Author Archives: Pat

Winter Storm Preparation

21 Thursday Jan 2016

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I have lived through some memorable storms, so this one isn’t making me nervous. There was the January 1975 blizzard in Minnesota when I was babysitting and got stuck at this house with some wild kids for about 4 days. I was only a junior in high school but managed okay.  Another time my boys and I ended up stranded at a Salvation Army overnight when a storm hit while we were on our way home from my mom’s house.  The driving part was scary, but we managed okay.  Then there was a storm in Pierre when Kevin was still living in Brookings.  I ended up with a snow drift as hard as a brick wall and waist high I had to chop down to get out of my driveway.  I’ve also lived through a “flizzard” that resulted in my house being flooded with 51″ of water.

In each event, I had to figure out my survival strategy and implement it without the benefit of a father/boyfriend/husband, and even without a parent/friend/sibling to help make the major decisions or do some of the heavy lifting.  I would probably rather have had that, but it’s a moot point.

It’s kind of funny.  In Virginia there have been two hurricane threats since I’ve been here – both of which luckily turned out to be non-events. But for the first one, Kevin was in Minnesota retrieving his boat, and last year he was already gone.

I’m destined to face these adversities with Mother Nature on my own, I guess.   And as a practical woman of Midwestern stock, I am quite capable and self-sufficient, thank you.  I have water on hand, candles and matches, extra batteries, bread and peanut butter, and extra toilet paper.  I have blankets and dogs and a gas stove to keep me warm.  I have books to read, other books to color in.  I even have a portable DVD player.  Computers and phone will be charged up, along with back-up batteries.

I am thankful I am not dependent or helpless, and I’m not scared, but this is the kind of time when I do get lonely.  A good old-fashioned snow storm begs for snuggling before a fireplace, drinking hot chocolate, playing Scrabble or Dominoes, and making memories to be shared later.  The me-and-you-against-the-world thing….

What is a weekend?

18 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in Sabbatical, Traditions

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This morning I read an article that was a  series of quotes supposedly about leadership   They were from the Dowager Countess or Whatever-her-name-is from Downton Abbey (find here). I haven’t watched that show, but I’m thinking I should start.  The article took one-liners from her and slipped them into leadership advice. One of the quotes was “What is a weekend?”  If you’re not familiar with the show either, some context helps. She is the matriarch of a wealthy British family around the very early 1900’s. Apparently, every day is a like a Saturday, or else they work every day, so there is no break on Saturday and Sunday. And no holidays except maybe Christmas?   Which is connected to my lifetstyle now that I’m on sabbatical.

As one who is not employed, and not having a housemate who has to get off to work somewhere, it’s not always obvious when the weekend or a holiday is upon me.  Except daytime tv (especially the Hallmark channel) is better on weekends, what with tv marathons and movies instead of talk shows and reruns of sitcoms.

I used to look forward to Casual Fridays, and I stressed over Monday mornings, but I enjoyed Saturday and Sunday. Catching up on my sleep on Saturday was a luxury I dreamed of but couldn’t often indulge, and if we/I went somewhere, we/I had to be home before supper Sunday to get ready for the next week. (Now I don’t go anywhere. This needs to change.) Laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, errands like getting a haircut, were usually done on a Saturday, since I was too tired after work during the week to brave the traffic and crowds.  I thought I would enjoy doing the grocery store and other errands during the week now, but it’s funny how you can lose track of time. I have struggled to find my guilty pleasure like a long lunch, or a spontaneous drive to get out of town on Saturday.  No day is particularly special right now, but I’ll admit that Mondays are much more relaxing than they used to be.

I find it challenging to be motivated some days, since I have all day to do something, and if I don’t get it done, I have tomorrow and the day after that, and the next day after that.  I gave up weekends, I guess; Saturdays and Sundays just roll one day in to another. It’s hard to swim upstream against the rest of the world’s schedule. Festivals and fairs are usually held on weekends, sales typically start on weekends, friends are available on traditional weekends.

