When I set out on this journey, thinking that I was going to be traveling every six months I sorted my possessions into two piles. What I was going to be carrying around "on my back" back and forth; and stuff that would someday be reunited with me. This last category got put into a storage facility and has been there for more than two years.
I moved into a furnished apartment here in Florida. It has everything. And I brought all my office/work stuff with me so I was able to set up my businesses. Over the last two years as I've settled in, I found myself purchasing things that filled the need to have my own stuff.
Continually I thought of what I had stored back in Massachusetts. Of course I did, I was writing a check each and every month to the storage facility! As time has passed, even with feeling settled here, I also felt that I had possessions scattered at the ends of the East Coast. And finally decided it was time to bring everything home.
I worked hard to get the stuff here. And its been exhausting both physically and emotionally to once again go through it all and fit it into my living space. Some things like books and art and pottery and toys and baskets and decorative art items have a new home on book shelves, table tops and window sills. I've removed some furniture from the furnished apartment and replaced them with the few items I had kept. I stripped the kitchen of all that was here and eagerly put my kitchen back together.
However even with the joy of welcoming some objects, there are emotional surprises with others. I cried and sobbed as I sat and rocked in a golden oak rocking chair I lovingly placed in my bedroom. The memories of rocking in it while we talked were overwhelming.
Some of what I've unpacked belonged to Robert. Small objects that he treasured. I could not let go of them before and I look at them now and struggle to figure out what to do with them. They meant a lot to him. But not necessarily to me. But the fact that they did to him creates a quandary within me. I think I get caught up in an intellectual mind debate. A very effective way to avoid the emotional impact of each piece. So I've put them aside, away, out of sight to be dealt with at some later time.
Everything has its new place, either on display or put away. I feel a sense of accomplishment and completion—all my possessions are with me. And I also am engulfed in grief and tears.
Watching TV I am crying. Sitting at my computer I'm crying. Going out into the field to play with my horse I am crying. My universe has been disrupted. There is a tear in the space time continuum. The physical objects that were stored have a different energy from whom I am now. They still vibrate with Robert. They still vibrate with us.
My thoughts are filled with Rob and our life together. The memories are overwhelming at times. I struggle to hold on to the me that I have become. The one who packed up all that stuff and drove 1500 miles to a place I had only visited briefly.
Showing posts with label grieving a husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grieving a husband. Show all posts
Monday, August 27, 2018
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Another Milestone Another Wedding Anniversary
Last week was another of those milestones. Wedding Anniversary. Can't figure out how to look at it. Do I still count how many years it would have been? Or do I just look at the date and say we had 42 years and the counting ends. Of course that approach reinforces the finality of death.
Why am I babbling about this? Comes back to what I have written before. Why are there these Anniversaries and what do I do with them? Are they emotional mind-fields? Or with the passage of time have they become non-events?
I watched the marked date loom on my calendar. Saw it get closer. Wondered if I needed to plan something to distract myself as I had done in the earlier years. This is the 4th Wedding Anniversary without Rob. No wait, I think my counting is off. Is it the 5th?!?! Is this a good thing that I can't remember or figure it out? Do I want/need to really definitely know?
I remember when numbers were all I had. And I held so tightly to them. They have floated away, something I did not think was possible. And here I find that I can't and don't want to nail down this number.
The Anniversary passed uneventfully. Not even a blimp...that day. The following weekend I went to an exhibit at a local art museum on the History of the Guitar—a fabulous exhibit of ancient and modern guitars. Acoustic and electric. They even showcased an "Air Guitar" (the curator has a sense of humor). I wandered thru the galleries thinking how much Robert would have enjoyed this exhibit.
Afterwards I attended a lecture and performance that complemented the exhibit. They were given by a professor who is also a classical guitarist. When he sat down and started to play his guitar tears flowed down my face. The music was indeed heavenly but it invoked my loss and yearning. I went to the lecture alone. I now do lots of things on my own. But I wanted to be sharing this moment with Robert. He played the guitar and I believe he would have loved hearing this music.
I realized as the tears were running down my face I could have stopped them. The emotions were not overpowering, they just were. I could have shifted my feelings and thoughts. But I remembered something I recently told a new widow—"Defend your grief. Embrace it." So I took my own advice to heart and let the tears flow.
Why am I babbling about this? Comes back to what I have written before. Why are there these Anniversaries and what do I do with them? Are they emotional mind-fields? Or with the passage of time have they become non-events?
I watched the marked date loom on my calendar. Saw it get closer. Wondered if I needed to plan something to distract myself as I had done in the earlier years. This is the 4th Wedding Anniversary without Rob. No wait, I think my counting is off. Is it the 5th?!?! Is this a good thing that I can't remember or figure it out? Do I want/need to really definitely know?
