House, Home, Sanctuary

What a year it's been.  2012 has been very, very good to me.  I have felt recently like re-visiting my blog so I had to figure out if it even existed anymore and it does!  So, here goes.  Reading over my last posts, I have made tremendous progress in my life over the years.  I am very proud of myself and thankful for those who have loved and supported me.  But, you know what's interesting?  Progress doesn't just happen.  You have to work at it, set intentions and then take action.  Sounds pretty basic but can be so hard to do.  One of the only things that is familiar in my life over the years since Jack died is I live in the same place.  This house has been my refuge.  Maybe this is why I have mixed feelings about downsizing or making a change with where I live.  It's really been my "cave" in which to return to from the outside, crazy world.  Besides that it really is a lovely place and I've made it my own.  It no longer looks or feels like Jack and Heidi's place, but just Heidi's place (well, ok, maybe still the garage, but that's still a work in progress).  Where you live can feed your soul or zap your energy.  Mine used to zap my energy but I was able to change that so that it now feeds me.  Do you love where you live?  If not, what can you do to change that?

Dispositioning

I have never gotten rid of all of Jack's clothes. I've spent the last couple months trying to "disposition" them. This entails going through them and categorizing: save/keep in closet; save/put in box - put box in garage; give away/find an appropriate charity; give away/put in a bag out on the curb for the next charity truck pick up. For many things in life, once I am ready, I just do it. All at once. I have found with this whole process surrounding Jack's death, I cannot just jump in and tackle things all at once. I wish I could do it all in one fell swoop, kind of like ripping off a band-aid, but I just can't seem to. I think one of the reasons it is still so hard to part with the remaining clothing is that I can still picture him in so many of those shirts and pants or shorts and shoes. Those are "his" clothes and the thought of them becoming someone else's clothes has been an emotional barrier to break down.

This week, I also finally got one of his financial investment accounts switched to my name. I have an appointment on the 14th with DMV to cancel his driver's license since the notice came in the mail (I was originally told this was taken care of by the police station in WI).

His name is still the primary on all the utility bills so I guess some day I have to get those changed over.

His bicycles still sit in the garage and his truck in the driveway. The sale of the truck will be tackled in the coming months. I'm finally ready - I think - to take on this job.

Funny how when someone dies, the one left still has to end their other life, many times over.

As I've said before, widowhood is not for the meek.

Companion In the Darkness

I had reason to go looking for a book tonight. There was a particular passage I was trying to find. When I found the book, I remembered it was the only book for the first 3-4 months (at least) after Jack's death that I could completely and utterly relate to. It stayed by my bedside for a long time. It's pages are dog-eared. I hung on to it like a life line. Knowing there was one other person out there who had experienced what I was going through and survived was indescribable.

For anyone who wants to know what it is like to experience profound and devastating loss, I suggest you pick up this book and read it. It describes the inner emotional, psychologic and spiritual turmoil one goes through. It also shows how the practical every day things can be the trigger that brings you to your knees (not theoretically, but actually, physically, to your knees).

The book is, Companion Through the Darkness, Inner Dialogues on Grief by Stephanie Ericsson.

But be warned. It is not light. It is not easy reading. It is painful. It will make you cry. It will make you glad you are not in her shoes if you are not. It will make you feel less alone if you are. It is her truth and my truth. I cannot describe how grateful I am that she found a way through her own darkness to eventually write this book.

Here is part of her note to the reader:

"This book belongs to the grieving, to the truthsayers, to the bereaved who have seen the light and the dark in one flash. It belongs to those who have had the blinders ripped from their eyes, who suddenly see the lies of our lives and the truths of existence for what they are. It belongs to those who feel crazy, because death has absolutely, vividly re-prioritized their lives. It belongs to those who feel so small in the shadow of such profound truth. It is meant to help those who are trying to fit the very sane epiphany of grief into a world that would rather have them feel insane, so as to maintain a safe status quo. It is a book meant to ease the pain of significant loss. It's aim is not to give false comfort, but validation for the long haul. It was written to reach out in the darkness, not to altruistically give hope, for there is none, and the grieving know this unequivocally. (Ironically, however, the hope lies herein).

After the death of a significant person, we are suspended in limbo; we are not the persons we used to be, nor the persons we are yet to become... For mourning is the constant reawakening that things are now different".

Life For Sale

Some guy in Australia is putting his entire life up for sale. His home, his job, his friends. After a marriage break-up, he struggled to re-group, so decided to try to start fresh. When I read this, I had a sense of envy. This sounds like a perfect "run-away" scenario. I've thought of doing this so many times since Jack's been gone that I can't even count anymore. What stops me? Two things: 1). FEAR - mostly of making the wrong choice and winding up even more miserable and alone than I already am; and 2). Jack will still be gone and I'll still be by myself no matter where I go.