The value of this sabbatical is that I have time now to ponder things like this and test out various theories or sample new ways of doing things.  And it’s important I do this. Because I don’t have to (I don’t get to) adapt to my husband’s work schedule.  It’s all about me, getting to know me this way, finding out what kind of creature of habit I am.  This kind of freedom is a bit overwhelming sometimes. I have days when I feel like I’m in freefall. And those days are often Mondays, like today.   It took me two months to get rested from at least the last year of high stress and grieving. I think I’m ready to get to work now – work on my book, work on my yard, work on figuring out my Next Big Thing.  It’s Monday, the start of a week, and a great time to get to work on a something new.  And I think I’ll make plans for Saturday, so I can enjoy the weekend again.

 

Reclaiming the house…and myself

15 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Grief, Sabbatical

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By this time last year , 52 days after Kevin’s passing,  I was well into the “reclaiming” frenzy that would occupy my hands and my mind for most of the year, as I plunged into my grieving.  IFile_000 (6).jpeg hadn’t just lost Kevin; I lost my dreams and my sense of self, my focus, my identity, my give-a-damn.  The holidays were over.  I had tried to run away between Christmas and New Year’s, but thanks to rain, ice, traffic, and a job, I only got 93 miles down the road before I turned back.  Since that didn’t work, I attacked my house.

According to my journal and the photos time-stamped on my phone, on January 3 I ruthlessly cleaned out my closet.  I gave away six trash bags full of clothes to the Goodwill store.  (It was May before I could approach Kevin’s closet.)  By January 6 I had had my front entry painted (hired out), and I painted the laundry room in anticipation of a new washer and dryer being delivered. On January 13 I took down the dead animals and hunting prints  from the family room (man cave) wall, and the next day started painting in there. By the end of January I had a storage loft built in the garage so I could reorganize and manage all the power tools and other detritus he collected – coolers, bbq accessories, shovels and rakes, fishing rods and tackle, motorcycle gear, decoys, and mystery boxes.  His truck was gone by now, too.  Next up was the kitchen: paint, appliances, curtains.  And I was just getting started. It was how I dealt with being solo for the first time in my life.

A year later, I realize I had worn myself out, between the house and the job.  At least it was productive and not destructive, although exhaustion is not on the good side of the spectrum. The house slowly transitioned from ours to mine, much as I transitioned from Mrs. to Ms.  Having to decide  what I wanted and what I could afford, without having to ask for consent or to seek compromise, was a first step in the new self-discipline I had to find. Discovering what I liked required considering various options and trusting myself to make good decisions on my own.  Choosing between painting one more wall or going to bed was part of learning to take care of myself.  And being unable to physically do some things, like move furniture up and down stairs, meant I had to get comfortable with needing other people and asking for their help

I worked diligently at trying to focus on only one day at a time, and time kept marching on.  I couldn’t see much beyond that anyway, much as I tried to force a vision of a new future.  It has taken me a year to settle down mentally finally, and to spend time thinking while doing nothing else.  I know how fortunate I am to be able to do this sabbatical.  I am grateful for the support I have gotten in doing so.  I wonder how long it will take me to become  the woman I want to be now.  Paint colors have names like Cream Puff or Dark Secret or Confetti Fanfare.  I h0pe my colors turns out something like Brave Woman, Dreamer, and Serenity.

 

Winning the Lottery

13 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Budgeting, Dreaming, Sabbatical, Transformation

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My late husband’s financial plan always relied on winning the lottery, and he faithfully bought a ticket when the numbers got high enough.  If he ever won more, I never knew about it! I very rarely bought a ticket, but now that the possible payout is over $1 Billion (yes, billion with a “b”), I bought 4 tickets the other day. I only had $8 on me after I bought gas, so 4 was it.  Besides, you only need 1 to win, right?

Last night I sat down and decided to come up my list of how I’m going to spend my winnings when I get the money in hand.  I had barely finished when my brother called, and we talked about how we would spend the money if either of us won.  No surprise, we had vastly different plans. After the taxes were paid, and I gave 10% to charity (I do remember he said he wouldn’t do this – he’d prefer to give it directly to people rather than to let someone else decide who it goes to), I struggled to figure out what to do with all the remainder.  I could only come up with another $6 million or so in expenditures.  I would set up education trust funds for each of my grandchildren, pay off my kids’ student loans (and otherwise equalize this distribution since at least one no longer has student loans), and then I would buy a hobby farm and open a pet rescue (probably for beagles) operation. After that, I would make sure each of my kids had a nice-enough house (no mini-mansions necessary) and reliable vehicles. And then I’d take my kids, grandkids, siblings, in-laws and outlaws, nieces and nephews (and their kids), on an around-the-world trip, which is the best education of all.  And a girlfriend trip is in the mix, too. In a nutshell, this reflects my pre-lottery priorities: education, humanity,  and travel.  (It’s good know the money won’t change me that much.)

