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?

 

 

Circuit switches, meters, and blind spots

 

Aah.  That welcome "duh" moment.

I'm not sure which comes first.  The circuit switches, the meter, or the blind spot?  If there's one thing widowhood has taught me, it's that other widows and other people are incredibly smart, and I'd best listen to them.  And this: God is incredibly smart, and I'd best listen to Him or Her.  My own risk-reward meter is off.   I draw the wrong conclusions.  About me, about you, about so much.  I need light bulb moments, when a circuit switches on.  

I had that  "aHa!" moment, followed by this "Well....duh" moment recently.  I'm getting older.  Heck, I just turned 60.  The bod isn't up to some tasks I enthusiastically pitch it into.  I feel and look (to myself) like I'm in my thirties, but the bod says "I'm gonna cost ya if you do this".     Heck.  What's a little pain after you do something?  Pain is weakness leaving the body!  Unless it's not leaving the body.
 
Well, after a couple years unsuccessfully rehabbing my shoulders, I finally realize I'm falling apart.   "aHa!"   After that, I realize that my physical therapists really do have my best interests at heart and aren't here to make my life miserable by giving me an impossible number of stretches and exercises to do every day.   "Well....duh" 

Don't you just love denial?  

What does this have to do with widowhood?  Unfortunately, a lot.  I've learned more during widowhood after realizing how dumb I am, than I have proving how smart and competent I am.  New situations feel scarier than they are.  The bully called "death" is gone, and still I'm hyper vigilant.  Former caregivers like me have trouble switching 'vigilance' off.  

Here goes. I'm giving up, or trying to, my lingering guardedness.  Eight years have gone by since I was on call in life and death situations.  The landscape has changed.  I adore the new man in my life.  So...Time to say "Cool it and relax, my love. The sky isn't going to fall in.  Besides, I can handle the sky falling in".   It's time to let pleasure be in all the moments it can be, not just in the stolen ones, with a glass of wine or restaurant meal.  Or in moments off the grid in my garden or on vacation or at a ballgame.

It's time.  Others have my best interests at heart. I can relax.

Have you been nudged to see things a different way?  How has this been for you?

I can start where?

Jules Feiffer  1973

I first saw this cartoon in 1973, and saved it.   I was then  on my way into my big bright future, scared and hopeful.  One thing I liked about this cartoon is its emphasis on facing fear and confusion with determination and humility.  There's always going to be a door behind us and one in front of us.  Challenge, or opportunity?  That cheery platitude of  "When one door closes, a window opens" hasn't been my experience.  For me, when one door closes the room is pitch black  - Jules Feiffer didn't draw that - and full of stuff.  Scary stuff, mean stuff, intriguing stuff, urgent stuff, nostalgic stuff.  It's all there for me to trip over, in its messy, imprecise self-involved way.   Ever since that husband of mine died, I've been groping my way to one door knob after another.  In each room I enter I smell fresher and fresher air.

Finally, my grief has cleared and I'm midwifing my new life.  I've had a busy month.  Major renewal, and minor upheaval.  My goal has been to get my art studio up and running by my sixth decade, which starts next week.  That studio has been the catch all for 'everything I didn't want to review - not now' for nearly two decades.  Photographs, letters, workshop materials, personal journals, posters, clippings,  books, artwork from my professional career, and artwork I created after that.  I felt lost after I retired, but eventually I stopped missing the career's ego gratification.  I loved my retired life more than working.  Then came the long period of my husband's dying, a time for action, not reflection.  I've no regrets for pushing art aside for that purpose.   Here's what I learned from that.

 "One sees clearly only with the heart.  Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."

The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

Of course, the door of the room he and I shared slammed shut behind me, and the room I then found myself in, the 'grief' room, taught me how important it is to continue seeing with the heart.  That wasn't a room I wanted to stay stuck in, though.  I turned the knob, and surprise of surprises, entered the room my boyfriend is in.  Now together in pitch darkness, he's helped me find the knob for yet another room.

I'm turning the door knob.  New life.  Cleaning out my art studio is my way of walking through that door.  Everything is out of there except for my favorite books and clippings.  It's a clean slate.  It has a new linoleum floor and new 5' x 5' table.  Soon it will have a new display area.  The guest room has been converted into my art material storage room. Somehow, I managed to squeeze a bed back in there. 

Might I have something in me that needs visual language to express?  I don't know. Why does it feel like this next 'room' will teach me to live with no self-importance, with only my heart?   I'd be one lucky person, wouldn't I?



