An unexpected surprise

My new morning view

We are settling into our new home here in West Virginia. It's a strange experience to live your entire life in one region and then move somewhere completely different in your thirties....but, I feel called here, and our family is loving it so far. And I've got lots to keep me busy!

One day last week, I decided to take a drive around and see the area a little bit more and try to figure out where things were and get acquainted with the place. I pulled up to the mall a few miles away and walked into one of the side entrances. As soon as I walked in, I had suddenly remembered being there before, almost 3 years ago, exactly two weeks after Jeremy had died....I came to lead worship in the area cause he and I were supposed to do it together and I decided to do it in his place and still go. With my sweet friends, we took an evening to walk around the mall and hang out. I was shocked that I even remembered that in the whirlwind of my aftermath and widow brain.

I continued walking through the mall and felt Jeremy's presence very strongly. I couldn't figure out why until I turned the corner into the food court. There, I saw him, sitting at one of the tables with Faith next to him as a baby......and it hit me.

I have been here before. With Jeremy.

My heart nearly leaped as it jumpstarted a memory I didn't even realize I had. What a beautiful surprise it was to remember coming here, 7 years ago, traveling with Jeremy to Ohio Valley University just up the road, and stopping here for lunch at the food court I now stood in. I remembered us driving across the street to pick up a stroller for Faith because we didn't realize how badly we would need one on the trip. That same stroller is sitting in my garage now three miles down the road.

It all came back to me and it was like Jer audibly whispered in my head "I'm here too." One of the hardest parts for me about moving was leaving Jeremy behind. You all here know what I mean. I talked about it a few weeks ago, but still struggled with picking up and moving somewhere Jer would never be a part of. Somewhere I thought I couldn't reach him. I fought tears for a few hours just thinking about how random, ironic, and special it was to know that I had shared a memory in a place I didn't even realize I had been before. Jeremy's presence was found hundreds of miles away from home.

This forgotten memory will now be one of my most cherished moments.

A Final House Goodbye

It’s been a long time since I cried for three straight hours.  I forgot how many rolls of toilet paper I can go through per hour.  (Yes, I use toilet paper instead of Kleenex.  TP is more efficient, less messy and much cheaper.  When you are clocking nose blows at between 2 to 3 RPH – rolls per hour  - cost matters.)  I also forgot how bad the headaches can be.

Last night was all about saying goodbye yet again.  Today at 4PM I finally hand the house keys to another person so last night some friends and I enjoyed one last hurrah at the house Maggie and I planned to live in for the rest of our lives.  The phrase of the evening was “final paragraph of a chapter” followed by other phrases like “long, amazing story” and “exciting adventure.”  Many memories were stirred up and stories were told.  It was a wonderful gathering.

The house Maggie and I shared is so, so rich with legends, most of which involve wild parties, alcohol and ridiculous number of cars filling up the cul de sac we lived on.  Other legends entail demonstrations of devotion, hope and love.  A comparative few are stories of difficulty and sadness, but those thankfully are far outweighed by powerfully positive stories.  That house has a positive karma energy buffer strong enough to withstand years of a love drought (although I hope that the new homeowners keep making positive karma deposits by building a fantastic life while living there.)

My new life with my new job and new condo downtown has kept me so incredibly busy that I’ve not had the opportunity to sit and reflect on the enormous changes that have happened.  Maybe that’s a good thing.  I often chided Maggie about a lack of pre-decision reflection.   That girl was always a ready-fire-aim kind of gal.  Somehow, despite the lack of reflection and premeditation, she sure managed to get a lot done in her short life including steal my heart.  Maybe a little more fire and a little less aim would do me good.  Actually, now that I’ve thought about it, I don’t really have time to sit here ponder.  I have a lot of wonderful things I’ve got to git to gittin' done.

Home Sweet Home

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Well, things around here never seem to quite slow down. And lately, in particular, they've sped up into super speed! Steve accepted a new job position in Parkersburg, West Virginia. Oh, and we move next week! We are taking a ride on the crazy train and loving every minute of it. Well....almost every minute.

While I am thrilled for this new opportunity for our family and ready to start fresh together somewhere, I will be honest and say that initially, I was not ok with moving so far away. There are a lot of different things that factor into that, but one of the reasons is certainly because this place is home to me. I've lived in Michigan my entire life and this area in particular is where I went to college, it's where my children were born, it's where I've worked, it's where my friends are, it's where I discovered who I am.....it's where Jeremy is.