I remember when numbers were all I had. And I held so tightly to them. They have floated away, something I did not think was possible. And here I find that I can't and don't want to nail down this number.
The Anniversary passed uneventfully. Not even a blimp...that day. The following weekend I went to an exhibit at a local art museum on the History of the Guitar—a fabulous exhibit of ancient and modern guitars. Acoustic and electric. They even showcased an "Air Guitar" (the curator has a sense of humor). I wandered thru the galleries thinking how much Robert would have enjoyed this exhibit.
Afterwards I attended a lecture and performance that complemented the exhibit. They were given by a professor who is also a classical guitarist. When he sat down and started to play his guitar tears flowed down my face. The music was indeed heavenly but it invoked my loss and yearning. I went to the lecture alone. I now do lots of things on my own. But I wanted to be sharing this moment with Robert. He played the guitar and I believe he would have loved hearing this music.
I realized as the tears were running down my face I could have stopped them. The emotions were not overpowering, they just were. I could have shifted my feelings and thoughts. But I remembered something I recently told a new widow—"Defend your grief. Embrace it." So I took my own advice to heart and let the tears flow.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Did I run away or run towards?
I sometimes wonder if my move to Florida was running away. Away for the every present memories. Away from what was familiar. Away from sights that we had experienced together for so many years.
Or was it a running to a place where I could start afresh. Make new memories. Own my decisions. Drive my line so to speak.
And just when I really start to own my line, I find that I'm back on the knife's edge of a cliff. One little misstep and I'm tumbling down the side of the mountain.
My friend's horse is colicing. Going on the second day. Prognosis is not great. Looking more and more like an impaction, blocked intestines. The vet came out and put in a nasal gastric tube. An NG tube. Rob died of an intestinal blockage. He had an NG tube in for over a year. Seeing that NG tube in the horse and having my inner voice say "NG tube" was just too much. It all comes flooding back so quickly and completely. I miss him. I ache for him. And the tears are flowing.
Or was it a running to a place where I could start afresh. Make new memories. Own my decisions. Drive my line so to speak.
And just when I really start to own my line, I find that I'm back on the knife's edge of a cliff. One little misstep and I'm tumbling down the side of the mountain.
My friend's horse is colicing. Going on the second day. Prognosis is not great. Looking more and more like an impaction, blocked intestines. The vet came out and put in a nasal gastric tube. An NG tube. Rob died of an intestinal blockage. He had an NG tube in for over a year. Seeing that NG tube in the horse and having my inner voice say "NG tube" was just too much. It all comes flooding back so quickly and completely. I miss him. I ache for him. And the tears are flowing.
Monday, January 1, 2018
4 Years and Counting....Happy New Year?
The 4th Anniversary of Rob's death has come and gone. And now it is New Year's Day 2018. A time to look back and remember the good times, the fun times. Focus on the times of joy and laughter and let go of the questionable ones. The sadness is dropping away. Not saying I do not still miss him, but much as I absolutely hate to admit it time has helped quell the intensity.
I sailed through the Anniversary, and thought I was home free. Ha! I was sick one night with a stomach bug. Up all night and railed against being alone, with no one to hold my hand, to talk to. Cried at the injustice of it. How could Robert have left me?
The Holidays also hit harder than I anticipated. Okay how can one anticipate grief? And it was not the holidays per se that caught me unawares. It is always the little things. Things I don't even give a second thought to. Wondering what? How about the taste of turkey? Someone handing me a glass of cheer? Pulling the Scotch tape to wrap a present? Hearing a piece of music? The weather turning cold?
I was recently contacted by a very very newly minted widow. I could acutely feel her pain and instantly remember what it was like. I also recognize how far I've come. That my life has indeed gone on and I am still standing. Not something I thought possible 4 years ago.
So since it is New Year's day and "we" are supposed to look back, as well as forward, I continue the wonder of finding myself in a new state—my body (as in now living in Florida) and my psyche. As far as looking forward, I will stay with one moment at a time.
I sailed through the Anniversary, and thought I was home free. Ha! I was sick one night with a stomach bug. Up all night and railed against being alone, with no one to hold my hand, to talk to. Cried at the injustice of it. How could Robert have left me?
The Holidays also hit harder than I anticipated. Okay how can one anticipate grief? And it was not the holidays per se that caught me unawares. It is always the little things. Things I don't even give a second thought to. Wondering what? How about the taste of turkey? Someone handing me a glass of cheer? Pulling the Scotch tape to wrap a present? Hearing a piece of music? The weather turning cold?