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?

A widow dating, with a good book

Dating a Widower , by Abel Keogh.

On the face of it, this book appeals to a very small niche.  But think about this.  Substitute the word 'widow' for 'widower'.  Then turn it around.  "What is it like dating me, a widow?"   The five points in its first chapter inspire me to ask  "Am I really and truly opening my heart, my space, my life, my future to this man I'm now loving?" 

After I, as a widow, started dating again, I discovered Abel Keogh's blog, specifically his "Widower Wednesday" posts.   I read about widowers and girlfriends or new wives.  I read about these women's joys, their heartbreak, frustration, and confusion loving men who had lost their wives.  Were they really now in the center of the widower's heart?  Were there red flags they should consider?  Red flags signalling that the widower isn't ready and willing to make her number one?   Red flags like his keeping photos of his late wife around?

As I dated, I had to ask myself if I prevented myself from enjoying new love.  Was I making unrealistic comparisons from cherry picked memories?  Was I not releasing myself from a commitment that death had already terminated?  And my fear - if I flung myself away from my past, would future love even catch me?  I looked at the photos of my late husband around my house. There I was, dating, and I still displayed his photos.    Red flag.   Nowadays, I have new photos of my boyfriend and me around the house.  Yet, as much as I care, stepping into the future with him sometimes feels 'don't tempt the fates' scary.  When I trust my soul, and realize that merging two lives is a process, my fear is calmed.  I believe I am meeting the criteria for putting my boyfriend first.  But this matters more: Is he feeling this?  Is the ghost of my late husband interfering?

Now, regarding dating in general for widows... I realize many legitimate reasons for dating exist, and a serious relationship isn't necessarily one of them.   But, if loving 'til death do us part' again is the point of our dating, Abel Keogh's thoughts in both his "Widower Wednesday" column and in Dating a Widower 's first chapter may be useful.   Have a look! 

One can link to Dating a Widower's first chapter here:

http://www.abelkeogh.com/writing/datingawidower.php  

Abel Keogh expands upon the five points I quote below in his book.   I insert brackets where I have reversed genders and added a minor variation.

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

"When it comes to [women] , there are five things about them that affects their behavior after they've lost a spouse.   

  
 1) [Widows] have an internal need for relationships. 

 2) [Widows] will stay in relationships with [men] they don't love.

 3) [Widows welcome men] they're interested in.  (Here I changed Abel Keogh's words: "Widowers pursue women they're interested in.")

 4) [Women] can only actively love one [man] at a time.

 5) A [widow's] actions speak louder than words."


What do you think?   Are these five things true for widows who hope to love again?

My self esteem is based on what?

Where are you on your 'widow' journey?  Still calling yourself a widow?  Nearly eight years out,  I'd be in deep do-do if I still identified myself as the gal who lost her one and only beloved.  O.K.  For you 'lucky' widows who had decades with your spouses and are now in later life, you're not in do-do, you're in a bed of roses (I'm joking).  But I may have another half century to manage.  I feel envious of older widows who say their one love was enough for a lifetime.  I planned on getting old and gray with the guy I married.  I was 49 when I found out that wouldn't be.  My own father is still alive and living independently at 99.   I know I should be happy I have good genes but ...

We all got our pink slips, the 'former Mrs' memo.  We were on the high end of the marriage seesaw then.   BAM!  We had to put ice on our sorry behinds and hobble away.

Now, we're 'survivors', but this begs the question, "Are my scars worse than yours?"  Lots of rosy mirrors in this pit. 

We're 'heroines'.  But real heroes don't call themselves heroes.

We're 'big, beautiful babes', but chill out, that's more than strangers need to know.

These identities need to become incidental props on a journey, at least for me, moving on nearly eight years later.

So, in the interest of research, I'm embarking on an experiment.  It's not sexy, it's not a page turner, it's nothing I'm asking any one to join me on.  This is my experiment:  I'm linking my self-esteem to how effectively I say "You're welcome" to me day by day.   To how tender and nurturing I can be to an emerging self who is still blinking in the glare of sunlight off the water.

We know what  squashes our spirit - Stereotypes.  Expectations.  Pulling rank.  We also know what floats our boat.  Love, in its many guises.  We're at the helm.  Choose a helpful and fun crew.  And enjoy the journey.

 Good luck to you, my friends!

Widowhood: Part 2

I've edited this page, and added what I failed to tell you my first post:

Widowhood.  It's like a scarlet "A", only it's a black "W".  Who wants it?  Where does it lead?