My sister Theresa has a grand idea. She said the first thing she would do if she wins (note: she said “if” she wins, and I think in terms of “when” I win) isto take a long vacation and then call her kids to tell them where she is!  I think that’s what I will do also; maybe I’ll invite her to come along…sounds like she could use a break.

But then I remembered another conversation I had yesterday with a girlfriend who  lamented that she “didn’t have a Kevin,” and I knew what she meant.  I had already won the lottery back in the summer of 2001 when I met Kevin.  He was exactly the right guy for me, at the right time.  My idea of marriage was a partnership between friends who fell in love, who worked every day at being in relationship, practicing  acceptance and  honesty, sharing and giving, and caring.  He treated me so very, very well, with geArkansas Apr 2012nerosity and laughter and openness.  What more could a girl ask for?  The fact that he’s passed away now doesn’t mean I’m at a dead end (NO pun intended).  Because of the great experience I had of loving him and being loved by him, I am a better person, with happy memories and improved interpersonal skills that enhance all my relationships – whether with my children and grandkids or Toastmaster friends or co-workers or neighbors or new people I have yet to meet or anyone else I come into contact with.  I lived that love for 13 years, and it will continue to pay residual dividends for the rest of my life.  That’s winning!!

I read somewhere recently that if you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need. I can relate to that, and I do have those.  It would be nice to have my Kevin to share those with me, but as that other saying goes, better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all.  It’s comforting to know that I don’t need a Billion dollars to make me happy.  I can’t even spend in my mind.  I told my brother that $100,000 would give me financial serenity, given my sabbatical and limited funds right now.  But I’m doing good anyway, so if the winning ticket isn’t hanging on my refrigerator, I won’t miss the money much.  I’ve already won more than many people.

 

A few truths I’ve accepted

08 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Grief, Transformation, Uncategorized

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I read a posting on Facebook the other day.  It said:

When I look back on my life, I see pain, mistakes and heartache.

                When I look in the mirror, I see strength, learned lessons, and pride in myself.

The author is anonymous, and it was posted by trustyourjourney.com.  I could have written that, except that I see a whole lot more than just pain when I look back on my life…and yes, I’ve had my share (and then some) of hard times along the way.  I remember good, easy, soft times as well.  It takes more than mistakes or heartache to shape a strong, bold, brave woman!  Regardless of the path you’ve taken, here are a few truths I’ve learned and held on to, through a divorce, a child’s long hospitalization, a second marriage, having both of my parents pass away, and now “solowing” for the past year.

 1. Love doesn’t die.

I still love my husband and my parents, all of whom have died.  I even hold a special place in my heart for my ex-husband, because of the good times we did share. We had 3 lovely babies  who have all become wonderful young adults,, so it wasn’t ALL bad.  Which is in itself proof that we can love more than one person at a time.  The dreams will change, the reality will change, but the treasured feelings of having been loved, accepted, cared for, trusted, and supported do not change. I can’t see Kevin or my parents the way I used to, but I can talk to them and feel their presence. I also am not unloved, as proven by the family and friends who continue to be in my life, actively.

 2. Grief doesn’t have to last forever.

I know people who continue to grieve 10 and 20 and more years after a significant loss in their lives.  I hurt for them, because it doesn’t have to be that way.  I’m not saying grieve and forget.  I’m saying that the work of grief can be productive and run its course, so to speak.  Here is what I have discovered in the past year.

