Wedging. A procedure for preparing clay or a clay body by hand:
the lump of clay is repeatedly thrown down on a work bench; between each
operation the lump is turned and sometimes cut through and rejoined in a
different orientation.
I am that lump of clay that is being pulled and kneaded and pounded. I have no idea who I am right now. And certainly no idea of who I will become. But if this experience (I refuse to use process) has taught me one thing, it is to not look too far ahead. Focus on the moment now, and leave the later to deal with itself.
Some recent experiences that I find inexplicable!
#1
I am at a riding clinic with my horse 150 miles from home. The woman who trailered my horse comes into the lounge at the barn hysterical. She and her husband had a fight and he has taken the truck. She texted him asking where he was, and he said just about at I-93. She interprets this as he is leaving and driving home. So she is wailing about how could he?!?! and how was she supposed to get her horse home?!?!
My inner dialog goes like this,"Hell her husband is alive. So they had a fight. What's the big deal? They can choose what they want to do. Mine is dead." And I was amazed to find that I had absolutely no compassion for her. Huh? And more to the point, here I am sitting 150 miles away from home with my horse and apparently no way to get back. And I am not hyper ventilating or worrying about how am I going to get Cici home. I am completely dispassionate. Detached. I am completely aware that this was not normal. Well not the old normal.
#2
Drive 300 miles to meet a friend at a trade show. She made the hotel reservations. Great, one less thing for me to deal with. After the show she drives to where she thought the place was, as well as putting the address in her GPS. We drive 15 minutes in one direction (on a highway) and are directed to take a cloverleaf and change direction and drive now for 45 minutes in the other direction.
Following the GPS instructions we finally arrive in a small town that is completely shuttered—it is almost 9:30 PM. When we pull up to the motel—lets just say in the past I would have immediately dissolved into a anxiety attack, "Oh no I could not possibly stay here!" My friend and I look at each other as she drives in. She parks, locks all the doors in the car and pulls out her phone to call and cancel the reservation and make a new one. We never get out of the car. And by midnight are tucked safely into our new motel. And I find this all—well again the new normal.
#3
Driving home after three days of trade show, I hit the wall of exhaustion. In the past I would have pushed through it, continued to drive, Rob was home waiting for me. I was going home to Rob. This time I pull off at the next service area, put my seat back to recline, lock the doors, and take a cat nap! And continue the drive home refreshed.
#4
At the barn several people have left and a new crop of people are going to be moving their horses in. I recognize that I have no control over who is coming and what life will be like with the new people and horses. I can let go and leave the details to the universe.
These are examples of the changes I am aware of in myself. I don't understand, I don't know where or how or why. I have no choice but to embrace them.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Once again my world has shifted after the death of my husband
Some thing has changed. My world has shifted. I have turned a corner. Most likely I am at the crest of the roller coaster. I will continue to hang on tight...but right now it feels pretty darn amazing. And the views....
It started when I found a few odds and ends from the Z3. Items that Robert had replaced, but kept the original parts. Can't just throw them away. So I contacted a Z3 group he used to belong to. An online group. The founder of the group, Rachel, responded to my email asking if I was talking about Robert 5 degrees. Huh?!?!!? She quickly shared, "You see when Robert introduced himself for Fixit Day 2003, he wrote: 'I love this car!! Bought it and drove home on a 5 DEGREE F. day.' Thus, Robert 5°. And you are Jamie 5°!"
What a welcome, especially as it brought back a flood of memories. Helped along with links from Rachel with photos. And comments Rob wrote to go along with the photos. Warm, funny, laughing, memories. Driving and meeting people. Exploring. Driving with the top down. Driving with the top down and heater turned on high. Driving with the top down and the A/C on cold. Driving. Laughing. Smiling.
I was fortified by this to go through more bins and boxes. Ready to make a further dent in the piles of stuff. To realize I don't have to hold on so tight. That he will always be with me. And I can start to let go. That this is my life. Mine. Alone. And say that and not be overwhelmed with grief and tears.
I even took on his computer. Had the presence of mind to recognize that a large part of my reluctance to even open it was the image he had as his background. A photo he had taken. A photo that I saw every time I sat with him and he opened his laptop. I could change it! This never had occurred to me before. There is movement. I am perceiving things differently.
Reset the background to the generic blue screen. Just like my laptop. And I began the process of going through his files and deleting what was not important to me. Any longer. Like going through the physical items he left behind. Now I'm venturing into the electronic. Even found myself thinking about using his laptop as my travel one. Thinking about it, not there yet, but thinking about it.