I was recently contacted by a very very newly minted widow. I could acutely feel her pain and instantly remember what it was like. I also recognize how far I've come. That my life has indeed gone on and I am still standing. Not something I thought possible 4 years ago.
So since it is New Year's day and "we" are supposed to look back, as well as forward, I continue the wonder of finding myself in a new state—my body (as in now living in Florida) and my psyche. As far as looking forward, I will stay with one moment at a time.
Monday, February 13, 2017
It is my birthday - Number 4 after the death of my husband
I had one of the best Birthday's today in a long long time. Started out with Bill singing Happy Birthday to me in the barn. And progressed with lots more singing, and laughter, and sharing. Thank you Claudia for insisting and planning this special occasion with three other new girl friends.
An adventure—to explore a wonderful small town along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. Lunch at a restaurant on the water with a very narrow deck jutting out over the water with gulls and pelicans and I think skimmers flying under, over and around us. The water stretched out flat, no waves, to the horizon. The sun was shining. We sat in the shade of an umbrella on this deck and ate steamed clams. And these new friends insisted the waitress put a candle in one of the grilled shrimp topping my salad.
After lunch a leisurely stroll through the town's history museum and then in and out of small quaint shops. This was totally unlike any Birthday I've ever had. I chose to stay in the moment, in the here and now, and take in all the wonder and friendship and love. And not dwell in the past and what was. This Birthday's differences serves as a vivid reminder of how far I have come.
An adventure—to explore a wonderful small town along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. Lunch at a restaurant on the water with a very narrow deck jutting out over the water with gulls and pelicans and I think skimmers flying under, over and around us. The water stretched out flat, no waves, to the horizon. The sun was shining. We sat in the shade of an umbrella on this deck and ate steamed clams. And these new friends insisted the waitress put a candle in one of the grilled shrimp topping my salad.
After lunch a leisurely stroll through the town's history museum and then in and out of small quaint shops. This was totally unlike any Birthday I've ever had. I chose to stay in the moment, in the here and now, and take in all the wonder and friendship and love. And not dwell in the past and what was. This Birthday's differences serves as a vivid reminder of how far I have come.
Monday, January 30, 2017
There is no question—I have arrived
I am home. Being in the place where my horses are just outside my windows has brought a feeling of peace and completion. This is where I am meant to be. Right here. The fields wrap around the house so no matter where I am inside I look outside and see my horses, hear my horses; and I drop everything and go outside and play with my horses.
Through my horses new friendships abound, as it is the horses that brought me to this place of wonder. And these new connections are leading to new business opportunities. Thank you Robert for insisting we shift our marketing business to serve the needs of the horse and equestrian community.
I have always known of the healing powers of horses. After Rob died it was my mare Cici who kept me going and saw me through the darkest times. And my mini Casey kept up his antics to keep me laughing. As the healing progressed and I could begin to look forward I realized I wanted to focus on my horsemanship in a way that had not been possible before. And once again through horse connections, I found my way here.
My days and nights are spent playing with my horses, promoting horse businesses, visiting with horsey friends. We go to horse events, watch horse movies. It is "All about the horse, the horse, the horse" (with apologies to Megan Trainor).
Through my horses new friendships abound, as it is the horses that brought me to this place of wonder. And these new connections are leading to new business opportunities. Thank you Robert for insisting we shift our marketing business to serve the needs of the horse and equestrian community.
I have always known of the healing powers of horses. After Rob died it was my mare Cici who kept me going and saw me through the darkest times. And my mini Casey kept up his antics to keep me laughing. As the healing progressed and I could begin to look forward I realized I wanted to focus on my horsemanship in a way that had not been possible before. And once again through horse connections, I found my way here.
My days and nights are spent playing with my horses, promoting horse businesses, visiting with horsey friends. We go to horse events, watch horse movies. It is "All about the horse, the horse, the horse" (with apologies to Megan Trainor).
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Uncle Walt (Disney) was right
I am finding Florida to be a totally new state of mind. I was here less than two weeks and got a new client—the former Cavalia star and trainer who has a farm nearby and was in need of marketing. Through her I met a new friend who introduced to another friend who invited me to a barn opening party. This other new friend just finished building her dream barn and was throwing a party. Think big barn raising. And she was flying in a country band from Las Vegas she knew from her corporate travels.
Even though the party was over an hour away, in a place I had to trust Celeste, my GPS, to get me to, at night in the dark, I was up for it. Once at this new amazing Florida style barn as I was looking over the people there, I noticed a man dressed in black with black cowboy hat. Rolling my eyes I thought really? a Tim McGraw wannabe!