Grief is a solo journey, an individual process.  It starts when you experience some kind of ending, and then you wander along an emotional path through hills and valleys, until you have a new beginning of another kind.  The ending can take some time, as in a deteriorating marriage or through an illness, or it can be abrupt as in that phone call in the middle of the night that changes everything.  The wandering time takes quite a bit longer.  Maybe you remember, or maybe you try to forget; you cry, you get angry, you are confused, you feel out of sorts; auto-pilot takes over for a bit and it’s hard to regain control.  You might experience guilt, insecurity, or any number of other emotions…including occasional happiness, relaxation, calmness, forgiveness, focus, anticipation.  Even when you start to feel some energy, some confidence, some optimism about the future, there’s not a straight path, but it does get easier…if you let it.  And then you’ll start thinking about what’s next, and making plans, and getting on with the business of life.  It’s when you can let go of the person you used to be and the way your life used to be, that you can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  It’s the new beginning. It may not be clear, but it’s there.  Will there still be times when a song remembers when, and you’ll feel sad? Or a new wedding reminds you of the daddy that won’t walk down the aisle?  Or the new baby that reminds you you’re still going to have to face this other grandparent on and on and on at birthdays and baseball games? Sure.  But that shouldn’t  sustain  continued, ongoing, grieving. Unless maybe you tried to take a shortcut on the wandering path (by ignoring your feelings, for example) or  never completed your letting go of who you used to be (the anger took up too much room maybe?).

3. The grief experience is a gift.

A gift of time, of freedom to feel your feelings when everyone else will understand – at least for a while, an opportunity to reflect and repriortize and reorganize your Self and your life.  I would bet that the majority of people spend at least a few days planning a vacation, depending on where they are going.  And I would bet that most people spend at least a few days researching good deals when buying a car or a washing machine.  But how much time do you spend considering whether or not your life is On Purpose, what makes you happy, why you do what you do every day?

This past year of grieving has taught me more about myself. I have been confronted with who I am without him, with what is really important, with how valuable time is.  I am more deliberate right now, I think more critically, and I live more deeply.  I appreciate more, I am more selective.  I know I used to spend a lot of time complaining about trivial things and did nothing about them.  I know I also spent time whining about bigger things – and also did nothing about that.  I used to think I had time to figure it all out someday, so I was a pro at fulfilling obligations at work, conforming to society’s expectations, seeking approval, doing my duty.  And it wasn’t as if that was bad, but it didn’t have enough meaning for me or leave any room for what I wanted to do.  I was given a clear message when my husband died that my clock is ticking too.  I don’t know when my time will be up here, and so if there are things I’d rather do, people I’d rather be with, places I’d rather go, then that time is now. This awareness, this clarity, this no-doubt-about-it confidence is a gift unlike any other.

 4.  Finally, there is life after life.

For him, and for me.  My belief is that my husband is in a better place, a place his spirit  needed to be more than here.  His life was about him; he was the lead actor, and I had a supporting role.  My life is about me, and I get to play the lead.  I am still here.  It’s up to me what the rest of my life will be like.  I want to be happy, do meaningful work, be a blessing to someone every day.  No one wants me to forget him, or for me to get on with things so it’s easier for them. We all want to know that we all will be okay, and the way to prove this is for me to get on with my life.

I’ve learned more than these 4 truths, but these are the main ones: Love Doesn’t Die; Grief Doesn’t Have to Last Forever; Grief is a Gift; and There Is Life After Life.  If you are grieving or know someone who is, be encouraged that every ending is followed by a new beginning. The wandering time in between may be longer or shorter because of all the many variables that affect individual grief, but the outcome will be similar.  Remember, all who wander are not lost!

We are all Connected

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

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As I said in my post earlier this week (Remembering Dad), our grief (at least, my grief) is tied to other events in our (my) past. I can’t simply remember Kevin without remembering times we had together with my family, and how he bridged and buffered my relationship with Dad.  Which conjures up the fact of my Dad dying in the same year, which made me an orphan because my Mom died in 2002, and my Mom and Dad had lost a baby boy at age 2 months, and sisters of my Mom and my Dad  had lost infants or young children that I remember. And on and on and on.  My post resulted in Baby Greg stories from my sister and my cousin, which then led to obtaining a copy of my baby brother’s death certificate.  And this communication eventually opened a question about my grandpa’s brother who is apparently buried in a cemetery in Hollywood, California, near where my daughter lives. Along the way, I had a conversation about an aunt who is sick with early stages of Alzheimer’s, and who is taking care of her, etc., and circling back to my grandpa’s Last Will & Testament, yada-yada-yada …. so maybe a Weyer (Girls??) Weekend is in order to share some stories of family lore and who-knows-what-else. All because my husband died over a year ago and I am seeking a new life with new meaning on my own. Although my brother says I’m not really alone because he has my back.  So we are all connected. We can’t not be, and it’s not just the Weyers and Farmers. although we do happen to be doubly connected. (A different story.)