Our wedding vows said: "Until death do us part".   I guess one can quibble that we haven't proof "God" directs that show, but let's assume He (or She) does. Why does God sever a wife's obligation and commitment to her husband when he dies?   God's rather intelligent.  

The former 'wife' is given permission to move on.  She is instructed to move on.  Let the past be past, and all that.  Widowhood is a passage, not a destination.  Why then, is it so darn hard?

For me, the term 'widow' felt like a warm blankie the first two years.  I was numb, angry, wretchedly sad, but being a 'widow' would elicit sympathy and that consoled me somewhat.  Following that period, in what I'm calling my 'Widowhood Part 2', widowhood felt less consoling.  More like a corset stuck in 'autotight' mode, slowly crushing me.  Life was just about putting one step in front of the other, never getting a good lungful of air.  I had to free myself from that damn corset!  Was that corset my lingering connection to the man who loved me so much?  I so want to form a genuine new connection with my new circumstances, and want what I have now.

I surprised myself when I wrote in my January 3rd post "I'd finally let him belong to the past."  Was I happy?  Happier.  I guess my job was to put him in the past, to shed that corset, and live free or die inside it.

Now back to my original  writing in this, 'Widowhood, Part 2'.

So, God, I've a new set of wants, since I've been released from my old ones.  What do You think of these?

• I want to be female. 
• I want to be pliant and not compliant
• I want to answer to You
• I want to pursue creativity
• I want to pursue wonder
• I want to be an idiot
• I want to be valued
• I want empowerment
• I want to sink my hands into new soil
• I want to love
• I want to connect with the new 'he'
• I want to see life through other people's eyes
• I want them to see life through mine
• I want to be deliberate and not put off life 
• I want to live outside normal parameters 
• Outside 'married'
• Outside 'widow' 
• Outside 'single'
• But not outside this big, beautiful 'me'

Have you noticed the stirring of new wants?
  

Inserting our Lives

 These are some of the words I've applied to widow:

• Irrelevant Woman
• Misplaced Wife
• Has Been
• Leftover from a Couple
• There, There my Dear
• Misfit
• Nice Old Lady
• Threatening Cougar
• Stray Cat
• Whiner
• Loony Little Lady
• Wallflower
• Desperado
• Sage but Sexless Woman
• Burden
• Lady in Waiting
• Cat or Dog Lady
• Brave Woman Battered by Fate
• Calamity
• Infection I better not Catch
• Histrionic Loony tune
• Example
• Charity Case
• Therapy Client
• Mystery
• Inspiration

Instead of feeling anything like these, let's show up and show 'em how it really is

Whatever we were, or are, or are becoming, let's insert ourselves into life.  Maybe this means we've finished rebuilding a life, maybe it means we're still gaining freedom from that master named 'Grief", maybe it means we simply like seeing our own reflection. 

In any case, let's do it on our own terms, not on a 'widow's' terms.

How do you see yourself today?

A - OK.... now

Let's face it, widows.  It's not our fault that we're single.  It's not our fault that we hurt.  Our particular loss is earth shattering.  If someone else understands, hallelujah!  But if they don't, shrug and love them anyway.  Expecting special treatment after say, the first year is silly.  Really...

Widowhood is lonely work.  It's supposed to be.  At the end of the day it's up to us to choose how we will go on.  

Choose life!

Easier said than done, I know.  Next to impossible in the beginning.  Pushing that huge boulder of tasks and grief up the steep, rocky hill of life leaves us wondering if we'll ever get it to the top.  My experience?    People help out.  But they have their own boulders to push.   Leave them be.  

Let them leave us to our own devices.

By golly, pushing that huge boulder up that hill one grisly step at a time made me the woman I am today.   Stronger, fitter, wiser and happier.   We've all been there.  All done the hard part.  Pushing that weight up that rocky slope.  It feels like forever.  Looking back, it wasn't such a long time.  After five years, that boulder got lighter and the ground levelled off.  After six years, no big deal.  At seven years, I was eyeing the open sea, wading in now and again.   Nice.   But I was still looking back.   Stuck and scared.   Where to head completely on my own?   In a world of two's, a bold new course: toward love that has my name, and my name alone, on it.  I don't believe this is selfish, because with that decision joy returned.   Peace, too.   Evidently I was overdue for self love.  And he would have been happy I'd finally let him belong to the past.  

Maybe the difference between the weight of grief and the freedom from it is reclaiming our own power to choose. After all, Choice was something that was stripped from us when death came.