This is where he was and always will be. There will be no more moving for him. This place will always be associated with him. His memorial stone is here, his job and church is here, his friends are still here. And leaving this place sometimes feels a lot like leaving him.

I will say that I've been through enough transition over the past few years that I know this is not the case. I won't be leaving him behind. I will carry him with me wherever I go. It will be difficult to make new memories in a place where Jer will never step foot and to make new friends that will never know of my life "before" but I know I could never completely leave this place behind. I will be back often.

I have found so much peace about moving since that initial idea hit me...I don't know where it came from. I'd like to think some of it is Jeremy's blessing to keep moving forward with a life he always wanted for me. Either way, I am jumping into the great unknown leaving a piece of my heart here in this place, but looking forward to filling more spaces in my heart with new experiences and new people.

The Big Leap

One good step begets another and who am I to not abide.  So since my last post about finally cleaning out the closet I've kept the momentum going.  I quit my job.  Then I joined a new early-stage high tech startup.  Then I put my house – our house since 1999 - up for sale and am making plans to move downtown in about two weeks.  It’s been an absolute whirlwind of chaos.

I can’t say I’m thrilled with all the upheaval.  But it’s about time I sat in the drivers seat.  Today, a friend asked me how I was coping with all the stress of the change that was going on in my life right now.  I brushed off their question with a dismissive statement saying, “Oh, I’ve been through a lot worse.”  Funny thing, though, is that even though I’ve been through days where walking barefoot on salt-coated glass would have been less painful, this upheaval still strikes my heart cold from fear. After what I’ve been through, you (and I) would think such a simple task would be trivial.  Yeah, well, nope.

Wrestling this great big house full of crap into a packing van and subsequent storage space is beyond my comprehension and my capabilities.  But I have this little secret weapon now: faith.  I have a very simple faith that frees me to believe that even without a clear path I know I’ll land on my feet.

So I’m leaping.  It’s time.  It’s going to be a wild ride.

Another Anniversary

Last year on February 4, on a cool gray morning, I was moving from my big, beloved house in the country into a small apartment in the middle of Portland. I had left my house and almost all it contained, packed up my cats, clothes and a few belongings and let go.

I let go of a life I thought I wouldn't survive without.
 
When I think of those days just before leaving, I remember things in flashes. Everything felt raw and harsh, yet hazy with shock and grief. That strange detached sense of being submerged in the depths. I can see these flashes of memory, but they seem like they happened to someone else.

The last few heart breaking minutes I spent in my old house. My sweet friend tearfully and gently  telling me that it was time to leave as I sobbed and fought with reality. Closing the door behind me and feeling completely numb and empty. The cats yowling for the entire 90 minute drive as I shifted between crying and feeling numb again, wondering if yowling like them would release a little of the pain that was choking me.

But I wasn't alone and that saved me.

There were many people who loved me so much that they managed to make these days less terrible and lonely. They helped me take care of details I simply couldn't bring myself to. They unpacked for me, stayed with me that first night in the new apartment, they brought me food and took good care of me. They even went through some of Dave's things for me because I had reached a point where the pain was overwhelming and all I could manage were the basics. Eat, try to sleep, and cry.

I took notes about the entire process, I tried to stay present. I made the requisite phone calls, but I was barely hanging on. Since then, though, I have felt stronger and stronger even though it didn't seem like it most days. I've made a life for myself here and found ways to settle in. I've fallen in love with this city and gradually grown to love myself and even appreciate the potential of my new path too.

But on this anniversary, I can't stop thinking about the love of those friends. They each took away some of the darkness and fear and pain in their own wonderful way. Next to the days right after Dave died, it was the hardest days of my life. The most draining and scary. But there they were, offering their love and kindness. I grabbed onto their support like a drowning person and felt the gratitude flood through me.

I sit here in the living room of my cozy new home in the new city I already miss the second I leave it and I realize how far I've come. I had to let go to know what I was capable of. I had to loosen my grip on what I thought was my life's plan and find out what the actual plan was. I had to participate in that plan by being open and following the paths that presented themselves to me. I had to go out and FIND some of those paths. I had to enlist the help of so many. I had to learn to lean on others and accept help. I had to trust myself. None of it was easy, but that's what makes it so precious to me now. It was hard-won.

All that hard work came from the fuel of those first few days I thought I wouldn't survive. Once I saw that I did survive, I could move forward. Before I was able to see the possibility of a better time ahead of me, I had those incredible people who cared about me, holding me up when I could barely stand on my own.