The band started playing and new friend of friend rushed through the crowd to announce that Tim McGraw was going to sing. Surprise guest! I mean where else does this happen?!?!?!
Yet another new friend invited a couple of us to his house to hear and hopefully see Barn Owls and Great Horned Owls that hangout in the trees around his house. Saw a pair of Great Horned Owls sitting in the tree. Then one flew on top of the other and mated. Really?
I have been working hard for my new client, and my existing ones. I have been making new friends and seeing new things. I took a riding lesson something I have not done in years. And have schedule weekly ones for the foreseeable future. I trailered my horse and a friend's horse to said riding lesson. And didn't hyperventilate when friend was late, or when my horse did not immediately load. I am beyond learning how to just be. I am. Who knew?
Even though the party was over an hour away, in a place I had to trust Celeste, my GPS, to get me to, at night in the dark, I was up for it. Once at this new amazing Florida style barn as I was looking over the people there, I noticed a man dressed in black with black cowboy hat. Rolling my eyes I thought really? a Tim McGraw wannabe!
The band started playing and new friend of friend rushed through the crowd to announce that Tim McGraw was going to sing. Surprise guest! I mean where else does this happen?!?!?!
Yet another new friend invited a couple of us to his house to hear and hopefully see Barn Owls and Great Horned Owls that hangout in the trees around his house. Saw a pair of Great Horned Owls sitting in the tree. Then one flew on top of the other and mated. Really?
I have been working hard for my new client, and my existing ones. I have been making new friends and seeing new things. I took a riding lesson something I have not done in years. And have schedule weekly ones for the foreseeable future. I trailered my horse and a friend's horse to said riding lesson. And didn't hyperventilate when friend was late, or when my horse did not immediately load. I am beyond learning how to just be. I am. Who knew?
Saturday, January 7, 2017
Color is seeping back into my life.
Years ago Rob shared with me a cartoon of a woman dressed in yellow jumping over a fire. The caption was about burning her black clothes. I chuckled at it but thought that would never be me. I loved my black-wear. I had/have black jeans, Ts, turtlenecks, sweaters, coats, scarfs, blouses, pants, jackets, purses, shoes, boots, gloves, hats. I mean with black you are always fashionable, chic, look slimmer, everything matches. Was I mourning and didn't know it? And the black-wear certainly got me through the real mourning, not that anyone noticed any difference in my wardrobe.
Maybe black-wear is a northern latitude clothing attitude. Because here in Florida I feel very different about my black-wear. Oh I still wear it—because it is what I have—but it doesn't feel right any longer. In my first act of jumping over that fire I purchased a RED purse. And I now am the proud owner of a pair of multicolored stripped ribbon shoes. The metamorphosis is certainly manifesting itself in very colorful surprising ways.
Maybe black-wear is a northern latitude clothing attitude. Because here in Florida I feel very different about my black-wear. Oh I still wear it—because it is what I have—but it doesn't feel right any longer. In my first act of jumping over that fire I purchased a RED purse. And I now am the proud owner of a pair of multicolored stripped ribbon shoes. The metamorphosis is certainly manifesting itself in very colorful surprising ways.
Monday, November 28, 2016
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.
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Moving toward move to Florida
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.
Monday, September 26, 2016
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.
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.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, July 4, 2016
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
In the middle of time
I am in the middle of time—two weeks ago was Rob's Birthday and in two weeks is the Second Anniversary of his Death. Tears flow more frequently once again. I encounter memories wherever I turn. And I am seeing my gradual evolution.
Off to the feed and grain store (doesn't everyone?) and then go check out a different supermarket than the one on my usual route. Plug address into Celeste (my GPS) and I am off. Find myself marveling that I am on roads I do not believe I have ever driven on. I am on an adventure in my own backyard! In the past I would have gotten anxious about not knowing where I was, exactly. But now it does not seem to matter.
So I fly high and then hit turbulence. I am not familiar with this new supermarket and therefore don't know the isles and shelves to avoid. Ever think about what a mind (yes mind) field supermarkets become after your husband dies? Items you picked up just for him. Items he asked for. Items that were all he could eat. Numerous small explosions.
Plotting my own back roads route for my way home, I have the thought, "I can take the route home from the hospital." Home from the hospital offers up overwhelming images of that last trip almost exactly two years ago. Do all my back roads only lead from or to the hospital?
I understand that this is an emotionally charged time. And I am trying to keep an awareness of what is the same, what is different—what are memories. One change I want to acknowledge is that I have taken off my wedding band. I did not think I would ever do this. But I have a new ring to wear on my left hand now. A cigar band style ring with, of course, a horse on it. I am horse. Was going to say that I am becoming horse, but that is so passé . I am horse.
