I am here in Florida - how is that possible?

I am now in Florida. Can't help but laugh and think "How did that happen?" I drove over a thousand miles in Huey (SUV) with my horse trailer filled with all my possessions. My cat in the back seat, a new BFF sharing the driving,. Took three days with two overnights to complete the journey. I shipped the horses—knowing my limitations.

I am happy. I am having fun. I sleep through the night. My life is unlike anything I imagined. Okay I'll admit that it was a fantasy of mine to live on a farm with my horses. But the fantasy didn't look like this—this is way better. I don't know who I am and refuse to look too closely as I am feeling very present—in the moment—here. The new normal is no matter where here is I am home. A startling and poignant concept.

As we crossed into Florida my friend asked me if I had butterflies. And I realized no. And no for the entire journey. This totally continues to confound—that I have metamorphosized into one for whom home is me. Don't seem to need a physical location any longer.

Moving toward move to Florida

The preparation for the move to Florida is progressing. I drove Bobbie (Z3) to New Hampshire a few weeks ago where he will be spending the winter in a friend's barn. With my friend's M6 for company. It was an emotional experience as I drove—top down of course—into the White Mountains that Rob loved so much. Spectacular fall foliage. A fitting place for Bobbie to spend the winter.

I loaded the inside of the car up with my house plants, as the trunk was filled with car cover and battery tender. Slowly divesting myself of possessions, even if it is only for six months. Still a further stripping away of stuff. Feels strange to think of Huey (SUV) as my "only" car.

I am once again reexamining all the physical objects in my life. What do I really need? What do I really want to keep close to me? Sorting through clothes, books, papers, toys, supplies. What do I continue to carry on my back and what to I leave behind?

Have had that imagery of a turtle going on since I cleaned out the house. What I was taking with me then I thought I would be traveling with from place to place. But I have the option to leave some things behind for now. To come back and reintegrate them into my life later.

I am finding the sorting cathartic in some ways. A chance to stop and look around and behind and forward. Things that were so important do not seem so right now. And other things have taken on a renewed intensity.

While not quite the same, the horses loaded up in an huge transport and are on their way to Florida right now. So I am here and they are in transit. Their leaving has created a huge hole that I know will be filled in a few days when we all gather together again. But it does feel strange as slowly things, animals, possessions are stripped away or left behind or sent ahead. I struggle to understand the attachment to inanimate objects while I all to well understand the attachment to living things. My cat Leon is here with me. He is my constant.

There is a closing of my life here, and a beckoning of a new life in Florida. I will be packing up the trailer tomorrow with my stuff, and Leon and I will venture off in Huey on a grand adventure. A friend described it as "an adventure Jamie has been waiting all her whole life for." Wow.

Third Anniversary of Robert's Death

Here I am. And to be honest at this moment I am wondering what all the fuss is about. I am. Fine. Right now. Who knows about later, but in this moment I am fine. I am thinking about my impending move to Florida for the winter. I am not caught up in waves of grief. I am caught up in my future.

Make that MY future. I do not know what it holds but I am clearly moving forward. Making plans and appointments and thinking about what to pack and how. A myriad of things that need to be done before I pack the last bag and close the doors and head out. Trailer needs to be checked out. Bobbie (the Z3) has to get serviced and prepped for his winter storage. Huey (SUV) has to go get an oil change. My cat to the vet, the vet to the horses. Me to the doctor and dentist. Find an accountant, vote, get my will finalized.

I am experiencing a renewed sense of oneness. Of being on my own and feeling comfortable here. Standing on my own two feet - and feeling the earth beneath them - grounded.

Rob's birthday was a month ago. And I got caught up in that and thinking about the coming Anniversary. I experienced a lot of what I will call "Ground Fog" - memories that would envelope me as I drove on familiar roads, past familiar places. Memories that would drift away as I drove through them. I am very pleased to report that the fog has lifted.

I am now looking forward to driving on new roads and making new memories of my own. I will be making these memories driving my own car, my own trailer, with my own horses. At this moment that does not feel scary. And I can laugh when I read that last sentence.