Dave's parents have told me a few times that some of his last words to them were "Make sure Cassie's OK". I don't think he had to worry. I made it on my own but I made it surrounded the entire time by the energy of those who love me, including him.

I am so grateful to have found this feeling of peace and joy again. There was a long period of time when I thought I'd never feel it again. I'm able to see now, how strong I really was, even when I felt completely broken. I was so low and scared in those days that I couldn't rely on my own hope. I had to borrow it from those who had faith in me.

I know that the universe doesn't deal me a better hand now just because I've been through hell, but there's just as much chance that the future holds amazing things, too. I know sad times will come again and little things will set me back. I know big bad things can and will happen. I know I have an incredibly long way to go, but now that I've crested the hill of the one year mark since that pivotal move,  I can look behind me, at the distance I've come and marvel. I guess I really am strong. There is no denying that now. And so is the love that helped me get here.

The Choice

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I was telling my therapist all about the process I went through to decide to sell our house, quit my job and move to Portland after Dave died.

I told her about the epic snowstorm that buried me in 2 feet of snow on Dave's birthday and left me without power for two days and without contact with another human for four days.

I told her about putting the house on the market and getting an offer and selling it in less than a month. I told her about the day I woke up and had the thought "I'm going to move to Portland!"

Then I told her about finding my current home. I told her that the realtor didn't have my condo on her radar at all. We happened to drive by and I saw a for sale sign. I bought it days later.

I am in unit 1. My next door neighbor in unit 2 was widowed in her 50s. The professor who lives in unit 3 was widowed in September after his wife's battle with cancer. Three widowed people in a row.

When I told her this part, her eyes filled with tears. She said she was suddenly struck by what I'd been through and overcome. She said it gave her hope for herself and all her patients. I've never thought of it that way. That makes it sound heroic. It hasn't felt heroic. It's felt desperate.

All this time, I've felt desperate. I've made decisions I had to make to do the best I could for myself even though my compass was gone. I've leaped into the unknown with what I can see now was nothing but hope.

It was hard to see it as hope then because I was terrorized by fear and doubt. Other than having one clear moment when I formulated my plan to move to Portland, I didn't once feel absolutely certain or at peace about any of these decisions. They were all terrifying for me. I had doubts that kept me up at night, and turned my stomach. I deliberated and tortured myself over ever single decision I've had to make since my partner in life died.

I had to finally get a little more comfortable with the idea that the world wouldn't end if I screwed up. The worst had already happened so from that point on, I could get through selling our house, moving and starting a new life. Even if it all turned out to be a mistake, it wouldn't have been as bad as hearing the doctors tell me that they'd done all they could but hadn't been able to save my soul mate.

And yet...It's probably a product of my combined losses, not just Dave's, but I still expect more to go wrong, even as I grow more comfortable with change and making decisions on my own. I still expect what I have left (my cats, my home, my friends) to be simply gone if I don't keep my eye on them. I halfway expect a fire to take it all away from me if I'm not looking, or tragedy of another sort I haven't even thought of yet to come my way.

Logically I understand that nothing could be as bad as Dave's death, but my heart feels precariously patched together right now. I could survive more loss, yes, but would I want to? Would all hope be lost at that point? Would I have anything left in me with which to soldier on?

I have had hope all along. It's what drove me to jump into a new life when I was terrified to leave the old one behind. It's what keeps me going now. My wish is that hope is strong enough to withstand anything that comes its way.

Life isn't extra gentle with me now just because my husband died. The universe doesn't give a shit. It just keeps churning away, with its joy and sorrow, good and evil. I hope (ha!) like hell I have enough in me to sustain whatever else comes my way.

I'm not naive enough to say things (even to myself) like "everything will be okay," anymore. I have to learn to live with the light of hope and the darkness of potential tragedy. Holding them both together takes work. It's like trying to process things like school shootings. How does life go on after something that horrific? I don't know, but it does.

I suppose it's what we do in the face of all the horror. We reach out because we don't give up hope DESPITE the sorrow. It's all we can do. We make things better when we can. We hold onto each other when we can't. We breathe. We take leaps of faith. We don't give up.

I can't close up shop yet and hide away from everything because it might hurt more. That would be the real tragedy. Tragedy on top of tragedy. Dave couldn't help leaving. He would have stayed if he could have. I have a choice though. I can give up or I can keep hoping and fully living with all the risks it entails.

I'd better not squander that choice.