Joy is here for us.

Why did it take me so long?  I'm slow.  Why not sooner?   Well, exactly when is 'sooner'?  Common wisdom says it takes widows five to seven years to move on.   It took me seven.  To others, it looked like I was doing well a lot sooner than I really was. So many of us put on a happy face and actually fool others into thinking we're well, because we're rather private.  Stoic.  Proud.

I decided to take my private angst public, through this blog.  The reason is my belief: God continually offers us gifts, and if I couldn't find the gift in this tragedy, I wasn't looking hard enough.   One year ago yesterday I wrote my first entry.  I posted my efforts, holding myself accountable to my readers to find the gift in my tragedy and move on.   Now I'm considering moving on from this blog.

Like Julian of Norwich, I believe that "All shall be well, all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well".  Why?   Because God is love, and God lives in the present tense.   I can hold the gift of life and be filled.   No longer am I like a bucket so drained of life by grief, and so full of holes no one can console me.  I am healed.  Circumstances could at any time pierce my bucket with more holes.  I hope in the future I can be more resilient.

Here is what I had to do

• Recognize that I was that empty bucket full of holes, and nobody could fill my emptiness no matter how much love and attention they poured in.
• Plug the holes in my bucket myself.  Do this by giving up the illusion that all shall be well only if time reverses itself.   Or if only people would be more generous.
• Fill my bucket with all manner of things - a few old things, but mostly new skills, new attitudes, new friends, new surroundings, new interests.  
• Share my journey publicly on this blog.

Every day is a challenge.  For everybody.   

Good luck.  God, and Love, is with you. 


P.S. Please don't hesitate to share in my comment section.  I'll write back!

What can we give ourselves today?

It may be too soon.  The grief may still be carving its presence into our being.

But,

if we're ready.   if God is asking this of us.   if it is taking more energy to hold back than it would to let go.   if people who care and understand want us to be here for them now.   if we give ourselves permission, life will ask us to: 

 

~ Let go ~

 



My love to all who journey this path, kicking, screaming, limping, crawling.  Someone is here to love us.  Be he or she God, our departed one, our sister, our brother, our Mom, our Dad, our son, our daughter, our friend -  borrow their strength.   Some glorious day it will become our own. 

Sincerely yours

One quality has marked my life: Sincerely Seeking.

I was born lost and clueless. I don't know about you, but I didn't particularly enjoy these feelings. Marriage and its commitment, settled my fears; it  felt orderly and natural. How can I express the enormous 'settledness' of union with a beloved?    Strong wills aside, my husband and I figured things out.  Love knit us together. 

Then he died, setting me adrift in a sea of widows and widowers, lost and clueless like myself.   I found great comfort and hope knowing how common widowhood was.   Some how this made it less scary.   Though there is no 'one size fits all' course for widows, seeing some navigate with courage and fortitude through that sea gave me hope.   We all know there is no going back; death wipes out the familiar landscape.   One must carry on.  The tools I first used, impatience and pluck, helped, but  weren't enough to bring me out of the sea of grief.  Many widows and widowers were making it to another side, establishing a happy, new life.   They were getting there.  Could I?  How could I?

I've come to believe the key to getting to shore is sincerely seeking a new life.  Sincerely letting go of the old.  Sincerity opens the way to

• what is real, what is true
• our wounds, so they can heal
• our unmet needs, so we can find ways to meeting them
• having our life mean something to somebody else 
• kindness from others
• kindness in ourselves to deal with callousness in others
• lessons, and more lessons
• our sheer grit - You Go Girl!
• courage to experiment, fail, and succeed 
• appreciation for our own very special qualities 
• facing our future even though death is in it
• facing our future, with love in it

Widowhood gave me two choices if I wanted to move on.  One: Desperation, okay in the beginning, but really tiring, like going around in circles.  Two: Sincerity, which can lead to something real: firm new ground.

It took me a while, a great while, but I resorted to the second one.  I'm going to stick with it.  I have crossed over, to a new life.   It's pretty darn good.    Seven and a half years out, my heart is bigger. My interests have grown and changed, and are satisfying.   My days are happier, on balance.  I enter this holiday season without dread.   I don't look back to the old life, wishing I could go back.   I've opened my heart to a new person.  Two new people, actually.  Me, and a new 'he'.

I hope this helps, if you're lost.

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?

The surrogate spouse?

Meet Nip.