Maybe that is part of the ongoing transformation. Another difference is that I am slowly migrating back to using my maiden name. It feels right in the acknowledgement of all that has changed and the who am I this time. This middle of time space is turning into a place of experimentation. Trying different things on for size. Seeing what fits.
It is almost Rosh Hashanah. And that was when "we" went into the hospital for the last time. In 2013 Rosh Hashana fell on September 5th. I think of the first week as letting the reality sink in and the rush of visitors. Week Two was a transition week as the inevitability of the reality sank in. And Week Three was the end. We had 21 days.
One moment I am fearless flying to new heights and the next I am crashing and burning...ah welcome back Roller Coaster. But the ride is not as harrowing as in the past. It has leveled out and the drops do not last that long, and are no where as intense. The Roller Coaster is now just a reminder.
Off to the feed and grain store (doesn't everyone?) and then go check out a different supermarket than the one on my usual route. Plug address into Celeste (my GPS) and I am off. Find myself marveling that I am on roads I do not believe I have ever driven on. I am on an adventure in my own backyard! In the past I would have gotten anxious about not knowing where I was, exactly. But now it does not seem to matter.
So I fly high and then hit turbulence. I am not familiar with this new supermarket and therefore don't know the isles and shelves to avoid. Ever think about what a mind (yes mind) field supermarkets become after your husband dies? Items you picked up just for him. Items he asked for. Items that were all he could eat. Numerous small explosions.
Plotting my own back roads route for my way home, I have the thought, "I can take the route home from the hospital." Home from the hospital offers up overwhelming images of that last trip almost exactly two years ago. Do all my back roads only lead from or to the hospital?
I understand that this is an emotionally charged time. And I am trying to keep an awareness of what is the same, what is different—what are memories. One change I want to acknowledge is that I have taken off my wedding band. I did not think I would ever do this. But I have a new ring to wear on my left hand now. A cigar band style ring with, of course, a horse on it. I am horse. Was going to say that I am becoming horse, but that is so passé . I am horse.
Maybe that is part of the ongoing transformation. Another difference is that I am slowly migrating back to using my maiden name. It feels right in the acknowledgement of all that has changed and the who am I this time. This middle of time space is turning into a place of experimentation. Trying different things on for size. Seeing what fits.
It is almost Rosh Hashanah. And that was when "we" went into the hospital for the last time. In 2013 Rosh Hashana fell on September 5th. I think of the first week as letting the reality sink in and the rush of visitors. Week Two was a transition week as the inevitability of the reality sank in. And Week Three was the end. We had 21 days.
One moment I am fearless flying to new heights and the next I am crashing and burning...ah welcome back Roller Coaster. But the ride is not as harrowing as in the past. It has leveled out and the drops do not last that long, and are no where as intense. The Roller Coaster is now just a reminder.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Life After Death
I never thought I would be saying this, but there is indeed life after death....life for me after the death of my husband. What better metaphor than my truck and now new horse trailer. I am going places I have never been. I am doing things I have never done. I am experiencing life as I have never before.
I am comfortable with "being only one". I do not have to check with anyone. I make my own decisions. A friend calls at 5:30 to ask if I want to go to dinner. When? and where? Another friend invites me to go camping with her. I have not camped in I can't remember how many years. But why not? There is nothing holding me back from saying yes. And yes I do go camping.
This does not mean I don't miss Rob. Or that I don't cry. It does not mean that I don't have times when everything seems totally overwhelming. It simply means that I am embracing the new path I am on. I am well aware that my journey to find "Who am I this time" is very much a work in progress. And I am open to exploring and searching and seeing what comes my way.
I am experiencing a huge paradigm shift. It is evolving and revealing itself bit by bit. Focusing moment by moment is all I can do.
I am comfortable with "being only one". I do not have to check with anyone. I make my own decisions. A friend calls at 5:30 to ask if I want to go to dinner. When? and where? Another friend invites me to go camping with her. I have not camped in I can't remember how many years. But why not? There is nothing holding me back from saying yes. And yes I do go camping.
This does not mean I don't miss Rob. Or that I don't cry. It does not mean that I don't have times when everything seems totally overwhelming. It simply means that I am embracing the new path I am on. I am well aware that my journey to find "Who am I this time" is very much a work in progress. And I am open to exploring and searching and seeing what comes my way.
I am experiencing a huge paradigm shift. It is evolving and revealing itself bit by bit. Focusing moment by moment is all I can do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)