Heart Vacation

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After puppy-sitting for friends for the last week and moving into my new place yesterday, I am sleep-deprived and stressed out. This has led to clumsiness, grief set-backs and general screwedupness.

But I'm in my new home and my incredible girlfriends stayed with me for my first night in my new condo last night. This turned out to be a lifesaver because while moving in I received an ominous sounding text from someone I've recently begun to date. It sounded like impending rejection and that was a little too much for the end of an already momentous day.

As always, in this journey, small losses (even half-imagined ones) open my heart up to re-experience all the pain I hold at arm's length every day. The pain of losing Dave.

The floodgates opened and all sorrow was traced back to the hamster wheel thought "he's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead".

I need to settle into my place, catch up on sleep, take care of myself and enjoy my new home, but right now, I'm also battling a little grief resurgence that unfortunately takes up all my energy.

 Every time I'm caught up in a wave of it, it feels the same. It's as though I have concrete in my limbs and the thought of moving is exhausting. Everything takes a concerted effort to accomplish. Small, everyday irritations, like getting lost while trying to drive to a new location, or locking myself out of my place become so overwhelming that I retreat to a place of numbness in my brain. I go through the motions, but no one's home.

Eating and sleeping become tasks that require a skill set I suddenly lose. Food loses its taste and good, deep sleep eludes me.

Last night I finally did sleep, but woke up every few hours with the unsettled feeling of being in a new place.

Somewhere in the early morning hours, I finally dropped into a dream stage and dreamed of rejection. In the dream, a beloved childhood friend and an ex-boyfriend snuck away from me to go dancing together to escape my sadness and reveled in being away from my black cloud of misery, followed closely by two of my girlfriends heading out to dinner without inviting me. 

It occurs to me now, as it does frequently, (this is a lesson I work on EVERY SINGLE DAY) that what I really fear is being alone. It's as though a part of me is waiting for those I love to come to their senses and flee.

I know how loved I am. I see it. I feel it. I logically understand that I have worth and that there must be some reason people I love haven't dumped me already. But that little inner girl who's about 5 years old, has her arms wrapped around her mother's and father's legs and is begging them not to leave her while they pull away anyway, firmly uncurling her hands from their  pants legs and slipping away into nothingness. And then there's the 36 year old me who is clinging to her husband, willing his heart to start again, willing him to come back to her while he gently floats away anyway.

How the hell will this heart of mine survive any more loss? In order to love and LIVE, I have to subject my heart to all kinds of pain. But, oh how I'd love a break from the endless pain. A vacation for my battered heart.

I'd like to send my heart to a beautiful tropical beach, where all day and all night, it's bathed with love and warmth and safety. Where it's filled back up again and thoroughly patched up. When it returns, it will be better fortified to withstand the inevitable pain of living fully.

I want to wrap it up in layers of insulation and a fortress of barbed wire so just for a little while, no one and nothing can get to it.

Then again, there are many beautiful things I'd miss out on if my heart is inaccessible.

For now, though, I've done enough. I've pushed forward again. A new place. The dating world. Those two additions to my life are more than enough for now. It's time to give my poor heart a little break for a while.

Not to say no to life, but to renew my ability to cope.

And it won't be long until I'm wrapped up in the embrace of Camp Widow, which in its own way, is a little vacation for my heart. 

Proud

After two weeks living in my new place, my new city, my new life, I am feeling at peace most of the time. The anguish of living in "our" house has lifted. My new life matches the new me a little better.
I'm meeting wonderful new people and finding new ways to heal. I've been sleeping through the night more often, a reflection of the peace I've been able to create for myself here.

Every time I think of the pain I felt while making the decision to sell the house and the actual moving process, I feel my mind shut down a little. I think that is its protective way of allowing me to forget just how bad that pain was. I remember it being painful but I don't remember exactly how that pain felt, viscerally. Thank god.

I am learning more than ever that we make of a situation what we want to. We manifest so much by the mindset we take on and that it is within our control to find the good in the bad.

But I can read about how I felt during this heart-wrenching time. I found a draft of a post I was going to work on and then publish but forgot about in the chaos of the move. I must have written it about four weeks ago. Reading it now is a good reminder of how sometimes my mind can be so convincing. It's in my power to make it convince me of good, instead of bad. Thankfully, during the pain, I held on to what, somewhere deep within me, I knew was right for me even though I was scared down to my bones.

Because now I'm where I need to be. As hard as it was. As much as it hurt and as much as I risked, I trusted in myself and I'm glad I did.


