Now. This moment.

Now. What are you feeling and experiencing right now? This moment.

Yes, Now. Where are you? What do see? Sunlight through the window or leaves on the tree. Your hands with a callous or a broken nail. The laundry to be folded or the inbox to be perused.

Now. Close your eyes. Feel the ground, the air, your body, each muscle, each movement, your breath, your breath… your breath.

Now. what do you smell? The bread on the counter, the plant in the earth, the soil, the wood on the floor where the sun excites the molecules. The potatoes in the bubbling pot or the fresh, soft linen on your bed. Sunlight like the warm rind of a lemon or rain like ozone and earth. Good. You are centering. Keep going. 

Now. What do you hear? Silence? No. Listen closer. Breeze in the trees, waves lap-lap-lapping, children laughing in the distance, insects buzzing around flowers, your air conditioner hum, the bird outside your window singing a familiar song.

Now. Go deeper. Within. What emotion are you experiencing at this moment? Pain is the past… let it go. Fear is the future… let it go. Now. Right there. Now. At the centre of it all. Gratitude. Gratefulness for the here, for now, for sight, for hearing, for touch, for breath, for sparkling sunlight and living soil, for bright birdsong and buzzy pollinators, for happy children and cooling rain. Breath deep. Sigh. Gratitude.

Now, did you find it, the gratefulness? Consider it, form it, feel it. And what is inside your rich, joyful gratitude? Yes. Now. Love.

Now… Love.

The Courage to Risk Anew

As a widow, when I mention that I want someone to share my life with, to have passion in my life, it is often assumed that I am panicking about being lonely. I don’t need to be in a panic state to want passion, to want to feel that someone wants to be with me – not just anyone – but with ME. I want to be needed in someone’s life, to find someone that is open to receiving what I have to give, what I want to share. I am seeking a partner, a lifemate because I plan on sticking around this beautiful, amazing world for a while.

I want someone in my life who enjoys spending time with me and I enjoy being with them, who will join me in growing and learning. I want someone around to watch each other’s backs, witnesses to each other’s life with an intimacy that is at a higher level than sexual.

I miss the gentle touch on the way by as we pass each other in the kitchen or hallway, the quiet hand on my lower back that says so much. “I am here. I’ve got your six.” I miss having the type of intimacy where you can place tired feet and legs on someone’s lap and they place a warm hand on your skin, an electricity of wordless oneness circulates between two. Your lips can’t help but smile, your heart to sigh.

I am alone, yes, and, sure, on occasion lonely. I don’t dwell on the constant absence of a significant other in my life; however, I certainly miss having an Other. There is something in this kind of relationship that is different than a friendship, something that touches deeper. There is something that awakens your soul in a new way to make you stronger and more, well, You than you have ever been.

I am still who I became through love. The love has not gone away, so why would who I have grown into from that love? I have; however, grown even farther beyond that after a loss. Love has given me confidence. I know that I am capable of such loyal, giving, soul-changing love for another. I went well beyond my comfort zone through love and I continue to seek new boundaries. On the flip side, the loss has made me less quick to anger, more forgiving of others and myself. I am more adaptable to change, to make space for new people. Yet, I can also more easily let them go if it is time for us to part ways if we have learned all we need to learn from each other.

People usually assume that I am missing my husband, that I just want him back. Would I prefer that he didn’t die? Of course I do! That’s just a ridiculous question (and I have actually been asked that question!). But do I wish him back? No. How would focusing on what cannot happen help in my situation? He is not coming back and that is okay. It is alright to move forward in my life. Catherine Tidd of her blog says it best: “If that person was your soulmate then and now you’re a different person…who’s to say you won’t find the soulmate for the person you’ve become?” – Catherine Tidd, Widow Chick

So, when I say that I am ready to move forward, don’t you dare question my decision. We have had many private, deep, late-night discussions, my heart and I. My logical head and my passionate heart are aligned with peace, clarity and purpose. We do not fear the pain of heartbreak and loss, for we have not just survived but returned stronger than before! Once more unto the breach, dear heart!

 

“To have your heart ripped out and to then find the courage to risk it anew is to teach a powerful lesson about how we should live.” – Will Kearney, Marking Our Territory

 

Soul-Oh: A journey of discovery

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time soul-oh since my spouse passed away in January. I do not mean solo or so-low, although I have done my share of these as well. As an introvert, I often spend time alone recharging my social batteries. Since my spouse passed, it has taken on a new aspect. I am discovering me, the me-after-him.

