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.
Monday, July 4, 2016
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.
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.
Friday, June 3, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, March 21, 2016
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?
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?
Monday, February 29, 2016
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.
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.
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.
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
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
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.
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Monday, February 22, 2016
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.
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.
Friday, February 5, 2016
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.
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.
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