10 years

Hard to believe it’s been 10 years.  (And I’m still standing.)

10 years ago I was barely hanging on. 

9 years ago I was pushing myself to another job, so I could go back to fully supporting myself.

8 years ago I plugged into what would become one of my greatest joys.

7 years ago I transitioned back to full service restaurants, a space that felt familiar and let me be me.... while figuring out where the other pieces of me fit in this new life.

4 years ago I starting searching a for new piece of myself.

3 years ago I plopped myself into my forever home - my cabin on a lake. 

2 years ago I said good riddance to a 20-year career and found the peace I had been missing. 

Last year I solidified licensing in my new field and could lean into discovering myself again.  Or anew.  

This is not a life I wanted.  This is not a life I envisioned.  But it’s a good life.  It gives me space.  It lets me be me.  It makes few demands and surrounds me in gloriousness.  It gives me peace. 

That’s a lot of stuff I didn’t have 10 years ago.  

“Moving on”

Widows often hear “but are you moving on*?” meaning “but you’re not dating? I can stop worrying about you if you’re dating**.”  I may have found my answer last night. 

Off the cuff: “oh God yes!” *see confused face* “Oh my life never did revolve around a relationship.  That’s just not who I am.”

My moving forward was getting a job.  It was taking over complete responsibility for my bills.  It was moving to a house I wanted to live in.  That’s it, those were my big, concrete things in adjusting to widow life.  More to the point, moving forward is about learning to cook for one, plan for a future for one, and learn to enjoy things you used to do with him.  It’s about adjusting traditions and dreams that used to include him to just you. 

For some people, dating again IS a part of moving forward.  Some people meet someone organically that they fall in love with and remarry; some people genuinely enjoy dating and pursuing a relationship, so it fits for them.  The key is it fits their new life - they’re not looking to replace who or what was lost.

I met Nate organically, it evolved organically.  Neither one of us was looking for a relationship - much less marriage.  We simply met, and meshed.  I have looked at dating apps, and they simply hold no interest for me.  For a lot - A LOT - of people, they do fit.  That’s just not me.

About a year ago, I responded to the same question with “the problem with moving forward, is it doesn’t look like you think it does.  It doesn’t involve forgetting that he ever lived.”  I’d add to that, and it looks different for everyone.  There’s no one way to live life, thus for widows, there’s no one way to live life.

*we don’t “move on.” That implies we leave something in the past.  Our love for our spouse doesn’t die with them, and our grief does stick forever.  We “move forward” in life again. 

**no new relationship, no matter how spectacular, will ever replace what we lost.  A person is not a couch; you cannot simply go get a new one and have it replace what was lost.  You will always miss that particular person.  Thus, whether or not we are dating tells you nothing about how much you should worry about us.  The state of our home and fridge tells you much, much more.

I’ll just tell you, it sucks.

It sucks, not getting everything you ever dreamt of.

It sucks, not doing what you planned to today.

It sucks, stopping your wedding planning.

It sucks, trying to unravel bills instead.

It sucks, trying to rebuild a life.

It sucks, building a new identify, that might still include a piece of him.

It sucks, letting even that life go.

It sucks, making your own life.

All I can say is, it sucks.   Every part.  But somehow, bit by bit and piece by piece, and then you’re on your seconds already (the second Christmas, second anniversary, etc) and life goes on.

It doesn’t get easier.  It gets different.  You know what worked last year, so you try it again.  So then, it doesn’t get easier, but because you know what to expect, it does get different.

It gets different. 

Found this is my phone notes, from 4/10/2019:

They ask what the worst part is.  It’s that it steals all your happy moments.  Your memories are only memories and that great tradition you were trying to start will never happen.  The awesome weekend you had the week before he died is the last ever. They’re great memories, but it takes a while to be able to touch them without the pain of knowing never again.

It steals your happy moments.  Because he’s not here to share and celebrate with you.  Your birthday sucks, because he never gets you a present, much less a card, and definitely isn’t sending a surprise to your work.  There’s no chance to even be mad at him for screwing up cuz, um he’s dead.

