Tuesday, December 11, 2012

My Abstract Husband

It is the last day of school for the kids (and the teachers!) in Australia...so Amanda has asked me to fill in for her today so he can focus on finishing up the school year. She'll be back next week!



Recently, I moved into a new home. This is my first move since Phil's death seven years ago. Leaving the place where Phil and I lived our married life; blended our Brady bunch family; where we returned after various adventures, and worked side by side to remodel was really hard. But, I expected the emotional turmoil that ending this chapter of my life would bring. Even though there were many reasons that moving was definitely the right thing to do, I struggled to find the courage to leave the four walls that witnessed our love story. 

If you are a frequent reader of this blog, you may be saying to yourself..."But, isn't Michele remarried?" The answer to that question, is yes I am married to another amazing man. And to be honest, being remarried greatly complicated my feelings about this move. Michael and I needed a new start in a place that was ours, and not mine and Phil's. Though he never complained (really, not once) Michael didn't feel a sense of ownership in my house. He felt as if he was a guest in someone else's house...a welcome guest, but just a tenant of sorts. He hesitated to suggest household changes, for fear that the part of the house in question might have some significant emotional value to me of which he was unaware. Michael's sensitivity about my relationship with Phil made him hyper aware of what he considered to be his guest status. Not the best atmosphere for building a new marriage. Add the other practical reasons for moving to the need for a fresh start, and all signs pointed to now being the time to take the leap. 

I knew that I would need to do some "grief work" around this move. I braced myself as I packed, and remembered. Every time I emptied a room, I breathed in the history I was about to leave behind. Each step forward was accompanied by an emotional step back...the music of my life with Phil became the background to my days as I boxed, taped, and stored so many of the things he and I chose together. Through the process of the move I practiced self awareness. I tried to listen to myself, and recognize when I needed a break from the daily grief dance I was doing. Overall, I was pretty cocky about my ability to "manage" my feelings around this major life change. Famous last words...I was pretty cocky.

One area of the house that I avoided until the last possible moment was our garage, AKA Phil's sole domain. Every part of that one space screamed...Phil lived here. As I stood on a step stool removing plaques from the wall, my heart began a familiar ache. Up the ladder, remove a piece of Phil's life, down the ladder put the item in a box. Up the ladder, realize that you are unscrewing a screw that he used his crazy huge electric drill on....down the ladder remembering how happy he was the day he came home with that new drill. Up the ladder, avoid the roof remnants dropping on my head from the box I just pulled down from the rafters...down the ladder seeing flashbacks of the two of us standing on that roof in the dark on a gorgeous Summer evening super proud of ourselves for saving so much money on labor by hefting the roof tiles onto the roof ourselves. And so it went: up the ladder, down the ladder, heart tug followed by heart ache. 

Then I started opening the boxes. Every single box marked in his hand writing, or with his name on it, was examined and then put into the appropriate pile...give away, can't possibly let this go, throw out finally or what in the world do I do with this? Every time I wanted to run away from the sorting, I reminded myself that I'd waited to the last possible moment and today was the day to get it all done...so much for giving myself time and space! By the time I'd successfully sorted all the boxes and returned to our new home, tears were running down my face, and I couldn't stop them. I wasn't sobbing, I just couldn't stop leaking tears. Part of me understood the pain, but another part was so frustrated by the fact that Phil's death doesn't suck any less than it did seven years ago. I mean, I talk about him every single day. I live through his loss every time I do a presentation or speak to a group. Literally, every time. So, why then does sorting through his things turn on the tear faucet?

Then I figured it out. I am used to Phil in the abstract. He is still a very real part of my life. I talk to him, and he talks back...well, at least I think he does, and that is all I care about. I know that he is happy that I have Michael in my life, and he still makes himself known to me through our 'signs' now and then. Over they years I've created a space in my heart where these two men easily coexist. One of the men I love is dead, and the other is very much alive. Most days I accept that reality, and appreciate the opportunity to love and have loved these two husbands. But, when I opened those boxes in the garage...I was faced with the vivid memories of the very much alive Phil instead of the ghost version with whom I am now so well acquainted. Moving from our shared home made me face Phil in the flesh. I am not used to the reality of him anymore: his smell, his touch, the feel of his shirt under my cheek. I've grown so used to having a late husband in the abstract that the concrete evidence of his existence has been pushed back into my grief closet. I grieve the idea of Phil often, but I have realized that since I don't feel separate from him on a daily basis I grieve the reality of him in my life less and less as my life grows and changes.

What almost made me fall off that stupid ladder was the size of his shoes. There they were so very real, not ghost like at all. Every time I looked at the proof that he lived, I experienced the loss of him all over again. Holding a huge garbage bag of his t-shirts (that are waiting to become a quilt someday) I was overcome by the power of yesterday. I wanted to hear him make fun of me, instead of imagining what he would say to me as I dither over whether I can give away his dirty, old lunchbox. I know without a doubt that he would instruct me to let go of all the stuff. What I want to know is will he be gone when all the literal evidence of his existence is sorted into one of those neat piles in our garage? Seven years, one International support organization, one million widowed people impacted, one happy remarriage later...and death still sucks. I am pretty sure there is a lesson in there somewhere.