In a couple of weeks it will be his birthday, and then two days later the 11 month anniversary and then and then and then. At this moment I can believe I might just make it. And I also know that the roller coaster can easily change course. So I will embrace what I am experiencing at this moment. Hope.
It started when I found a few odds and ends from the Z3. Items that Robert had replaced, but kept the original parts. Can't just throw them away. So I contacted a Z3 group he used to belong to. An online group. The founder of the group, Rachel, responded to my email asking if I was talking about Robert 5 degrees. Huh?!?!!? She quickly shared, "You see when Robert introduced himself for Fixit Day 2003, he wrote: 'I love this car!! Bought it and drove home on a 5 DEGREE F. day.' Thus, Robert 5°. And you are Jamie 5°!"
What a welcome, especially as it brought back a flood of memories. Helped along with links from Rachel with photos. And comments Rob wrote to go along with the photos. Warm, funny, laughing, memories. Driving and meeting people. Exploring. Driving with the top down. Driving with the top down and heater turned on high. Driving with the top down and the A/C on cold. Driving. Laughing. Smiling.
I was fortified by this to go through more bins and boxes. Ready to make a further dent in the piles of stuff. To realize I don't have to hold on so tight. That he will always be with me. And I can start to let go. That this is my life. Mine. Alone. And say that and not be overwhelmed with grief and tears.
I even took on his computer. Had the presence of mind to recognize that a large part of my reluctance to even open it was the image he had as his background. A photo he had taken. A photo that I saw every time I sat with him and he opened his laptop. I could change it! This never had occurred to me before. There is movement. I am perceiving things differently.
Reset the background to the generic blue screen. Just like my laptop. And I began the process of going through his files and deleting what was not important to me. Any longer. Like going through the physical items he left behind. Now I'm venturing into the electronic. Even found myself thinking about using his laptop as my travel one. Thinking about it, not there yet, but thinking about it.
In a couple of weeks it will be his birthday, and then two days later the 11 month anniversary and then and then and then. At this moment I can believe I might just make it. And I also know that the roller coaster can easily change course. So I will embrace what I am experiencing at this moment. Hope.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Moving into a World of Stark Contrasts After the Death of My Husband
I have not posted in a while as I am trying to sort out my feelings. Trying to find the words. How do I describe or explain what I have been going through? The highs have been amazing. I can be "out there". But the lows mirror the highs with their intensity. Moving into a world of stark contrasts.
Traveled to a horsemanship clinic which involved having my horse trailered by a new friend, as I do not yet (notice the yet) own a truck and trailer. Stayed for 5 days and 4 nights. Horsemanship Heaven. I talked about Rob. I talked about widowhood. I did Tai Chi each morning overlooking the mountains where we used to go for a yearly Tai Chi Camp. I cried during my Tai Chi as I felt the energy of the mountains and Robert fill me. And I played with my horse and danced. And found I could be whole. And found I could be shattered.
When I came home I felt like I was walking in a fog. Sleep walking. Everything was distant and muffled. All I really wanted to do was sleep. And cry. It took three full days to come back into myself, as I now realize how far out of myself I was.
I am okay one moment. And then the next I think of something. Something we did together, something Rob loved. Something. Anything. Everything. And dissolve into tears. And the Reality hits. Each time is like the first time. That this is it. That he is never coming back. That I.....
That I am on my own. This it might not seem like such a big deal. But cliche'd as it sounds...it was always us against the world. We were supposed to grow old together.
Today has been one of those days that keeps just going on and on and on. I did a lot of different things today. Busy things to try and make the hands of the clock move. Did not work. After being on the computer, sewing, reading the paper, emptying the litter box, napping, going to the barn, making meals, more computer work, I finally went into Rob's room to see if I could go through one box. Well one lead to another and another. Clothes, books and papers. And I found these type written poems from long ago. And feel joy at his words, and despair at the loss—both at the same time.
The Impasse Jamie
Alone, the two of us. She rested her elbow
The moon through dark trees. on my knee, as if
The lake beyond sparkling. it were the most natural
You, all drawn in, waiting. thing in the world.
I unknowing, afraid, yearning.
It was.
Alone, the two of us.
My lips brush the hair Astonished then,
On the back of your neck. in the Spring long ago,
I am astonished still.
All is still.
Traveled to a horsemanship clinic which involved having my horse trailered by a new friend, as I do not yet (notice the yet) own a truck and trailer. Stayed for 5 days and 4 nights. Horsemanship Heaven. I talked about Rob. I talked about widowhood. I did Tai Chi each morning overlooking the mountains where we used to go for a yearly Tai Chi Camp. I cried during my Tai Chi as I felt the energy of the mountains and Robert fill me. And I played with my horse and danced. And found I could be whole. And found I could be shattered.
