Monday, May 25, 2015

This, Too, Shall Pass

Near the Retreat Centre, Adhisthana, in Herefordshire

When my husband and I were 'new', and so full of love for each other, he would caution me that this aspect of our relationship, the euphoria and the intensity, would change. "It won't always feel like this," he would say.  Extremist that I am, my heart opened and softened by his attentiveness, I did not believe it for a moment. I had found, finally, the love of my life, I thought, and the boundless love I felt for him would remain, and express itself, always, in exactly this way.

But, as with so many things, Stan was right. Our relationship shifted. We became more comfortable with each other, and able to focus on other parts of our lives. We grew to understand each other's rhythms and ways. We learned each other's triggers and soft spots. We shared past and present joys and sorrows. We learned how to live life, not gazing, constantly, into each other's eyes, but hand in hand, and facing the world. Together. Our relationship changed. It deepened. It grew, and developed, and got better, with the passage of time.

We didn't have enough time together. Only three and a half years. I so wanted to grow old with him by my side, to enrich our relationship as we aged. As the first anniversary of his death nears, I grieve, not only for him, but for us, and for all that we could have been.

This, too, shall pass. He would say that to me, often, in many different ways. He had a wisdom and a knowing that came from somewhere beyond this mundane existence. His wisdom came, not only from years of practise and formal study, although he did that, too. It came from his life experience, his willingness to be open to what that experience had to teach him, his ability to dig deep, and reflect. I appreciated all those aspects of him, when he was alive. But I see them more clearly, now, as I come to know him in a different light. 

Our relationships with our loved ones continue to shift and to grow, even after their deaths.

As my relationship with him changes, and I integrate him into the new life I am taking on, my relationship with the house that we shared has also begun to shift. When he first died, I was adamant that I would remain here, where he was, where we were, together, forever. I made all the arrangements to assume the mortgage, as a widow, as the house was only in his name, when he died. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. I wanted to be surrounded by his things, in the midst of his community, comforted by his spirit. 

But recently, I have begun to notice a shift in my feelings. It is difficult for me, sometimes, to live where he was, where we were, together. It is so painful. I see him walking down the steps, one at a time, in the evenings, after his bath. When I come in from work, I still want to call for him, and tell him I'm home. I remember sitting with him, on this sofa, the last night of his life. I am immersed in him, every moment, when I am in this house. Sometimes I use the noise of the television and the distraction of internet to escape the constant onslaught of memories. Sometimes it is just too much.  And all that distraction is not healthy for me, either. Sometimes I feel imprisoned by this place. 

Yet the thought of letting go of it is also excruciatingly painful. What if I move somewhere else, and I lose him? What if I can't find him anymore? I tear up just thinking about it. 

This weekend, I gathered with my sangha at a retreat centre south of here. It was a beautiful setting, and the sun warmed my face as I walked amongst the fields of buttercups and dandelions. Away from the home we shared, freed, for a moment, from the visions and memories, I felt a sense of peace. 

He was present, too, at the retreat, with all of our sangha friends. We remembered him, and collected money for the fund set up in his name. People gave generously in tribute to him, and to carry on the work that he had begun to implement, at our centre. I felt his presence among us, and I knew that, had he been alive, we would have attended this retreat, together. But the memories were not so overwhelming, and constant. I was able to breathe, and relax, and reflect on how I am to carry on, in this life, on my own. And I began to consider the possibility of selling this house.

Yet, when I arrived home, I felt, too, a sense of comfort and peace. I was happy to be back. I made myself a warm drink and thought of him. I tidied up, and talked to him, as I often do, at night. Then I went to bed. Our bed.

I don't know, yet, what the future holds. I know that, if I am to stay here, I need to make some changes, and make it my own. It has been left virtually untouched since the morning we left here, together, for Gavin's funeral. I haven't had the heart to alter it. 

I am not going to make any rash decisions. There is so much to consider. But it feels good to be open to the possibility of change, to not hold hard and fast to my earlier, rigid stance. I am changing. My relationship with him, and with our house, is changing. 

All things change. And this, too, shall pass. 


Our living room

12 comments:

  1. Your story really hit a nerve. I lost my husband 8 weeks ago after 3 and a half years of marriage. Now, I'm just learning to take each day at a time. We had a special bond just like you had with yours, so it's been really hard for me to deal with this loss. I look at our twin daughters who were barely 30 months old when he died and I wonder, how I would ever explain the death of their dad. But I'm grateful for good friends and family and this blog which I have just discovered. Now I don't feel so lonely and I know there's a place where I can just be honest and express my hurt. Thanks for this piece and I pray you find the strength to continue moving on, knowing you have an angel always by your side.