Thin line between life and death

I recently saw a man die. Right in front of me. One moment he was alive and talking and the next....Mark was a highly respected horseman. I went to audit his clinic. I went to be inspired and bring my horse and study with him the next time he was in the area.

It was a weekend clinic and originally I had intended to go on Saturday and watch a good friend with her horse participate. But she had to cancel. And then my enthusiasm waned. On Saturday I allowed other things to occupy me, and found myself dithering about even bothering to attend on Sunday. But Sunday morning I awoke bright and early and decided why not just get in the car and go. I was interested in what he had to say and here he was less than an hour away. Why miss this opportunity?

Arrived at the farm while the first participant was just saddling her horse. Mark came out of the barn and immediately engaged me. What an amazing presence he had. There were no other auditors and seemingly no other riders about just then. He sat down beside me and we chatted and connected while his first rider was getting ready. Then during that first lesson it felt like he was talking to me—explaining what he was doing and what he was feeling from the horse. He made me feel like I was the only person there.

Then on to the next horse and rider. Only she wasn't riding and wanted Mark to ride this horse. Apparently she had been studying with him for some time and he knew her horse. Everything appeared to be so normal. I am describing all this as what came next turned out not to be anything but normal.

He saddled the horse and walked it over to the mounting block. He put his left foot in the stirrup and just barely began to swing his right leg over the horse's back when the horse exploded. Exploded is the only word for the what happened as it was all over.

The body that landed on the ground looked child sized—there was no being, no soul, no energy left. I had a hard time equating what was lying there with the man I had just met and been talking with. Alive he was truly larger than life. And now he was gone.

The speed with which this happened, the unexpectedness of it, and to be confronted by death shook my soul. That this happened around horses—and that horses are—my life, my release, my place of being, my refuge, my solace, my love, my passion. How could I take in what happened and internalize it in such a way that it would not foreshadow my enjoyment of them?

There was no place for me to turn as I was at a facility I did not know, with people I did not know, in a town I did not know. I was alone. Here we are again at that word. Alone. I recognize that at crisis times I want to reach out. To just talk to Robert and share and be held. This is what we did throughout our lives together—shared with each other.

I recognized a need to share what I had witnessed with others. And so I kept telling and retelling the event as I experienced it. Trying to come to terms with what I saw and make sense of it—if such a thing was possible.

My thoughts turned to his wife, who had no idea what had happened. She would be getting a phone call that would say what?!?!? She was a widow and she did not know it yet. I remembered of my time with Rob, and that in the end I sat and watched and waited for a few weeks. Knowing the end was coming just not when. Not sure it makes much of a difference expecting death or having it come out of nowhere. Death is not something you can ever prepare yourself for. Oh you think that knowing it is coming makes it easier. I am not so sure having lived with it hanging over us. In the end death is sudden when it happens, no matter how it happens.

Holidays and Hospitals

The 4th of July Holiday Weekend passed. Before the weekend it hit me hard that this was the 5th year anniversary of Robert's initial surgery. The beginning of the journey that ended with his death 2+ years later. And the trend of "celebrating" Holidays in the Hospital was just then beginning.

After the 4th there was Labor Day and Thanksgiving where I had my turkey dinner with stuffing, mashed potatoes, string beans, and apple pie in the hospital cafeteria. Soon followed by Christmas in that first year. I vaguely remember we got to be home for New Year's, but soon thereafter were back in. There was always something that ended with an emergency room/department/pavilion visit on a holiday.

The next year really wasn't any better. Started with my birthday and moved on through the list of holidays a second time around. And I wonder why I don't relish the holidays. This year I was planning on lots and lots of horse time during the 4th of July Holiday Weekend. Maybe sitting poolside and working to even out my rider's tan. Quiet time spent not remembering.

Not to be. A good friend and old riding buddy told me she was going in for surgery the week before the 4th. The news from that surgery was not good. Cancer. Recovering from surgery she is now facing chemo. Of course I went to see her. During the 4th of July Holiday Weekend. Spent an afternoon in the ICU sitting and visiting.