When I came home I felt like I was walking in a fog. Sleep walking. Everything was distant and muffled. All I really wanted to do was sleep. And cry. It took three full days to come back into myself, as I now realize how far out of myself I was.
I am okay one moment. And then the next I think of something. Something we did together, something Rob loved. Something. Anything. Everything. And dissolve into tears. And the Reality hits. Each time is like the first time. That this is it. That he is never coming back. That I.....
That I am on my own. This it might not seem like such a big deal. But cliche'd as it sounds...it was always us against the world. We were supposed to grow old together.
Today has been one of those days that keeps just going on and on and on. I did a lot of different things today. Busy things to try and make the hands of the clock move. Did not work. After being on the computer, sewing, reading the paper, emptying the litter box, napping, going to the barn, making meals, more computer work, I finally went into Rob's room to see if I could go through one box. Well one lead to another and another. Clothes, books and papers. And I found these type written poems from long ago. And feel joy at his words, and despair at the loss—both at the same time.
The Impasse Jamie
Alone, the two of us. She rested her elbow
The moon through dark trees. on my knee, as if
The lake beyond sparkling. it were the most natural
You, all drawn in, waiting. thing in the world.
I unknowing, afraid, yearning.
It was.
Alone, the two of us.
My lips brush the hair Astonished then,
On the back of your neck. in the Spring long ago,
I am astonished still.
All is still.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Countdown to the First Anniversary of My Husband's Death
Time keeps marching on—relentlessly. Passed nine months, and half way
to ten months. I feel like I am in a Space Shuttle launch countdown
sequence. Inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable, no turning back. At any moment the solid rocket
boosters will fire up.
But wait a moment. Maybe they already have and that's why I am feeling so much again. Once, again and again and again and again, its the littlest things that dissolve me into grief. I thought the One Year Anniversary was The Event. But like everything else I've experienced, endured, gone through, participated (willingly or unwillingly) in I never really have the dual awareness of being in the moment and looking back. Is The Event the passage of time?
Surprise! The Space Shuttle has cleared the tower. Well that certainly accounts for the roaring in my ears and the earth rattling shaking. It accounts for feeling the g-force pinning me to my seat.
I've seen, read and hear it. The grief culture, the books, the counselors. Everything heralds the same line. First year is the hardest. The First Anniversary of His Death. A landmark. But then what?!?!
I have wondered for the longest time if I will be transported through a portal at the First Year Anniversary. I mean will I wake up the day after and find life. Find everything changed? I now see at the First Year Anniversary I will be in free fall. Zero Gravity.
But wait a moment. Maybe they already have and that's why I am feeling so much again. Once, again and again and again and again, its the littlest things that dissolve me into grief. I thought the One Year Anniversary was The Event. But like everything else I've experienced, endured, gone through, participated (willingly or unwillingly) in I never really have the dual awareness of being in the moment and looking back. Is The Event the passage of time?
Surprise! The Space Shuttle has cleared the tower. Well that certainly accounts for the roaring in my ears and the earth rattling shaking. It accounts for feeling the g-force pinning me to my seat.
I've seen, read and hear it. The grief culture, the books, the counselors. Everything heralds the same line. First year is the hardest. The First Anniversary of His Death. A landmark. But then what?!?!
I have wondered for the longest time if I will be transported through a portal at the First Year Anniversary. I mean will I wake up the day after and find life. Find everything changed? I now see at the First Year Anniversary I will be in free fall. Zero Gravity.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Dreaming to action. Letting go of pieces of the past.
I had a dream last night. Involved lots of people and activity and I only remember the end. I am handcuffed (watching too many cop shows perhaps) with another person. Actually our arms are wrapped around ourselves. Striking image. Stifling. Stuck. And the reason for the handcuffs and wrapping had to do with something we had done. Past tense. Not doing, but had done.
I wondered what it meant. Literally? I am handcuffed to the past. I am holding onto the past. Am wrapped up in the past. Thoughts and words continued to flood in. That the past is tying me down. Tying me up. Tying me to what was no longer.
But what do I do with this dream? And now these thoughts? What part of the past is dragging me down? What part of the past can I let go?
I let the thoughts go and proceed with my day. Early in the afternoon I decide to tackle "a box". Acknowledging my "one box in a day" rule. There are a stack of them in the closet and I have not been able to open the door of the closet since I put the boxes in there last Fall. But today I can, and take one out. It is filled with printed samples of our work. Robert and my marketing company's efforts. Brochures, direct mail (when the printed piece mattered), ads, letterheads, annual reports.