This isn’t the first time that this kind of thing has happened.  It’s a “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” sort of thing, isn’t it?  We hear about closing doors on the past, or opening windows of opportunity, and a life should be examined yet lived in the moment, and Boom! Plenty of things don’t make sense until they do, and sometimes they just don’t.  Here I am trying to get centered and back in touch with myself as a “solowingnow” woman, and I find myself going back in time 20, 40, 50 years ago. But that’s not all.  Last spring I also had a “past life regression” experience, in which I went w-a-y back in time to before I was born this time, to WWI.  And over Christmas I had a tarot card reading that foretold the next 6-12 months.  (It’s all very good!)

What I am hoping to find  with these remembrances and filling in of some gaps and taking things to another level is some patterns, some pieces of me that remain solid and true, no matter my relationships or my environment, and some pieces that are evidence of development or learning or growth beyond memorizing my multiplication tables or being able to read and write.  The part that I am most fascinated with has to do with how I think, what I think about, what I believe or question, why I do what I do… well, wait, I have an answer to that one. Neale Donald Walsh in his book Conversations with God, says “The only reason to do anything is as an expression of who we are.”  That I believe inside out and upside down, all the way to the bank.  It makes complete and total sense to me. But who am I? That is where the hard work comes in, and the sabbatical gives me the time for that introspection and exploration.  What I’m after is the peace of mind that comes from being in harmony – thought and action. But I’ve lived a lot of my life out of a sense of obligation or expectation, or by default because I didn’t know what else to do or because I didn’t think any other options were realistic.

So I allow myself to feel my feelings, and to wander back in time through photos and memories and stories remembered by others.  It turns out the ones of Kevin are happy ones right now…the cushion I rest on as I explore what made me who I was when I was with him, and who I am without him. I believe he is with me still, soul to soul, to push and catch me as need be. He always wanted me to be happy, and he is still helping me figure that out.  But obviously, I had a life before him too, and I don’t want to dismiss that as inconsequential.  It made me whoever I am. I’m glad he was part of my life, and I’m glad I can give time to those memories of him without becoming a wet rag or a victim of widowhood.

We experience life alone together, finding along the way  little dots left by others or leaving our own everywhere, until we connect those dots and discover how to interpret the pictures we see, so we can again move through more time, somehow boundaryless, but shaped by our collective past and our individual journeys forward.

Remembering Dad

02 Saturday Jan 2016

Posted by in Grief

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Dad k id_collage

Today is the second anniversary of my Dad’s passing.  He liked to project a tough guy image to us kids, so he wasn’t the Father-Knows-Best kind of dad. In fact, I was often disappointed in his parenting.  I feared him when I was a kid, I challenged him as a mother myself, and I came to accept him near the end of his time on Earth. But I felt as if a bee had stung me at the loss of opportunity for a better relationship.  I felt sad when I got the call, but I don’t recall much crying or despair.

His death made me an orphan, my mother having died in 2002. Her passing, too, was the end of an opportunity for a my-mother-is-my-best-friend relationship.  I didn’t cry much when she passed either, although I did sit on my couch and cry for about three days a month or so later.  She died in late September, and that year I didn’t feel much like doing Christmas. That was also the year I got married to Kevin, which was my second time.  I remember a story my Mom once told me, how when she was diagnosed with cancer in 1978, she begged God to let her live to see all her kids married and settled down.  At that time, Diane was 11, Theresa was 14, and Jeff was about 17.  Peggy and I were already graduated from high school and out on our own.  God granted that wish, but just before the last one got married (Diane), I got divorced.  And so I guess “all” her kids weren’t married.  But then I remarried in July 2002, and now we all were married, so she died in September, a new cancer having taken her. I felt guilty for a while over that.  If I hadn’t gotten married, would she have had more time, time to watch her first granddaughter get married the following year?