They ask if it gets easier.  Well no but yes.  It never goes away.  It always hurts.  What gets better is you learn how to handle your grief.  You learn what’s coming, what to expect, and what coping strategies to throw at the storm.  It’s like learning how to walk without a leg - you’re always missing the leg, but you learn to adapt.

Thanksgiving

I’ve been hearing for a while now that “the best is yet to come.”  Yes, from him, as much as he ever speaks to me.  I’ll be thinking “ooh I hate my life” and I hear “*chuckles* oh babe the best is yet to come.”

So I do live on a lake.  By myself.  In an adorable little cabin.  Where I can do pretty much as I want, on a daily basis.  And, God-willing, I’ll be able to keep habitable for as long as I choose.  This is not a bad life. 

But then.  I was raised in a religion that preached that the best of life wasn’t here, but in heaven.  I retained my spirituality (God, Jesus) while rejecting the earthly (man-based, women-bear-children) Church.  

What if, Nate’s there?  And he’s looking around going “oooooh babe you ain’t gonna believe this!  The best is yet to come!”

Well, ok.  I’m good with that.

Because thanks to my parents, I was raised with a grounding.  Thanks to my parents, I was allowed to say “why can’t I....” and thanks to... I don’t know... when I read the Bible for myself I decided what I believe.

And I do believe in life after death.  I do believe I will see him again someday.  I do believe in spirituality and he can (and does....) pop in and say hi.

People get hung up right about now, cuz I’m not getting over him or I’m focused on death.  Well y’all.... he never broke up with me and he is dead.  I refuse to erase either one of those things from my memory.  He loved me and HE LIVED.  So here I am. 

He loves me.  He wants the best for me.  And the best is yet to come.  

K.  Thx Babe.  Happy Thanksgiving.

A Quarter Life

I recently did something amazing.

I’ve lived 9.5 years, post-loss.

My loss isn’t something I think of every day - although  he is - and I’m not constantly thinking about this or that stat.

But when I turned 40, I felt that milestone.  I was 30 when I lost him - that made it a quarter of my life I’ve now lived post-loss.

Whoa.

There’s something I never thought I’d do. ESPECIALLY in the months immediately following.

It was hard enough to get to work and eat 3 times a day.  I wasn’t thinking 10 years.

I do remember thinking I had 70 years to live without him, if I made it to 100.  That was overwhelming and intimidating.

My brother put me on a plan to get through the days.  I didn’t think about more than one day.  Each day, I woke up and got to work (bagel shop).  One down.  At 10am, post morning rush, I got a smoke and a breath.  Get through lunch rush, and sit down at 2pm.  Walk out of work at 3 and I could go sit on my deck, my chair, fall apart.  Get to bed by 8 or 9 and I just did another day.

I consciously thought about not living any more.  I could go crawl into my parents basement and drink myself to death.  Yes, it’s questionable whether they would’ve let me, but it was a comforting thought.  Unfortunately - or fortunately - my nephews were 6 and 7-years-old.  They knew me.  They would process I wasn’t around anymore.  I chose to not do that to them.  It was a difficult, conscious choice.  

So I got on the how-to-live-a-day plan and for 7 years knocked down issues as they came up.  I couldn’t think about the long term. 

Then - not exactly that way, but right now it feels like that - I turned around and I’m 40.  I did restaurants because it’s what I did, it was fun, then more fun, then crap what am I doing, then this is my last one.  And it was.  And that’s good.

I went into something professionally I would’ve done if he’d been alive.  All I ever wanted was a quiet life, an easy life.  Well, guess what.

But God knows, if you’d asked me 9 years ago, I never could’ve told you any of this.

All I did was wake up, morning break, afternoon break, sleep, repeat.

Bless my simple life

God bless my simple life.

God bless my safety and security.

God bless my growth, my evolution, walking away from everything that was no longer serving me.

God thank you for my strength, my sureness of self, and my continued curiosity to know myself better.