Look at them and realize this is the past. It is not what I do now. It is the foundation of what I do, but the pieces have no current value other than to acknowledge they represent what we did. For years. For clients and businesses that no longer exist.
Interestingly our town has just switched recycling methods and on Friday a huge wheeled container was left at the curb. "One stream" recycling. I threw the print samples from that "one box" into the new container. And I felt a bit lighter.
That was not too hard, so I wonder about doing another "box". More of the same. I ask myself if I am willing to keep going until what? I hit the wall, hit a trigger, hit a particular memory? And the answer is yes. Thought of the dream fragment and feel that this is a part of our past that I am finally ready to let go. And I work my way through nine boxes. Filling the new recycling container more than half way.
And I am still standing. And I have nine empty boxes.
I wondered what it meant. Literally? I am handcuffed to the past. I am holding onto the past. Am wrapped up in the past. Thoughts and words continued to flood in. That the past is tying me down. Tying me up. Tying me to what was no longer.
But what do I do with this dream? And now these thoughts? What part of the past is dragging me down? What part of the past can I let go?
I let the thoughts go and proceed with my day. Early in the afternoon I decide to tackle "a box". Acknowledging my "one box in a day" rule. There are a stack of them in the closet and I have not been able to open the door of the closet since I put the boxes in there last Fall. But today I can, and take one out. It is filled with printed samples of our work. Robert and my marketing company's efforts. Brochures, direct mail (when the printed piece mattered), ads, letterheads, annual reports.
Look at them and realize this is the past. It is not what I do now. It is the foundation of what I do, but the pieces have no current value other than to acknowledge they represent what we did. For years. For clients and businesses that no longer exist.
Interestingly our town has just switched recycling methods and on Friday a huge wheeled container was left at the curb. "One stream" recycling. I threw the print samples from that "one box" into the new container. And I felt a bit lighter.
That was not too hard, so I wonder about doing another "box". More of the same. I ask myself if I am willing to keep going until what? I hit the wall, hit a trigger, hit a particular memory? And the answer is yes. Thought of the dream fragment and feel that this is a part of our past that I am finally ready to let go. And I work my way through nine boxes. Filling the new recycling container more than half way.
And I am still standing. And I have nine empty boxes.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Rebirthing after the death of my husband
A friend and fellow widow and blogger Whispers of Wisdom says, "I lost two people that day – my wonderful husband and friend, Roy, as
well as the 'me' who I knew at that time..."
I have to agree. And find rebirthing to be excruciating. I am consciously participating in its unfolding. That is part of the pain. The awareness. The consciousness. The involvement. It is not going easily or quietly or calmly. It is agony. Filled with bottomless voids, and oh so many memories. Memories of the past and of what could have been. But will not be. And I struggle to make new memories.
This is my own very personal journey. It is about my being on my own. It is a matter of Who Will I Be This Time? And I have to say that this latest passage, or opportunity for personal growth, or acknowledgement of what the Universe has in store for me SUCKS.
I am in the birth canal, being squeezed, crushed, suffocated. It is dark. Unknown. Am I ever going to get out? How long will this take? First time around took 9 months. And from my current perspective no wonder babies come out of the womb screaming their lungs out. Again, how long will the pain continue? Will it ever end?
Will I wake up one day and exclaim, "Ah I am! I am!"? Or more likely will I stumble along in shock and denial, and slowly, every so slowly embrace the concept of what has happened? Concept of what has happened?!?!? Talk about using language to create distance. Slowly embrace the reality of death. Death of Robert. Death of my husband. Death of my soul mate. Death of my best friend. Death of....me. And with this accept that it is time for me to become one. Me. Alone.
I came into this world alone once before. Seems I am repeating myself. Maybe I did not get it right the first time?
I have to agree. And find rebirthing to be excruciating. I am consciously participating in its unfolding. That is part of the pain. The awareness. The consciousness. The involvement. It is not going easily or quietly or calmly. It is agony. Filled with bottomless voids, and oh so many memories. Memories of the past and of what could have been. But will not be. And I struggle to make new memories.
This is my own very personal journey. It is about my being on my own. It is a matter of Who Will I Be This Time? And I have to say that this latest passage, or opportunity for personal growth, or acknowledgement of what the Universe has in store for me SUCKS.
I am in the birth canal, being squeezed, crushed, suffocated. It is dark. Unknown. Am I ever going to get out? How long will this take? First time around took 9 months. And from my current perspective no wonder babies come out of the womb screaming their lungs out. Again, how long will the pain continue? Will it ever end?