The hopeful lining? My life now is really good despite of, and because of, the path my life has taken. Phil's love changed me, and so did his death. I know now that the pain of losing him is part of his legacy to me. That sharpness around his loss reminds me of how very much he was loved. Every tear still has a meaning, I will try to remember that the next time I get pretty cocky.

12 comments:

  1. What a beautiful post, Michele.

    I made the move out of our home rather soon after my husband's death, but since the house sold so quickly, I didn't really take the time to go through everything until recently. I was surprised by how difficult it was as well. It was the weight of the objects, how memories rushed back at the sight, touch or smell of something Nolan used often.

    The good news is that while going through it all was difficult (that is putting it mildly) I now feel so much lighter, as if a huge weight has been lifted. Our (my son and mine) new home feels like ours. It reflects our family now. And with most of Nolan's things packed away for when my son wants to go through them, I feel more free to move forward. It truly is amazing to see how "stuff" and "things" can affect us emotionally and physically. With that said, I think I needed the time (it has been three years since his death) before I was ready to do this. It made all the difference and even though it was a difficult process, it felt right. I felt ready.

    Hope you are enjoying your new home!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Kathleen, I can only imagine how hard it was to move so early in your journey, but am so glad you feel lighter and ready to move forward in the end. Thank you for sharing here, your thoughts are much appreciated!

      Delete
  2. this is absolutely beautiful Michele. So personal and timely for me right now as I go through all of the "Dave" boxes as we move back into our newly renovated home. Still "ours", but much less so with the changes I've made - and not as many of his things "survived" as I would have hoped. But still filled with tears and emotion this week as I go through each item. But as you wrote to me not that long ago as I was saddened by the loss of what was "us", he still lives in us no matter where we may be. Your words warmed me then, as they do today. Love you!

    Wishing you much love and happiness in your new home!!! and in this holiday season!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Beth, I can SO see you doing this now as you put back together what was...in a new way. And thank you for the reminder...love lives on in us, for sure.

      Sending love and warm wishes to you and the kids! Can't wait to see you in 2013!

      Delete
  3. Your words were so poignant Michele!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you anon, I am glad that this blog touched you...I appreciate you letting me know, it means a lot.

      Delete
  4. Thank you Michele. I need to save this blog as it will be years before I can leave the home Jay and I had together. It was his plan to move here and build this home which I love. It's all him. He departed this world only 5 months ago so all is so fresh now. The hurt, sadness, grief, heartache. Everything a widow experiences. Thank you for sharing your journey. I hope I can be as brave as you when the time comes for me to "possibly" move.
    Enjoy life with your husband and new home .

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh Anon, five months is so fresh...and I know that hurt, sadness and heartache so well. Please DO save this blog, or just come back to it here when you feel ready. Our archives on the blog are packed with thoughts, feelings, questions, and a huge variety of answers. Just know for sure that you are not alone on this journey,and keep coming back. Hope lives here for sure. Sending much light and warmth to you, thank you for commenting and sharing your story.

      Delete
  5. The abstract husband - perfectly said. I too think I'm dealing with his loss - I speak to and about him all the time, but it is in the abstract. My husband was our town's Santa and did a lot of volunteer work in character. On Facebook this week someone asked those who knew him to change their profile pictures to ones of them with my Santa. That's when the abstract hit reality. A loving tribute and a joy to see everyone smiling and happy and to be reminded of all of his friends, but just excruciating.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I can only imagine the bittersweetness of all those Santa photos...just as you describe excruciating, but beautiful as well I bet. Wishing you a holiday season filled with love both past and present. Thank you for sharing your Santa with us.

      Delete
  6. What an amazing post - you always put into very eloquent words the elusive emotions I am feeling. Your last paragraph hit the nail on the head for me. I am finally starting to deal with this house and my husband's things after almost 4 years. It is a difficult process, but actually a hopeful one too. I'm a little weird, because I actually couldn't do this with friends/family as it seemed too personal. However, I was able to engage a "professional organizer", someone who didn't know my husband. My thinking was that I would be more detached with a stranger and therefore the pain would be less. What has been interesting to me, is that telling her "our story" by making decisions on what to do with his/our things, while it has had it's painful moments, has also brought all our love back to the forefront of my mind and reminded me that yes, it really did happen. I didn't realize I was viewing our relationship in more of an abstract way, until you described it in this post. Feeling more connected to our story, makes me more inclined to honor my husband by moving forward and taking care of myself. He adored me, and would want nothing less. :-) Thanks as always, for a wonderful post.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Debbie, it makes so much sense to me to hire someone to help! And I can imagine you telling story after story as you evaluated each item. I love that you share here that your husband adored you...you are so right he would want nothing less than the best for you. Go get that :)

      Delete