When talking with friends about this today, one of them said, "I'd switch lives with someone for a certain period of time but I wouldn't give it all up". I thought of that on the drive home and realized I honestly can't imagine anyone who would want my life. Or maybe there would be a few out there who think it looks good, but then when they tried it would be horrified at how boring and emtpy it is. I'm someone who always tries to be grateful for what I have, but quite honestly, these are trying times - yes, even after 3.5 years since becoming a widow.

While most people my age are on their way to coasting, I am back at square one. Using a metaphor, I am trying to keep the foundation from crumbling so I can build something new on top of it. But, lately, I am wondering if I need to abandon this old foundation (and maybe the plot of land it's standing on), and go for something new. Something that is up to modern code, something that can withstand chaos, turbulance and all the elements that go with inclement and extreme emotional weather.

If you were in my shoes, what would you do?

Progress

When I was at the park with Cookie last night, I saw another dog owner friend, M, I hadn't seen for a couple weeks. Turns out she had been in a car accident a couple days before. Some woman didn't see the stoplight where everyone was stopped and plowed into M which sent her into the car in front of her. Her car was accordioned. She walked away and will be o.k. Very lucky.

As I got home, I realized it was the first time in over 3 years that I heard about/talked about an accident where I wasn't brought back to or thought of Jack's accident. Wow! That's huge! After realizing, it felt really good that I was able to be with her in the moment, listening to her story and not turning it into mine in my head and heart.

I think they call that progress.

I Used To

Lately, I find myself saying alot, "I used to (fill in the blank)". There is not much to talk about yet of my current life. Just like I say "late husband", I guess I should start saying, "in my late life, I...". You see I had this very incredible life with my husband. We worked really hard together to create that life and we tried not to take any of it for granted.

It takes an incredible amount of energy, time, money, brain power and courage to re-build a life and I get very tired sometimes. Especially because the previous life was at such a high standard and I want that back. Some days (o.k. most days) I wonder if the best years are behind me.

I used to...

mountain bike
travel
go to restaurants
be a wife
have someone to come home to
have someone to listen to my stories
worry less
have someone who would offer advice
have a husband who could fix anything
be more positive
have more mental and physical energy
periodically go to church
have a Beagle
enjoy a glass or two of wine
be interested in my future
collect a pretty good paycheck
get lots of hugs and kisses
feel less fearful and chaotic
look forward to the future
believe that if you worked hard, treated people well, that life would in turn, treat you well
have someone to go to the movies with
have a husband
have someone who would drive while I was a back seat driver
wake up next to someone
be a night person
have a good memory
enjoy parties
have people over to the house alot
have someone to share everything with
really love reading
share responsibilities
have a Mom and Dad who were living
feel young
be able to relax
have more hair
go to Lake Tahoe
love travel
have the capacity to help and support others
have plans for improving/remodeling the house
dreams and goals

There's a whole lot more to add to the list, but you get the idea. I didn't just lose a human being, I lost an entire life. One that can't be re-created no matter hard I may try. It's coming up on time to make some decisions about what I want for my new life.

Widowhood Is Not For Wimps

Hello. I haven't written in quite awhile. I got to a point where I felt like I was out of things to say. My thoughts feel like repeats. Same thoughts, different day. This is one of the challenges of widowhood. Even now, I have the overwhelming need to just end this post right there. I will say this. Young widowhood is not for the wimpy, faint of heart or shallow in spirit. It is really, really, really hard. Not everyday anymore. But on those days that it is hard, it is still very hard.

As I was leaving my financial planner today (oh, what a crazy ride the financial markets are taking us on), I found myself wishing Jack were here to provide input. To help with the decision making. To offer words of reassurance. Then I was hard on myself. It's been 3 years for crying out loud. He's not here! You need to be o.k. with doing all this yourself! Get better. Move forward. DO SOMETHING - ANYTHING! Stop wishing for something that can't be for pete's sake!! And then the softer voice replied, "you loved him and were with him for 24 of your 42 years. You were attached at the hip, in mind and spirit. You cannot expect yourself to be moving forward (or even moving) all the time." Ah, the head and the heart don't always agree now do they. Unfortunately, we tend to give the head more air time than the heart.

So, yes, after 3 years, it is still hard making decisions by myself. It is still hard to have some silly little event happen in my life and not have anyone to share it with. It is still hard to go through hardship or anxiety about the future and not have a helping hand. But most of all, it's hard to not have the love and everything that came with it.

And yes, today was my wedding anniversary. One half here, one half not.

On the Road and Back

I packed in months and months of living into the 31 days of May. I had a couple trips already planned and then life stepped in as well.

I went on an extended week-end cruise to Mexico with friends to celebrate a couple of 40th birthdays. I traveled to Denver for my Sister's 40th birthday which was a big girl's week-end in the mountains. All in all, great times with great family and friends. I am very lucky to have such good people in my life.

