Coming Up on the One Year Anniversary of the Death of My Husband.

Feels like I'm closing in on the finish line. Huffing and puffing with sore feet and a dry throat. Never have I so completely marked off one year. Time has flown by, time has stood still, time has inched along agonizingly. I can not ever remember paying such close attention to the passage of time. I can not ever remember having a date loom so....so....so. I planned my last adventure to New Mexico and Colorado in June so that I could look forward to the month of September. And not view of the approach of September with dread.

This year has been a time of pain and grief and discovery. As Rob had said to me, "It will be an opportunity for Personal Growth." Yeah right. I came back from my Southwest Adventure all full of myself. Convinced I was managing fine on my own. A few days back my cat took sick. And I found myself dealing with what was going on with him by myself. I so yearned to have Rob to share my worry. I so totally didn't want to deal with this by myself. What, another medical issue in the month of September. Would all Septembers be like this? Was this a month that I would want to remove from the calendar?

My cat's illness caused me again look inside myself. God this "Personal Growth" thing just keeps going on and on and on. Was he expressing through his illness what I was not able to? He had a cough. His throat was sore and closed. Like when you are caught in overwhelming grief and can't make a sound. Was I blocking my grief? Was I fooling myself that I was fine with the coming anniversary?

My latest rant has been why do I, we, people, society, you "celebrate" the death of one we love? Why mark the date of their demise? Their passing? Their death? Isn't the fact of their being gone enough? Why mark it with such meaning? Widows are "one year out" "two years out" "six years out". Why not focus on happier dates? Like birthdays or wedding anniversaries or first date dates or...or....or. It makes no sense to me. Help me out here.

An interlude. A few days ago I received an email about discounted tickets to an Emmylou Harris concert that was taking place in a nearby city. I could not pass this up and started to try and think of which friend might be interested in going with me. But I didn't want to wait to order the tickets, and I didn't want to buy two and then try and find someone. It felt a bit defiant to just go ahead and buy one ticket—but that is exactly what I did.

Tonight was the concert. And as I was getting ready to go I started to feel a bit anxious. I had never been to this venue, I was going alone. But on the plus side I had Celeste (my GPS) to guide me and she and I had managed much greater travels together recently. And guide me she did, through some of the grittiest, seediest parts of the City. I'm going to have to have a talk with that girl!

I was the first person to sit in my row at the theater. Soon, two women came and sat down beside me. Marie and Theresa immediately became my two new best friends! How do these things happen?!?! We compared Emmylou Harris concerts we had been to, we talked about the venue, we exchanged a host of personal information. How do these things happen?!?!?

I told them about a previous concert I had gone to this City where I had been amazed that they allowed large plastic cups of beer in the hall. And how the audience throughout the concert was in constant motion. In with beer, out to pee, back in with more beer and out to pee all night long.

The lights go down and we watch the row in front of us as four people come stumbling in with cups of beer held high. And Marie starts to laugh. And Theresa starts to laugh. And I start to laugh. We are just feeding off of each other. The four finally manage to find their seats and then one has to go out again. Apparently I am laughing with great abandon and the person on my other side asks, "What are you on? I want some of that." How do these things happen?!?!?

The concert? I love Emmylou Harris. Robert loved Emmylou Harris. I believe we had/have every one of her albums. And I found the concert to be a time travel experience. Each song she sang stood for a time in our lives. A place we lived, a car we were driving, a room we listened to that song, a vista...images cascaded through my mind's eye. I laughed, I danced, I cried.

That is what this anniversary is about. It is not about celebrating Robert's death. It is about celebrating our life together.

Dreamtime once again with a visit from Rob

The night before my flight back home from Albuquerque......

In my dream Robert is going to take me to the airport in Albuquerque. But first he wants to stop back at the museum we had visited earlier to show me a picture of a horse, artwork, in one of the books we had looked at. I am upset, feeling anxious about getting to airport in time, and just wanting to go. But Rob is driving and assures me that there is plenty of time.

So we go back into the museum and I tell the ticket taker we had been there earlier today with a docent and could we just run in and look at one thing. No charge? She agrees, and notices my tag and asks about my selling jewelry. I promise to return with a business card.

We go to the books and pull down all the horse ones. Leafing through them Rob finds the image. But by now more time has passed and I just want to go. I am not interested in looking at the image.

Then (as in classic dream sequences) we are further away from the car and museum. And I just want to get back. I leave and start walking.  But the going is tough. It is like I am walking through mud sucking ground. When I look down I realize there is snow on the ground and that is pulling at each step. I wonder why it is so difficult to walk. My feet are being grabbed and held. I push on, struggling with each step, determined. Step by step back to the museum. Leaving Rob behind.

I get to the elevator that goes down to the garage, and just as I get in and the glass doors close there is Robert. Standing looking at me. He has on his black Kanga hat. And we are standing facing each other with glass separating us. The elevator starts to descend with me in it. Leaving him standing there looking at me.

While this is a defining moment—this standing face to face separated by a glass partition—the dream doesn’t exactly end there. I realize he has the car keys!!!!  And know I will meet him at the car in the garage.

My soul has been seared by pain and grief and I do not recognize myself

I'm on another trip. Flew out to Alburquerque, stopping in Houston for lunch. Rented a car, well two as the first one had to be returned because I'm not really sure why, and drove over an hour to my cousin's house where I have never been. And then from there I drove three and a half hours north to Colorado. Faithfully following the directions of the disembodied voice whom I call Celeste.

I keep asking myself how is this possible? How can I do these things? On my own? I don't know who I am any longer. The change is so dramatic to me. All the pain and grief I went through during Robert's illness and death has seared my soul to a degree that it has changed completely.

As I drive through the high desert and open landscape I marvel at the colors and vegetation. Marvel at the cliffs near and far. See shapes and images cut by the wind in the rock. People, heads, animals, and in the distance on the horizon castles and fortifications.

I am alone. And I am at peace with myself. Try the radio and find it interfered with my seeing and observing and thinking. Ah the thinking. Of course it leads to the why's and if only's but they do not last long. It is welcoming to be alone. Driving alone. In an alien landscape. I see a car or truck every 30 minutes or hour or so. No one is out there. Nothing is out here.

It is like the landscapes of Westerns from old movies. Sage and mesquite. Endless shades of gray and red rock. I think about what it would be like to ride my horse across this land. I think about what the pioneers and early settlers must have thought about such an undertaking. There are telephone poles with wires. I think of them as the telegraph wires, keeping the old Western illusion going. Untouched landscape.

I am alone. And I am at peace with myself. Slowly the terrain begins to change and pines appear and flowers grow along the road side. And I drive through meadows where there is water. See a few horses. Some cattle. Weather beaten structures. No people.

Start out on huge 4 lane road for first 56 miles, then a 2 lane road for 48 miles, then progressively smaller and narrower roads culminating with gravel and dirt roads not much more than one car wide. I am trusting Celeste, my GPS. Trusting she knows where she is taking me. Trusting I will come out on a paved road. There are occasional houses along the dirt road. But never once do I hesitate with the thought of stopping. I am alone. And I am at peace with myself.

And then I come upon a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains in front of me! And realize I am in the Rockies. And I'm on a Rocky Mountain High!