I have always told anyone who is just getting out of a relationship to make sure to take time alone, figure out who they are before getting into a new relationship. Any relationship, whether good or bad, changes us, teaches us. It may add a new layer of personality or peel another away. Perhaps, we discovered something that we do or do not like while with that other person and can apply it to another relationship. Take the time to adapt to that new aspect of you even if it is something small.

I spent eleven wonderful years with the man I love, seven of them very happily married. I am not the same woman I was when I met him. I am not the same woman I was when I was with him.

Before I met James, I had pretty much given up on finding love. All the men I came in contact with were interested in my friends. I was the side-kick and wing-man (wing-person?). I had finally accepted the fact that it just wasn’t meant to be for me. My prince charming wasn’t coming.  He was stuck in a tree. James changed that in a huge way. The night we met, he made a beeline across the dance floor and walked right up to me and asked me to dance. I’m not sure he even saw my friend. That was it. Simple as that. We danced the rest of the night. Even after the lights came up and the music stopped, we kept dancing. It happens in real life folks. I can attest to that. Lightning bolt.

James seemed oblivious to other women flirting with him. It just didn’t occur to him that they would. He only had eyes for me. And, believe me, the feeling was mutual. Mind you, we are not perfect physical specimens by any means. I’m overweight and have an old injury from a broken leg that didn’t quite heal right. He had bad teeth until a dentist fixed them up for him and one eye that sat a little lower than the other. I was ten years older than him. No, we weren’t perfect. We were perfect for each other.

I was told by the boys I dated (and I will say “boys,” not “men,” here) and society – through magazines, TV ads, and movies – that someone my size could never get the guy. I could aim for being the goofy, funny friend of the girl who gets the guy. Over the years that we had together – as I lost and gained weight, changed my hairstyle and hair colour, experienced loss of and starting new jobs – James never wavered from the way he saw me. The look in his eyes assured me he was not going anywhere. He stood firm and taught me that I am worthy of love. No one had been able to teach me that before. I’m not sure it had occurred to anyone to try.

So, now, he is gone but the love remains, the lessons remain. And I must take all that he taught me, all he changed in my heart, to move forward and build on who I am.

When I say that I went to a movie, took a drive, went on a hike or spent the weekend alone at home, do not feel sorry for the widow. I am on a journey of self-discovery. I am going to unearth the parts of my soul that were buried after others threw dirt on them because it offended them or did not suit their purpose. Each treasure I excavate will bring an exclamation of “Oh!”

If you happen to see me on the street, feel free to wave and cheer me on. I’m not alone; I’m travelling soul-oh!

Letting go of my expectations of others

I no longer have hopeful expectations of other people and I am content with that. Expectations have led me to my greatest sorrows and heartache. We grow up being taught to give without expecting to receive. When did that change?

I expected that, by this age (50!), I would be further along in my career, have more vacation days to enjoy my middle age, have been with the same company for many years. The economy and a few ladder-climbing co-workers took that expectation away. I moved on, as we all must, and have found a job that I quite enjoy. I no longer expect that, if I just work hard and stay late most nights. I won’t be downsized or restructured. It makes for less stress and more planning for the next time that it might happen.

I expected that those I thought of as close friends would be there for me as they insisted they would be. I have not seen them for months. I’m not sure why they went away and became somebody that I used to know. It just happens sometimes. I had assumed we were closer, more bonded. We look up from work, from love, from grief, and the others have wandered off. Perhaps they expected me to be a better friend. Maybe I’m the one who wandered off. It could be they expected me to reach out to them, that I would ask for help. I guess they didn’t know me that well after all.

I had an expectation that, when I fell in love, I would have that joy and happiness for the rest of my life. I expected him to live, that we would go on with our lives, put cancer behind us and laugh about it someday. “Remember the time you threw up on me after your chemo?” “Yeah! Hahaha! The look on your face was priceless!” After that, no unmet expectation could ever break me as much.

Of course, facts don’t change. I expect the sun to come up tomorrow, the moon will wax and wane. If I trip over something I expect that I will fall because gravity still works. I expect the storm clouds to gather and that the sun will come out tomorrow. I expect the tide will come in and go out and come in again as it removes our names in the sand no matter how many times I re-write them. I expect I will keep re-writing them anyway.