Will I wake up one day and exclaim, "Ah I am! I am!"? Or more likely will I stumble along in shock and denial, and slowly, every so slowly embrace the concept of what has happened? Concept of what has happened?!?!? Talk about using language to create distance. Slowly embrace the reality of death. Death of Robert. Death of my husband. Death of my soul mate. Death of my best friend. Death of....me. And with this accept that it is time for me to become one. Me. Alone.
I came into this world alone once before. Seems I am repeating myself. Maybe I did not get it right the first time?
Thursday, June 12, 2014
The difficulty of simple household chores when your husband is dead and gone
I find it embarrassing to admit, but then again what is the purpose of this blog but to share intimate details of life after the death of my husband. I have been having a hard time "getting around" to changing the sheets on the bed. Okay Robert always did it. That is reason one. But really? Don't think that is the only reason. But....it seems like an insurmountable task.
I think about, I plan, I plot, I scheme. I wonder what the problem is. I dither away time. I say I will do it later, in a little while, tomorrow, tonight, in the afternoon, in the evening, after lunch, before dinner. And notice that now is not one of the time thoughts.
Even went so far as to take the fresh sheets and mattress pad out of the linen closet and put them on the bed. Thought went something along the lines of if I see the clean sheets maybe I'll do something about them.
But all this accomplished was to create a new sleeping place for the cats. They love new clean sheets. Do you think I could embrace their enthusiasm? Nope. So now the clean crisp sheets serve as their place to curl up on the bed. Not only have I not changed the sheets, but my cats have abandoned sleeping on me for sleeping on the folded clean sheets.
Along with changing the sheets I have been thinking it is time to change the comforter as well. Put away the Marimekko Comforter I bought and bring out one of the summer weight quilts we have. Is that the issue? Putting on the bed a quilt I slept under with Rob?
Sometimes I think I am expending way more energy avoiding changing the sheets than it would take for me to actually do the chore! What is the problem? Why am I unable to accomplish this simple weekly chore? I am even telling friends about my inability to deal with this. Is this to embarrass myself into action?
Cats to the rescue! They took matters into their own paws last night. They resolved my dilemma. Maybe they were tired of my dithering, my inability to accomplish a simple task.
Maybe they were tired of my telling people they were sleeping on the clean sheets and not me. Maybe they were just helping me move on.
One of them threw up in the bed (a very rare occasion), so at 1 AM I am stripping the bed and putting on the clean sheets. And reaching up to the top shelf in the closet for the summer quilt. And I found out that was indeed part of my reluctance. Rob bought this quilt.
Turned out to be more of an intellectual problem, than actual one. Especially since the new sheets smelled and felt wonderful, and the lighter quilt was greatly appreciated now that it is summer. Looking at the bed from the bedroom doorway it is a visual reminder that I am slowly accepting change.
I think about, I plan, I plot, I scheme. I wonder what the problem is. I dither away time. I say I will do it later, in a little while, tomorrow, tonight, in the afternoon, in the evening, after lunch, before dinner. And notice that now is not one of the time thoughts.
Even went so far as to take the fresh sheets and mattress pad out of the linen closet and put them on the bed. Thought went something along the lines of if I see the clean sheets maybe I'll do something about them.
But all this accomplished was to create a new sleeping place for the cats. They love new clean sheets. Do you think I could embrace their enthusiasm? Nope. So now the clean crisp sheets serve as their place to curl up on the bed. Not only have I not changed the sheets, but my cats have abandoned sleeping on me for sleeping on the folded clean sheets.
Along with changing the sheets I have been thinking it is time to change the comforter as well. Put away the Marimekko Comforter I bought and bring out one of the summer weight quilts we have. Is that the issue? Putting on the bed a quilt I slept under with Rob?
Sometimes I think I am expending way more energy avoiding changing the sheets than it would take for me to actually do the chore! What is the problem? Why am I unable to accomplish this simple weekly chore? I am even telling friends about my inability to deal with this. Is this to embarrass myself into action?
Cats to the rescue! They took matters into their own paws last night. They resolved my dilemma. Maybe they were tired of my dithering, my inability to accomplish a simple task. Maybe they were tired of my telling people they were sleeping on the clean sheets and not me. Maybe they were just helping me move on.
One of them threw up in the bed (a very rare occasion), so at 1 AM I am stripping the bed and putting on the clean sheets. And reaching up to the top shelf in the closet for the summer quilt. And I found out that was indeed part of my reluctance. Rob bought this quilt.
Turned out to be more of an intellectual problem, than actual one. Especially since the new sheets smelled and felt wonderful, and the lighter quilt was greatly appreciated now that it is summer. Looking at the bed from the bedroom doorway it is a visual reminder that I am slowly accepting change.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)