First, I let the truck go, about two months after he had died.  It wasn’t paid for, and it wasn’t registered in my name.  It was big for me, and I had another vehicle – my car – so I didn’t need this…. this reminder of what we fought over from time to time.  When I talked to a friend about it, she said, “Why are you agonizing over this so much?” I told her it was because it meant so much to Kevin.  Her reply stunned me, “Well, you meant a lot to him also. Would he want you to be this upset over it?”  Of course not.  And so I surrended it (read: voluntary repossession) back to the finance company. I still felt bad, at least I did until traded in my cute convertible on a new Highlander, since I realized I did want something to schlep stuff in.

A couple of weeks later, I started in on the house.  I called Habitat Restore to come get his recliner from the family room so I could think about redecorating.  And I got rid of my matching one as well.  They were nice chairs, still relatively new.  But the style was going to have to change when I got rid of the “man cave” look.  My same friend went shopping with me.  I put most of the rest of his things in his closet.  I kind of miss those comfortable, put-your-feet-up chairs.

It took a few more months before I could clean out his closet.  Luckily, we had separate closets so I didn’t have to look at or smell his clothes every day.  I just kept the doors closed.  At the end of May, about six months after Kevin died, my same friend came to help me pack up the clothes.  Everyone needs this kind of friend.  She even took the bags of clothes to the DAV Thrift Store so I wouldn’t procrastinate and drive around with them in my trunk for a few months.  I still have to get through the hunting clothes, the underwear box, the coats, and the motorcycle gear.

In May I consigned his motorcycle for sale. When it was still on the lot in August, I was about to put it back in the garage, and the very same day I made that decision, I got an offer.  So bye-bye.  I cried when I left it at the dealer.  It hurt to see him go out of my life one piece at time.

The boat had also been consigned, and it took from February until September to sell.  I felt bad that he had only had it in the water one time here.  I contemplated taking a water safety course and trying to use it myself, but that was foolishness. I didn’t even like it all that much when he was in charge!  It’s a small fishing boat, and I always felt vulnerable in it on big water.  I was relieved to hand the keys off to someone else.

Today I took another step.  I had dinner at a new restaurant a bout a year ago.  The owner was in the process of changing the theme from tiki bar to a hunter’s grille.  I asked him then if he might be interested in some dead animals (my term of endearment for Kevin’s mounts).  He said yes and gave me his card, but I lost the card. I guess I wasn’t ready yet.  Last week I went back to the restaurant and saw that he had gotten rid of the thatched roofs over the booths and most of the bamboo was gone, but he was sorely lacking in décor.  I again asked him about the taxidermied trophies I had in the closet.  I had given a bear head to my nephew, and I wasn’t ready to part with the Redlin plates yet, but I did have 2 deer, a turkey fan, a goose, and two ducks, and a spare set of antlers.  This morning he came to the house and bought them all.  It wasn’t as if I won the lottery, but I’ll get a few free meals at a good restaurant and maybe a set of new cushions for the chairs on the back deck.

It’s a little over 14 months since he passed on.  And it’s still a tender moment when I let go of one thing or another, even if whatever it is has been sleeping in a closet all this time. Almost all of these things were very much Kevin’s taste and style, not mine. In fact, I remember my dismay when I first met him and he told he was a hunter. I could not believe I was so open to having dead animals in the house.  But I loved him, so therefore, I never minded.  It’s interesting to me…it was not a compromise at all; it was completely acceptable.

I think Kevin would be proud of the care I gave in passing along his things to people who really wanted them, and only when I felt ready.  Especially the dead animals. He called the small deer here “dog deer,” and I know he’ll be beaming to have people admire the nice Dakota-sized deer and the tasteful way the goose and duck were mounted.  This way I also can still visit them when I go have a free hamburger!  I still have the best part of him, though, my memories.

PS. I still have a few things, like a remote controlled mini helicopter, and a set of golf clubs, and a bicycle…among others. If you are interested, let me know.  :o)

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….

Source: A few truths I’ve accepted

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.

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.

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.

I am normally one of those people who gets in the car and turns on the radio, does her morning getting-ready routine to music, reads with music playing in the background, and usually has music in her ears while she walks around the neighborhood.  Then for much of the last year, I was so distracted I had to turn off the sound of everything so I could hear myself think. I learned to value silence.  My favorite quiet time is sitting on the back deck with coffee in the morning, with just the music of the birds and the leaves rustling in the trees. That’s when I connect with myself for a few minutes. I call it my “gratitude meditation” time, when I recall my blessings.

I have missed my other music, so I finally got my old stereo out of the  closet upstairs and brought it down to the living room where I can listen all I want.  I got it in 1992, and it has a turn-table that still works.  Frank Barone was right – there’s something about listening to old albums, with all their scratches, that is part of the experience.

And then yesterday I read an article in the May 2012 issue of Speaker magazine. It’s titled “The Healing Power of Music.”  According to the author, Rita Young Allen,  the body responds to music and can change your metabolism, circulation, blood volume, pulse, blood pressure, and moods. She quotes an oncologist who claims “sickness is a manifestation of the body out of harmony.”  Researchers have documented the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual healing effects of music.  They don’t understand exactly how this works, but it does…and has as far back as the Ancient Greeks.

I think they are right. Music has long been a source of joy for me, and I’m happy to now again let  it work its magic on me.  Oh…the next article in the magazine is on “embracing your inner rebel.”  Hmmmm……

So my new favorite version of one of my old favorite songs is Barrett Baber’s The Voice performance from Monday night, Silent Night. Check it out on iTunes or Thevoice.com.  And let me know what you think.  (I’d post it here but haven’t figured out how to do that.)

I KNOW I can do the writing thing, and do it well.  This morning I was browsing Pinterest and the online news.  Here are some peeks into what I read:

Want to Reset Your Hormones and Lose Weight?  … Tip 2 – If you are allergic to certain foods, avoid them. …

Leadership Quotes from Hollywood’s Badass Leading Ladies.  Disclaimer, none of these woman actually said these.

6 Ways to Make A Yoga Practice Part of your Already Busy Day.  Tip 6 – Make it a Priority.

At that point, my teakettle was whistling so I stopped reading the fascinating, obvious, fake articles that pass as insightful ways to improve your life.  My story on grief will be of real value, I promise.