Early in this blog I wrote a post about feeling irrelevant.  Well, a couple of cats I adopted 5 months after my husband's death helped a bit.  I adore them.  Meet Nip.  Tux you'll meet soon :-).  That these cats hugely related to my loss became clear, when every year on my husband's birthday I wanted to adopt another.  My sister talked me out of it, or else I'd have seven cats now instead of two.

Something in me wants to care for someone or something. I want a central role and sense of continuity that volunteering or friends or extended family cannot provide.  My spouse is dead.  Now what?

I've been dating three long years now.   At first my heart was limp, but it did roar back to life. That part is great.  Obviously I'm looking for a man to love, but what I have come to appreciate instead is the fact that I had some pretty decent surrogate spouses already in place.   Besides my two cats, I have my garden.  And my house.  They offer me enough return on my investment, pleasure wise.  And I have a handyman I can depend on now.  Of course they do a crappy job of addressing the loneliness.  I may never live with a man again.  Face it.   With this blog as my witness, I have to make peace.  

I figure I have a chance at happiness, if even a blind pig can find an acorn every once in a while.  Someone I love needs to inhabit this life I'm living.   What I realized this summer is that this person was here all along. Welcome home, GowitheFlo.  I love you.

Weirdly enough, when I welcomed this adorable little girl and grown woman back into my life something strange happened.  Someone 230 miles away emptied out a bag he had retrieved from the back of his closet, and a 26 year old letter from me fell out.   He'd always thought well of me.   Facebook connected us and now we're friends again.  He matters to me.

Net result of all this grief and inner effort?  An epiphany this morning: I don't need my late spouse any more.  It has taken an awfully long time to get here.  I started writing this blog to hold myself accountable for moving forward.  Am I really O.K. now?

I expect my late husband is now saying  "I love you, honey, and I'm leaving you because you'll be O.K. "
To him I say "I miss you, but not so much. I love you, but I'll be alright.  I have found a way to go on."

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?

Widowhood. It ain't funny

Well, maybe it is, a little.  I'm amazed how many of us are collectors.  Compulsive buyers.  Compulsive collectors.

Meet my rocks.  The marble from Massachusetts.  The others from deep in my backyard.  I love rocks.   I adore rocks.  Rocks last forever. Rocks are my friends. 

Meet my other best friends. My journal, my favorite blogs, my books, my gardens, my cats, my piano, my bicycles, my road trips, my food, my clothes, my shoes, my jewelry.   

Well, if collecting doesn't solve the grief problem, what is it that makes us resilient enough to beat it?

Maybe the humor.  Maybe getting to the real issues and having a good cry.  Maybe having somebody believe in you.  Maybe the passage of time.  Maybe taking on new projects.   Maybe optimism and faith.  Maybe enough money.   Maybe good enough health.  Maybe a 'can-do' spirit.   Maybe the void itself once we welcome it.  Maybe having a dear new friend. 

Whatever those special ingredients, it somehow all adds up to a new identity, post widowhood, at some point in our lives.  It has to. 

Time's come to give up a few things I've hoarded.  I'm going to take a deep breath, and purge some things from my closet.  Maybe I can live with less?

Tell me about your collections.  Are they helping?

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?

feeling abandoned?

 

 

 

 

Were we abandoned by our husbands?    You bet we were.  Work through that grief, and we may find a deeper fear of abandonment still alive and kicking.  I truly hope not for you.  I hope you have made wonderful new connections that fill your heart.  But fear of abandonment is alive and well for me.  When my husband was alive, I felt strong in his commitment and love.  I carried his presence with me a long while after his death.  I didn't feel so alone.  Then his presence began fading. This is when fear of abandonment surfaced for me.

If I truly let myself need another man again I may be abandoned again - by sickness, by death, by his love petering out.  Can I reach out?  First I'm going to reach in. 

My new project, the "you're welcome, (my name)" project, said deeply into my heart, addresses this fear.   I can never really be abandoned, can I, when I welcome myself in?  I can welcome my own needy self - tenderly, carefully.   I need to be there, first for me. Then I need to be there for someone else.  I shared this with a widowed friend.  She took my hand, "I can see you're speaking from your heart." We sat there quietly, hand in hand, tears streaming down my face. Her heart reached mine without saying a word.    

No advice.  No need to talk about her own experience.  No need to fill the void.  Just be in the void with me.  Simply be there in that void with me.

I guess I'm talking about providing my own emotional support first, before offering and seeking it from someone new.  I've been pretty guarded about loving again.  It's scary letting a new man in.  But, darn it, I'll survive.

Do any of you ladies have these fears, too?

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. 

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.