God thank you for my time, my breath, my space.  Walk with me, in this crazy journey we call life. 

It’s worth it.

ME

It's not about you, it's about me.

I recently took a month off alcohol and it really does give one lots of time to think.

I was advised to "sit with" certain things, to get to the bottom of why I was drinking, why I couldn't control it, and what was behind those emotions. 

Unshockingly, it quickly led back to my childhood.  But my new revelation is it's none your business, and frankly, that's all anyone needs to know.  So there.

But it did shock me and allow me to say "no I DON'T think that and I've done so much to overcome that and THIS is still a symptom of that?  Yeah, F no"

And halfway thru the month I realized no one will ever love me or support me how I want to be loved or supported.  Follow here:

People love and support me in their own way.  People can only act as they are able.  Not everyone is ABLE to do everything we want them to do.  They can only respond as they are able.  If we expect something they are unable to give, we will always be disappointed.

No one will ever care about my life as much as I do.  I'm the only one who has to live it.  I'm the only one here on the daily, the good and the bad.  OF COURSE I'm going to care more.

And it's ok.

Growing Old

I miss you.

And it's not just the I miss what we had.  It's the I miss what we never got.

I miss knowing what we looked like 10 years in.
20.
30.

My parents will celebrate 50 years of marriage next year.  We don't get that.

I want to see how you curl up with me after 10 years of the same Valentine's day.

I want to see how you handle a new house, a new life, growing nieces/nephews, and aging relatives.

I want to know how you would handle all the curveballs life gives us.  Be it a holiday going not as planned, or a life plan getting derailed.

We never got that.

2018

That was interesting.

That was tough.

That was walking away from everything I knew.

It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t the best decision, but it can be the right thing to do and still be tough.

I miss this.  I miss reflection.  I miss thoughts. I miss knowing myself and having my peace.

And when something in your life no longer serves those purposes, it’s time to let them go.

So I did.  And I wasn’t sure what that would look like, how I would make it work, but here I am, doing it all.

I was blessed, to walk away from a job with an extra paycheck.  I was blessed to have that happen not-on-my-timeframe because I then expanded my search.  It made me look and say “what do you really want” and the answer was simply a paycheck, so that’s what I got.

That my new job requires a brain, attention to detail, integrity, and personal relationships - in short, everything I am - was a Godwink.

But walking away from the old one… oh my.

It was all I’d known, how I defined myself for 20 years.  It kept me afloat, when Nate died. It was all that we’d known, for me.  It was supposed to be how I slid into retirement. And yes, it kept me going many a day, knowing he would’ve loved the job I took.  It gave me a reason to wake up, a faux family, so many good people, and so many hilarious moments.

It let me retain a huge piece of my self-identity, when the rest of it disappeared.

No wonder I’m a little lost.

But when it starts sucking more out of you than adding to you, it’s time to leave.  I’m glad I had the guts to recognize that, and look for options elsewhere.

This life is something we’d never dreamt.  When you realize his death was something we’d never dreamt as well, it makes sense that what fits this life is different, too.  It’s no garage. It’s a tiny house. It’s living in the middle of nowhere, but without the land. It’s a tiny tv and a room full of books.

It’s saying, it’s okay to not hold on, “just because.”

It’s saying he knows.  He loves me. He supports me.  

Growth is painful.  Growth is not linear.  Growth is saying “this isn’t good for me” as much as saying “this is good for me.”  Growth takes time.

I’m not fully sure where I’m going, but I am fully sure I don’t need to go anywhere.

I am enough.  This life is enough.  People who push the “end goal” and “what are you doing with it?” miss the point.  Life happens in the daily, in the moment, wherever we are. It’s not a job, a big house, vacations, or fancy things.  If your entire life is about going somewhere, where will you end up? Dead. Just like me.

I’d rather enjoy the moments.  I’d rather see my people. I’d rather read my books and watch my shows.  I’d rather move, meditate, and breathe. That’s what I hope to have gotten back.