Looking at all the wires and monitors and equipment and nurses. And bells and interruptions and poking and gathering of information and giving of injections. The memories of all our times in the hospital came flooding back. And of being his advocate against the medical establishment. Standing up for him when he could not.

It was frighteningly familiar. And strange. I felt detached. And found myself discussing with my friend all sorts of medical and patient things. Sigh. Of course it took a few days for this all to filter into my consciousness. In other words it took a few days to it to really hit me. Until one night I find myself sitting in bed with tears streaming down my face. Just when I think its safe to go outside I find it is not.

Learning to be on my own

After my husband of 42 years died I have had to learn how to be on my own. On my very own. Something that I  had never really done as we got married when we were so young and in College. Slowly I have learned to be comfortable with being my own company. Finding what it is to be truly alone—and that it is not about being lonely.

It was this embracing of being on my own that has lead to all sorts of changes. As I have mentioned before when someone calls to invite to dinner my response is when? and where? I have the ability to flexible with my plans. And as in the previous post, take two plus weeks and travel with horse and cat without discussing or accommodating anyone else. It is all about me and what I want to do. And while part of me says at what a high cost, another part is embracing this new "me".

Now after the last 2-1/2 years of living on my very own—I have moved in with a friend, another widow. I am learning how to live with a person again. To see someone at breakfast. To have conversations easily. To talk about plans for the day. To discuss what to have for dinner when we are both "home". Someone to cook for, someone who cooks for me, someone to cook with!

It is all surprisingly easy. I share my friend's house. Have my own rooms. Share communal rooms. We both come and go as we please, having our own friends and activities. But also check in with each other.

And I am still on my own, I just now have a friend to share my day with.

Ongoing Emotional Growth

My fantasy, then dream, then reality of having a truck and trailer to take my horse places hit a road block. I was planning on taking her and my cat to visit a friend in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for a couple of weeks. I got everything organized, pack up the truck including my cat. The truck is filled with kitty stuff, horse stuff, my stuff. Trailer hooked up. All that is left to do is load my mare.

She had other plans however. Not interested in traveling this day, and hence would not load. I am a follower of  Parelli Natural Horsemanship and don't believe in "making" my horse load, she has to want to get on the trailer herself. Spent 2-1/2 hours playing with "It's not about the trailer". And spent 2-1/2 hours letting go of any assumptions I had about traveling this day.

Her life was up. Mine was scattered. She was high headed. I was befuddled. I reached the limits of my horsemanship. I had the "book learning" but not the expertise. It felt like all my horsemanship efforts hit the wall.

And while I am fine with the outcome of not traveling that day, I am left feeling defeated. I know that this is a stepping stone to greater horsemanship. So why am I crying?

Because it is about emotional growth. Stepping over the edge. Facing a threshold. And realizing that for most of my life I have played it safe. Or so it seems to me. But since the death of my husband Robert, I seem to keep pushing and pushing and pushing my limits. And when I hit one of them I collapse inward.

I will get up and dust myself off and go on. But right now I just feel. And feeling hurts. And the only way that I express this latest growth spurt is through tears.

Move.....moving.....moved

Conjugating the verb to move. I am moved. Moved my stuff, moved in, moved on even. It is done, over, finished. Unpacked and everything put away. Not that I necessarily know where everything or maybe it is where anything is. Keep opening drawers to find out what is luring in them. And where did I put that? And where is such and such as I know I brought it and everything is unpacked but where is it?!!?!?

How is this all possible? The moving experience went smoothly. The path that is before me is open and I keep walking it. There have not been any disasters or events or crashes. Again I ask How is this possible? I all to well remember the last move and the move before that. I used to describe myself as a cat - hating change. Moving, even contemplating moving used to throw me into panic. Leaving behind what was familiar and safe and moving into the unknown was scary. But......

Now I seem to be embracing change. I was going to write How is that possible. But it just is. Clearly. More conjugating, to change. I am changed. I have changed. Life is changing. I keep moving forward. The How is that possible reverberates in my head. I did not ever think I would be able to move on, move forward, move beyond Rob's death.