I expect that others have placed their expectations on me. That they assumed I would continue to be there for them. They believed that I would want to hang out, chat about shallow topics and drink Red Rose tea at their kitchen table or meet at a coffee shop for a latte and a blueberry scone while smooth jazz plays through a speaker. (Okay, that last one actually sounds pretty good.) They probably think that, because they haven’t seen me in a while, that I  just got on with things after I lost my best friend and the love of my life. I expect that they are very disappointed in me no matter what their expectations were.

I expect that whoever has been mowing my lawn when I’m not home will eventually stop. I will then have to get that scary, loud mower out of the garage and do it myself, all the while terrified I am going to cut myself because I’m a klutz. I expect that I will rediscover comfort and joy, but I do not expect it tomorrow or any day soon. I expect that something in the house will break and I will have to figure out how to fix it myself or pay someone to do it for me. I expect me to rise to that occasion. I will most likely disappoint myself on occasion.

I still expect that I will be surprised and delighted when I receive a kindness or a hand of friendship. I expect I will appreciate my own strength as I pick myself up and stand alone, however much I quiver. I expect to look back and notice that someone was there all along and I just didn’t understand what they were doing.

I expect that, inevitably, someone that I know will read this and think I am writing about them. But I’m not. Not specifically. They will assume I am angry. But I’m not. There is no anger. There is heartache and loss, but there is no ire.

I do not blame people for disappointing me, for tumbling or jumping off the pedestal that I put them on. I blame myself for expecting too much from them.

I expect that we are all human after all.

Choose the Pebble

It was June when I was first heard, “Your husband has advanced melanoma.”

After receiving this news, my husband and I cried together while we absorbed this information. We kept saying, “We can beat this,” but my mind rushed to all the worst places it could go and, as an administrative assistant, I immediately started planning for worst case scenarios. Then, after a few days of planning his funeral in my mind, I realized, “Gee, he’s taking this quite well.” And I started to watch him. I looked for signs that my alpha-male husband was cracking under the pressure; that he was just hiding his true thoughts and feelings to spare me. I slowly realized that he wasn’t. In his mind, he had already beaten cancer.

Now, I have worked in the healthcare industry and I had done my research so I was well aware that, since he also has lupus and a blood-clotting disorder, he has a less than 40% chance of survival. I started thinking he was living in a fantasy world and I was angry with him for not facing this situation with me. I became like a pebble in his shoe, nagging him to do this or think that or read this research that explains how likely he is to die from this type of aggressive cancer. But he would crack a joke or just ignore me, which made me angrier. I felt like I was fighting for his life on my own.

Then I noticed that, emotionally, he was starting to pull away from me, and it occurred to me that I could lose him before cancer even has a chance to take him from me. I knew something had to change and it wasn’t him. Who was I to tell him he’s wrong in having a positive attitude? So I changed MY attitude. It’s a struggle and I’m certainly not a constant ray of sunshine.

After all, I have read the research and cancer websites and I am aware that my husband’s chances aren’t great. But, there is a chance. And soon, instead of seeing this as my husband’s final months on earth, I started seeing this as, just an awful situation that we have to get through, but that we would get through it…together.

The doctors are amazed that we joke around while we wait for our appointments. They don’t usually hear laughter coming from waiting rooms filled with cancer patients. These doctors also seem relieved to work with people who are not angry with them or panicking. And they start to smile and spend a little more time with us to discuss options and answer our questions. One doctor even joined in when we were coming up with cool and funny stories to tell people about where my husband’s scar came from. “Tell them you tried to stop a bank robbery and got stabbed! Or you got hit by a car while saving a baby in a runaway carriage!” Not to mention the great Halloween costume ideas we started coming up with: Frankenstein, Phantom of the Opera, a zombie…including a built in scar on his face and neck.

I like to think that, for these doctors who deal with frightened, angry people and death each day, we are a bright spot in their day. Perhaps they talk to colleagues over coffee or to their family over dinner about this hopeful and goofy couple.

Like a pebble in a pond, perhaps our hope and laughter will continue to ripple outward and inspire someone else, and their ripples will reach out to more people. We may not change the world, but, our ripple may, eventually, inspire someone who will. Maybe someday the ripple will even make its way back to us again when we need a reminder to keep going.

I told you all that so I could say to you: Life and work will not always be easy. However, you will find that you can get a lot farther, and it will be much less painful for everyone if you choose to be a pebble in a pond, not a pebble in a shoe.

[Written Oct 3, 2014]