Ashes into the Ocean

I flew to Boston for a visit. And to drive to Ogunquit (Maine) to add Rob’s ashes to the ocean as he requested. He was very specific about where, a special cove off Marginal Way, a path we had walked numerous times from Ogunquit Beach to Perkins Cove. Apparently the timing was right for me as I felt purposeful and calm. 

It was low tide and there were people at the water’s edge. I waded into the water and walked around some large rocks so I would not be in sight of the people. Opened the bag and poured the ashes into the ocean. They swirled around me in the water as the gentle waves came and went. And finally dispersed. Peaceful.

I then drove with my friend to the main beach, parked and walked the beach for a while. As Rob and I had done so many times. Ate lunch at one of “our” places and then drove over to Perkins Cove and wandered in and out of shops for a while before heading home. 

I remember thinking about doing this for a long time. Never before felt I could. Now I have. It will be 6 years this September. No tears. Maybe later but I don’t think so. Been saying Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for the dead) every Friday night at services, and thru the High Holidays last year. It changed things. I’ve changed things. I’ve changed. 

The next day I went into Boston to meet an old friend at the MFA. Drive in was a familiar one. And then I was rerouted due to construction through our first neighborhood. And found myself noting places as I drove by: the Theatre Rob studied at, the neighborhood restaurant we ate at (amazingly still there), the T, the colleges. 

On the way back to my friend's house (just around the corner from "our" house) traffic was intense so I exited and took local roads. And where did these roads lead me? Past The Hospital! Then onto the route we took oh so many times to and from said hospital. Again I noted all the associations and memories along the way. Places we liked, places we stopped at, places where the Great Blue Herons rousted. 

All these places no longer had emotional attachments. No overwhelming grief. I could be detached and go through a check list of memories. Like the ashes swirling around my feet in the ocean, observing beautiful patterns. 

Friday Night Services

Been going to Friday night services at a local Synagogue. For maybe something like 6 weeks or so. Not every Friday night but more than not. Found myself searching for a community. Rob was my Jewish community and I needed to reconnect. And I heard about a Wednesday night adult ed/talk series that I have also been going to.

Welcomed very warmly by various women the first time. Learning people's names. Its a small congregation. Have even had a talk with the Rabbi. And now I am finding that I am being introduced. Or finding that the people I have exchanged names with are telling others about me. Have achieved critical mass.

On Wednesday I was introduced to one of the men in the Congregation. "Jamie lives in Williston and has horses". He used to live in Williston and had horses. Horses were his ex's but he also had his own. He showed me pictures of him driving one of his horses. I had left my phone in the car and said on Friday I'd bring it to show him my horses.

When I go to Friday night services I sit on the isle. First it on the left. After several week made the huge move across the isle and sat on the right. But I sit alone. On the isle. Have the whole row to myself.

So Friday comes and he is there and invites me to sit with him. And I show him my photos and he shows me more of his - fish - he photographs fish.

The service starts and he had saved seats for his friends. Now I am sitting 3 seats off the isle. Between people, a couple on my left and he is on my right. And during the service I find reading from the prayer book and listening to him recite the prayers in Hebrew oddly very intimate. Guess how much more intimate can you be with someone than praying to God?

I see in my mind's eye how I have moved "up" in seating. Alone on the isle. Alone first one side then the other. Now sitting next to a man from the congregation. Wonder what the Rabbi thinks! "This one works fast"

At the end of the service we all get up and he goes to talk with his other friends and I am greeted by some of the women I have become friendly with. I wonder what the hell the protocol is. Is this it? Do I talk with him again? And while standing around talking with one of the women he comes over with a plate from the Oneg table and while eating from it offers me my pick from his plate.

My mind's eye is quite busy tonight as I now see the female Cardinal at the bird feeder and the male flying to the ground to select a morsel and flying up to offer it to the female.

My woman friend got lost quickly. He and I talked some more, I'm nibbling from his plate (am I a female Cardinal?) and he introduces me to his friends.

This is all so confusing. I have no point of reference. Unless you count Cardinals and seating plans.

I Survived Hurrican Irma

It's a couple of days after Hurricane Irma. It's a quiet evening. From the sunlight angling over the trees, the blue sky and white clouds that are just starting to blush, it is hard to even consider the devastation that surrounds. Took a drive today and found trees down over the power lines in numerous places, telephone poles snapped and fields that make me think I am living in the lake district. Road closings due to water. Forget Lake District, am I living in the Everglades?

It is quiet. Bill & Claudia have gone off to spend the night at a friend who has electricity and running water. Guess you can figure that we don't have those here. There is a generator but it is only run occasionally each day with time to take a cold water shower. Boy am I getting fast in those showers.

I can hear crickets chipping, birds singing and not much else. I am alone on a farm of 50 acres. Looking out the windows I can see my horses, along with the rest of the herd. My cat is curled up asleep in the bed. It is peaceful and I realize that so am I. Still surprised when I stop to think for a moment that alone is fine.

The quiet is after the last two days of chain saws and dragging branches to burn piles. Huge bonfires consuming all that is offered. Feeding the fire—as I offered each branch or log or pile of Spanish Moss I felt that I was making an offering to a hungry beast who consumed all.

After days of hype and hysteria of the weather forecasters. Discussing what track the Hurricane would take. East? West? Up the middle? Waiting its arrival. The day of calm before the storm. Intensifying rain and winds. And then it struck at midnight. Howling winds and pelting rain. My horses were out in the field. I could not see them in the dark. Hoped their instincts would keep them safe.

In the morning the Hurricane was still waging its battle. When it was light enough to look I saw they were in their normal morning position, by the feed pens! They made it! I made it!

I take each challenge and examine how I handle it. Acknowledge my personal growth. Admit to noting how strange it is to feel so comfortable with myself. I am getting acquainted as I was never really "on my own" before. Left home for college, and then quickly moved in with Robert, who became my husband for the next 42 years. Then he died, leaving on my own. So through no choice of mine I found myself needing to get to know myself. No buffers, no companions, no options.

x

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?

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.

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.