Kevin died the same year as my Dad, and that was when I started really examining grief and its various dimensions. I had previously experienced the death of all four of my grandparents, several aunts and uncles, some cousins, even a baby brother.  It was the baby’s death that I focused on.  I began to wonder how my parents functioned having to give up a 2-month their first boy (but third child) to a rather sudden pneumonia. How in the world did my mom have time to grieve his loss when she also had a 1 year old (Peggy) and a 2 year old (me) to take care of, plus she was pregnant again almost right away? How did Dad go to work every day? I don’t remember them ever (ever!) talking about Greg, although there were a few pictures of him with us girls.  One time the subject came up and my Uncle Ray said something about Greg dying from crib death,  and my mother (for once in her life) came unglued. She jumped up and yelled at him that Ray was wrong, that Greg died of pneumonia in the hospital.  I remember the chill that followed her outburst; I was maybe 9 or 10.  Before that my cousin Sharon, a twin, died of Wilm’s Tumor, a stomach cancer, when she was 5 and I was around 12. My cousin Deborah also died as an infant, when I was maybe 8 or so.  So it’s not like there wouldn’t have been opportunities to grieve together, but I just don’t remember it.  I do also have one other memory, of my Mom sitting in the kitchen, looking out the window, and looking very sad but not crying. That made an impression on me, and based on the house we were in (down by the river) and the fact I wasn’t in school makes me think I had to have been less than 5.  I know my Mom had her happy moments after that, and I have pictures to prove it, but I think my Mom always had a sadness about her, too, and I think it came from Greg’s death. When my youngest son was born in 1985, Mom came to visit, and she brought me two baby outfits she had been saving. They were Greg’s…from 25 years earlier. Her only comment to me was “Here. I have no use for these anymore.”  And that was the end of that conversation.

I talked to my sister Peggy about this recently, and she agreed Mom and Dad never talked about Greg.  But yet, she recalled, we always knew we had lost a brother; it was not some revelation we happened upon.  So someone must have talked about it out loud at some time.  I then asked my stepmother Delores if Dad had ever talked about Greg to her. They were married for over 35 years (my parents divorced after 18 years of marriage). She said he never did, and when she asked him about it once, he declined to talk.  So then I called my Aunt Lorraine, who was Mom’s best friend, and she also said neither Mom or Dad would talk about it, but that it was the way things were back then (BTW, this was 1960).

Both of my parents died of complications from cancer – my Mom had lung cancer this time (a sarcoma in her hip the first time 24 years earlier; my Dad had bone marrow cancer and lung cancer.  Both had been given a life sentence of just a few months, and so our grieving started then. By the time we watched them waste away as the cancers attacked them, I was relieved that our collective suffering was over.  Mom had some denial and anger (after all, she had quit smoking 9 years earlier) but no more bargaining with God.  Dad had been in declining health anyway for years, with various heart attacks, strokes, arthritis, and blood issues, and he seemed to be ready to get on with the business of dying. Mom was 70 w hen she passed, and Dad was just days shy of his 82nd birthday.   In contrast, Kevin, at 54,  went to bed one Sunday night and never got up again.

The point of this is that while grief is expressed differently for each person who has left us, there is a connection, between all of them and me, and even between each other.  No matter where I lived, or how old I was, or the relationship I had.  The past is the past, and it only exists in memories.  I choose to remember my Dad as someone who was a child once, and grew up as a result of the parenting he received. His life was shaped by his experiences as a soldier, employee, father, etc.  He did the best he could at the time, I’m sure. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I too have been shaped because of who he was.  I learned about patience, ambition, independence, acceptance, perseverance, service, and probably a few other things. He was once a small town mayor, an alderman, and Commander of the American Legion; I probably inherited some of those genes somewhere along the way.  Anyway, I believe in life after life. He continues to influence me, and I think he is a better father now, now that he knows better/different.

That is why I recalled one other memory just last night. I was little enough that he still picked me up now and then. I had gone with him to the Pantorium Cleaners to pickup dry cleaning. The man behind the counter said to me, “Why, you must be Louie’s girl. You look just like him.” And Dad swung me up in his arms and smiled and said, “Yep, that’s my girl.”  So, Dad, thanks for this memory. I trust you are free now from all the aches and pains of your life here, and that you are happy. Say hello to Greg, and Mom, and Kevin, and the other Kevin (Farmer), and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest.  And remember to send a white feather.  Like it or not, I’m still your girl.