Book-ending those activities were visits to MN. Late in April I learned my Dad's health was declining pretty rapidly. Last minute I flew to MN to see him. As anticipated, it turned out to be for the last time. When I was in Denver with my Sister's and Sister-In-Law, we got the call from my Brother that Dad had passed away. I will maybe write about his funeral and more lessons I've learned from another journey through death.

I was home a little more than 24 hours and I adopted a dog! Yes, I am crazy. I had gotten information on her before I left on all my travels. While I was away I decided if she was still available once I got back, I would adopt her if it seemed right. Well, I guess it was! Cookie is the new household addition. I will post a picture in another post.

It is good to be home but I miss my family after having seen them so much lately. All my adult life I've lived with those two opposite pulls so this is nothing new. Doesn't ever seem easier to deal with, but familiar.

Fond Farewell to the Jacuzzi

I watched our Jacuzzi get trucked away today. Jack loved that thing. One of his favorite activities was to get in, soak a bit and then call relatives in Minnesota during their cold season and brag about how awesome it was to be sitting in the jacuzzi, beer in hand with the palm trees lightly swaying above. When I had a reading with a medium in 2005, she relayed to me, "tell her it's like the jacuzzi". I knew then he was just fine.

Jack always preferred jacuzzing with me. But over the years, I got all girly and hated to be wet and cold (you have to get out of it at some point and get cold...). Anyway, since he's been gone I think I've been in it once. Lately I've been feeling motivated to make some changes. One day recently, it dawned on me that I could get rid of the jacuzzi and make a group seating/fire pit area. I figured I'd give the jacuzzi to anyone who wanted it and would come and haul it out of the back yard. I thought I'd post it on one of those community sites. Then this week, I had a plumber in to do some work. As he was leaving, I asked him if he knew anyone who wanted a free jacuzzi. He looked at me like I was crazy. He said, are you kidding, I am. Turns out he couldn't fit it in his yard, but a guy he works with could.

They came today to pick it up. Before doing the heavy lifting, we started chatting. Turns out he was in a motorcycle accident a year and a half ago. Lucky to be alive. Shattered his hip and thigh. Both are made of steel now. He said the jacuzzi would be an awesome thing to help with the soreness and pain. I shared the stories of Jack living with a bad knee all those years and then his motorcycle accident. Both he and Jack had done extensive research into L.A. ortho surgeons for joint replacement. What he had done was experimental so he chose someone other than Jack had, but weird coincidence. He still surfs, but doesn't motorcycle anymore. He said once you've experienced something like that, it's just not worth it.

I think the jacuzzi has found a good home and that makes me happy.

Dad and Love

I sat down on December 1st of last year and started my eulogy for Dad. I never finished it. This past week, I have had cause to re-visit it as he is not doing well. This may actually be the year of his death (or maybe not, given his ability to pull through time and again).

I think I started writing Dad's eulogy a long time ago. Most everyone knows that Dad drank. And drank. And drank. Alcohol has been the only real constant in his life other than his committed wife and kids. He always chose it over everything - including the love and support of his family. What most people don't understand is how hard it was to be his child. Growing up and in adulthood. I used to wish I had grown up in a different family. But Dad's first time in treatment when I was a junior in high school opened up a whole new world for me. I was introduced to the concept of fitting in for the first time in my life. Being with other families going through the same thing put my entire life on a whole new course. Facing Dad and being able to share my feelings and be heard was incredibly powerful. That experience impacted my college major, my career choices and my ability to communicate with people on a whole different level. It also set the course for how Dad and I would relate to one another in the future. My life experiences with Dad also played a major role in my first connection with Jack. Our first date was spent staying up until the wee hours of the morning sharing "war stories" about our Dad's. I no longer wish I had grown up in a different family.

What prompted me to sit down and write his eulogy? I called him on his 79th birthday. I had a 20 minute conversation with him while I was sitting in the car having just come from a hair appointment. As I ended the call, I said as I always do at the end of our conversations, "I love you Dad". Dad replied, "I love you too Heidi". It warmed my heart. Differently than it ever had. I sat in the car and pondered why. What was different? In that moment, I realized what Dad had taught me indirectly through his life struggles which in turn were the struggles of his family. You must take ownership for your own love. You cannot wait for someone to give it to you. You cannot wait until the conditions are just right in order to give your love to someone else. For so long, I wanted Dad to be the Dad I wanted and needed. I always knew what was best for him because it was best for me (or us), and I wasn't afraid to tell him what that was (or scream it at him, or tell him using my cold, higher than thou attitude). Over time, I worked very hard on healing. I also learned I had to either accept him or reject him. I could not change him no matter how hard I (or we) tried. I have tried very hard to accept him for who he was rather than judging him or expecting something of him he just couldn't give. Physical distance in my adult years did help me turn my attention to healing instead of dealing. But I could have remained angry, bitter and frustrated regardless of where I was living on the planet. Instead, I chose to put my time, energy and spirit towards understanding, feeling, healing and figuring out how to either love him or not.

In the end, Dad did teach me how to love. I just had to be open to accepting him fully just the way he was.