I spent the last few months sorting through everything. Three distinct categories: what I was taking with me into a furnished living situation, what I wanted to hold onto and put into storage, and what I would/could let go of. I went through a lifetime of possessions, handling each one thinking about what it meant to me and deciding if I wanted to keep it close with me, keep it in my life or let it go. I have said it before—the realization that by letting go of an object does not mean letting go of or throwing away or dishonoring the memory. The memory lives on and I found I do not need many of the possessions I had been holding on to.

While driving back to my "old" house to clean up the after mess I realize I have indeed moved out, moved on, moved away. It is no longer "my" house. It is no longer a place I want or need to be. The memories are embedded deeply into my soul—forever. Seared into my soul is a more apt description.

I am different. All the aspects associated with the move are like holding up a mirror to myself that enables me to see—really see and understand—the myriad of changes within me. The move has shown me that I am embracing change. My path is about change and evolving and metamorphosis and transformation. How is that possible?

Step by Step

I am experiencing a surreal time, having taken the step to becoming house-less and unattached to a single location. Letting go. Snowbird. Wait, I hear the Beatles singing Blackbird.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Doors are opening

The trip to Florida opened my eyes to how my living arrangements could be different. I mean I don't have to live in the same place forever. Really?!?! I can move. And that leads to the thought of moving on. Going the way of Snowbird - six months in New England and six months in Florida. Who knew such a thing was possible for me?!?!

I remember after Robert died I wondered if I would stay in the house. The idea of moving was just too overwhelming at that time and I put the thought aside. But the time is right—NOW. I am on a new journey. Walking through a new door. Taking the first step on a new path. Wow!

I started thinking about what this all would mean. And started to explore the logistics in my mind. Trailing Cici and Casey, bringing my cat Leon, moving out of the house, finding a place to live here, finding a place to live there, where would the horses live?

When I think of the house, the mind exercise goes into what do I keep? Where do I store things? What can I let go of? Letting go of stuff. Of physical objects that hold memories. Acknowledge that letting go of an object does not mean letting go of the memory. Or of letting go of Robert. He will be with me always. And I do not need to be surrounded by things to remember him.

With all these thoughts swirling around in my mind, inevitably words begin to leak out. I find myself talking about selling the house and becoming a Snowbird. I am not sure how this will manifest itself but it is so large that conversations ensue.

And one of my good friends says, "Come live with me. I would enjoy having company for six months." And that cements the deal. I now had a "temporary" living arrangement here in the North, next challenge will be to find something in the South. I am through the door.

Rediscovering myself after the death of my husband

I have been saying that I am "reinventing" myself. But that did not feel quite right. Thought about it a while and decided "rediscovering" myself was better. Now I think maybe it is really a matter of "discovering" myself. As my blog says, "Who am I this time?"

Who am I? How perceptive of me in titling this blog. I can truthfully say I do not know the answer yet, but the process of discovery is a wonderful wild ride.

A couple of months ago a friend mentioned she was going to be trailering three of her horses from New Hampshire to Florida. I listened to her debate about when she would leave—sooner or later. The reason really depended on whether she was traveling alone or had a traveling companion. I listened, said nothing, and then drove myself home.

Of course during my trip home I kept thinking why couldn't I go with her? What was holding me back? Why couldn't I just up and go? Another Ah Ha moment. Like the one where a friend invited me to dinner last minute. An Ah Ha moment of acknowledging that I am not tied down. That I can make my own plans at the drop of a hat.

So yes we set off for Florida the following week. Driving from New England to Florida I  encountered places, roads and town names that evoked memories of my life with Rob. My friend and I drove through parts of the country where Rob and I grew up, where we visited family, where we went to see our last client together, where we drove for vacations. As we continued South past these locations, I looked forward to starting to make new memories.

The trip took 4 days from New England to our destination in Florida, with three overnights at barns that had accommodations for horses, dogs and people. My friend made all the arrangements. I had no clue where we would be staying each night. And it did not matter. This is huge because the not knowing used to drive me crazy.

I find I can easily drop into a place where I do not have to be the one making the decisions. I do not have to know what is going to happen next. I can be open to the journey and not worry about the destination. It can take care of itself, and it (the destination) becomes part of the journey filled with new memories.