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    1. Oh, eight weeks! It is so soon! I look back on that time and I wonder how I got through it. And you with having such young children! I am so sorry you lost your love, at such a young age, and when your relationship was so new and growing and you were just beginning your family. Stan and I were much older, and we felt we had finally found what we had been searching for. Then it was taken away. I am glad you found us, here, and that you have support from friends and family. You are stronger than you might feel, right now. Peace to you as you walk this hard road.

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  2. Your story has inspired me to try to make changes in my house. Even though my husband's clothes are gone - for the most part - there are rooms that have not been touched since he died. They are the rooms that he had things in. I have left them exactly as is. For example, there is one bathroom that he used to use and I still have his shampoo, soap and medication left untouched. I say that I don't have the time to take care of these things but that is not really the case. It has been almost 3 years (I am ashamed to admit) and it is time. Thanks for the inspiration.

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    1. Hi, Ruthie, I haven't had the heart to change much, either. It doesn't matter how long it takes. It is so hard to let those parts of them go. But sometimes I just feel like the memories are going to swallow me up. So hopefully I can find the energy to do something, this summer, about it. Hope you can, too.

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  3. Tricia, your post really resonated with me. it is so hard to feel one is drowning in memories in a home that was once a haven. I am just past the 2 yr. mark, but have felt I needed to change things up to make this house MY home for a long time. just can't seem to get there...the amount of purging that needs doing is staggering...and I think I have put it off as a protective mechanism against all the heartache of getting rid of what was Hugh's. I just have to keep telling myself - there is no easy way out, there is only getting through it - then like a scared, sullen child I think - "BUT I DON'T WANNA..." I try to hang onto what I know is true - that allowing myself to move through the pain also allows for a gift - one of renewal, a step forward, maybe the chance to bring me an answer to the question, "Who am I now?". I hope it helps to know you are not alone. warm hugs, Karen

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    1. Thanks, Karen. It does help, so much, to know others are going through this, too, and struggling with letting go of their husband's things. I had said to myself that I was going to take up the carpet this weekend and start work on sanding the floors, but I didn't get around to it. I remember when we had the carpet done, not so long ago. I have to remind myself, also, not to force things, and just be gentle with myself. So I will try to do that, too.

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  4. Thanks for sharing, Tricia. Today would have been our 2nd wedding anniversary, after 7 years of dating, and I lost my love just over 3 months ago. I am still in the apartment we shared, but am leaving in the next few weeks. I also wondered if I would lose the memories of the space we shared, but the truth is, I don't think so.... at least not the important ones. I think we are forever changed by our great loves, and they are with us - in how they molded us, in how we view the world - no matter what space we occupy. At least that's what I'm hoping....

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    1. I am so sorry for your loss. My husband and I married just 18 months before he died, so we didn't get to see two years, either. I feel cheated, and perhaps you do, too. I hope you find peace in your new surroundings, and good for you for reaching out so early in your journey. It should help a little in knowing that others are walking this road, as well.

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  5. Wow tearing up.... I lost my husband Jan 26 from a drunk driver ... His death changed my world. I feel empty inside without him. We have 3 children 10 5 and 1. Some days I feel ok but never as happy as I was. I try not to cry my kids are always watching so I try my best to be strong for them. But honestly I'm weak, I simply want him back. I can't move his thing even today I had his hoodie on all day . My emotions are always all over the place . No one in my family understands what I lost or the pain. I dream of him so vividly they are the best dreams in the world just to laugh with him again. But then I wake up in our bed and burst into tears.. I know I will never love like that again.... But I try to give all of my love to these kids.. I'm sorry

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    1. Our Widow's Voice blogs have moved to the Soaring Spirits web site. You'll find them here: http://www.soaringspirits.org/blog

      And you may also want to check out our online community, Widowed Village, to connect with others: http://widowedvillage.org/

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  6. This could have been written by me. The love of my life passed 4 months shy of our 4 month anniversary. Made me feel a kinship with you...God bless you and me as we walk this journey.

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  7. Our Widow's Voice blogs have moved to our new web site. You can find there here: http://www.soaringspirits.org/blog

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