2015: the year in review

31 Thursday Dec 2015

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The quote on the page of my personal journal for one year ago, December 31, 2015, is by Lao Tzu: When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.  Next to that, I wrote: Who am I without you?  I still have no definitive answer one year later, but clearly, I am not the same person. Here are a few quick looks back:

 

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A look at my calendar shows that I was certainly active, literally in every month of the year.   I had 4 personal  trips to see siblings or kids, and also was able to add on personal days to 5 of the 6 work trips I took so that I could see family and friends.  Seven times I had company visiting me.  It’s no wonder that I was in desperate need of some quiet time by November when I left my job.  But being involved with my family is a significant, non-negotiable part of who I am, and so is supporting them. A new baby, a wedding, a few birthdays…and giving of my time to show people around this area, were the times that saved me when I obsessed about my priorities and considered the uncertainties of this Solowing future.

A look at my checkbook shows that I also didn’t stay home too much even when I was in town.  I ate out several times every week; I spent quite a bit on gasoline going hither and yon; and I managed to buy about two dozen books.  I also spent a huge chunk on restyling the house – from paint to furniture to floors.  And when I felt like I was unable to stop worrying about having enough, living by myself in this big house with no safety net of a second income, far away from everyone, I gave some money away to those who needed it more than me. I ended the year with a positive bank balance and no income for the foreseeable future but I feel okay about that.

If that’s all that went into the equation to describe a year in the life of me, it would be an acceptable balance.  But it’s the intangibles that tell the story of the subtle changes in me. A year ago I tried to run away, and now I am staying home.  I stopped crying somewhere around spring, and last week with my daughter I laughed so much it nearly became a giggle-fit and I had tears (of joy).  I was sleep deprived and lethargic until late fall, but now I can stay up until 10:30 or 11:00 and don’t even need a nap the next day.  (Seriously.)   For months, I couldn’t concentrate and read more than a page or two in a book, but now I am back to reading 2-3 books per week. (The current ones are The Brothers Karamazov, and Simple Abundance. Last week I read The Enlightened Gardener while on vacation.)  But the big deal is that I even am on this sabbatical for this coming year: that I found the strength again to trust myself to walk into the unknown, and I gave myself permission to examine my life, to listen to my own self tell me whatever it has to say, to be open to … well, just to be open – heart, mind, and soul.

The past doesn’t exist anymore; it’s gone; it’s only memories now. I have fully blessed Kevin’s passing, and at the same time, blessed myself here in the present.There are differences in New Year’s Resolutions, bucket lists, vision boards, goals, and everyday to-do lists.  I think I’ll work on a little of each today and tomorrow, and ring in 2016 as a girl with options.

My last Christmas gift from Kevin

21 Monday Dec 2015

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As Christmas will be this week, I can’t help but remember last year’s Christmas and, of course, the last year.  Right before he died – a day or two maybe before – we had been talking about what we each had on our List for Santa.  Kev smirked a little and said he had already gotten my gift. This was before Thanksgiving. It would not be unusual for him to be done with his shopping by then.  After he died (Nov 23), I was preparing to go to South Dakota for the funeral service and wanted to take some of his things along for his children. My sister Diane and I searched for whatever gift he might have hidden for me.  No luck.  When my daughter Renae came home from SD with me, we were setting  up a few decorations for when her family and my son and his family came back for Christmas.  She and I also looked again for a gift he might have gotten  me. I even checked his bank account for any “unusual” expenditures.  Again, no luck.  There was no gift from him under the tree last year.  So I am sure he was bluffing.

But yet, he did give me an incredible gift…and more than one really.  First, he gave me the gift of time.  I didn’t “open” that until this sabbatical, but taking 2016 for myself is something I just would not have done if he were here.  Second, because of his passing, I have come to understand grief better than ever. I have more compassion for people going through it and  other milestones I know nothing about. Third, I have started and continue to examine my own life: my priorities, my emotions, my needs, my desires. This time of reflection might have happened to some degree, but probably not now and not to the depths I am going. Finally, the memories I have of our time together are more meaningful. I am reminded daily of something we did or he said or … and I am grateful for the life we shared.

I miss him, yes, and I’d take him back in a heartbeat if I could.  I believe, though, in life after life. I know the essence of him is still  here. I am blessed to have him around me at all times now, not just when his physical body was available.  I realize that my grief is not the sum of how much I loved him or we loved each other; it is a reflection of my beliefs about life and death and love and heaven on earth.  The gift he gave me is the opportunity to know this to be true in my heart. Thank you, GM, for that. You make me want to be a better woman still. Love you, your PQ.