be as deep as the satisfactions I knew as a lover and wife.  Life would be lighthearted once again.  My humor would return. 

It became really clear to me early on that I would have to develop new systems, from meal planning (alone) to paying taxes (alone), to updating my home to accommodate my capabilities (alone), to maintaining vehicles (alone), to gaining proficiency with technology (alone), to building a social life for one (alone),  to ensuring my emotional health (alone), to reviving my physical health (alone), to enlivening my mental health (alone).  Did I mention alone?  No matter how many loving friends, family, and professional support I had to buttress these efforts, they began with me.  Damned if I felt capable.

Here was a fantastic opportunity to build my life from the ground up.  To establish new healthy routines.  Only thing - where was the enthusiasm?  I was in survival mode. 

Six years out, I'm past survival mode.  I've acquired so many new skills I can't count them all.  Yes, enthusiasm waxes and wanes.  But it is here.  There's still precious little I like to do once a day every day, but that's just fine.  It's just my right brain self doing her thing.