Here's the entry I wrote:

I've uncovered a new level of my feelings about selling the house. There was an offer. A good offer. And I accepted. Getting an offer I wanted on a house that's been on the market for one month is not something I think I can pass up. It's just that now I have a month to clear out. Eleven years' worth of a life, Dave's life and my life, to sift through and somehow put in two categories. Keep or let go of.
I've had to let go of so much already. I'm so tired of letting go.
But, I can't back out now. I have to confront this. I have to let go. Letting go is the lesson I have to learn. Over and over.
One of the things I've been feeling recently, that I was just able to identify, is how sorry I am that I'm letting go of our house. I feel like I'm letting Dave down. That house was our pride and joy. It was filled with love and light and comfort. And he helped to make it that way and now I'm giving it up to someone else. Am I giving up on it? I feel like apologizing to Dave.
I know that I'll carry his love, our love, in me no matter where I go. I know that the house is just stuff. Sticks, bricks, siding, furniture, not our actual beings or our actual love.
But when I let the feelings come, that's what surfaces. I feel sorry. I feel like I've let Dave down. I feel like I'm giving up something too wonderful to ever find again. I guess I'm worried I'll never have that peace again. And the house is just the physical representation of that.
Nothing changes the fact that a BIG house on 12 acres is not something I want to try to deal with on my own. That kind of isolation might be great for someone who is settled, but I'm just no longer settled. I'm finding my way in a whole new life. I have to let go. I am not married anymore. Accepting that is heart breaking.

There have been several moments since I've moved out that have made me imagine Dave rooting for me proudly. I can just see him pumping his fist in the air and yelling, "THAT'S what you're capable of! I KNEW it!"

I think he'd respond to those words I wrote in a dark time, "Don't be sorry. Don't you dare. You did what you needed to do and I'm so proud of you".

So I'm not sorry. I didn't let him down. I didn't let us down. I make him proud and, even more importantly, I make myself proud.

Storm's End

A view of the shop and garden in my back yard

My part of the Pacific Northwest just experienced an epic snow and ice storm the likes of which I never thought I'd see living here. There are LOADS of people still without power 6 days after the storm first rolled in. I wrote the following on Friday, January 20.

I think we may have come to the beginning of the end of this year's epic storm, but I'm still cautious. The power came on a little while ago and I rushed to take a shower and run the dishwasher while I had the chance. I'm not yet ready to get too excited about the power when the tree limbs are still coming down and it looks like some really windy weather is on its way. The kind of wind that snaps tree limbs and brings down power lines.
I haven't been out of the house since Sunday. The only humans I've seen since Monday were a couple who braved this crazy weather to look at my house. My house is officially on the market.

I have deliberated endlessly about selling this place. I've considered renting it out, keeping it but moving out, selling it, and even staying in it, but down deep I knew all along that I couldn't stay here REALLY. It was still so wrenching that I was hoping for something to happen that would FORCE the decision. As Dave's birthday rolled around, I wished for a clear message or sign that leaving this house was the right thing to do. And then, as if by some strange cosmic force, the storm arrived on his birthday and continued for the next 3 days. Being trapped here, wondering when the power would come on again, and how I'd get out of my snow-blocked driveway for more gas for the generator, and how I'd keep the fire going, and how I'd get through another day completely alone in this big house made it clearer than ever.
It was as though I got my message. Loud and clear.

It's not even that I couldn't handle it. I handled it. I made the fires, I hauled the firewood, I dragged the generator out of the garage, I started the generator, I dug the car out of the snow. I did everything myself and I didn't need help. I know I can handle all of it. But I don't want to. I want to focus on moving forward and staying here is staying stuck. Stuck in the memories of a life I no longer get to live. Stuck keeping a house and too much land up and running. And the workload will only get worse in the spring and summer.

Even if I didn't live here alone, I'm still so far from opportunities I don't even know exist. I'm still isolated.

So that storm gave me what I was desperately looking for. It gave me a huge con to add to my pros and cons list in my head.
Staying in this house: CON - If there is a storm, you will have to live like a pioneer ALL ALONE for days on end.

Unfortunately, I still get clammy-handed and heart-skippy when I think of living in a new place. That anxiety wasn't relieved by this added resolve to move.

It's the first thing I think about when I wake up (often in the middle of the night) and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. It's never far from my mind throughout the activities of the day, either.

But just because I fear it doesn't mean I shouldn't do it.

The storm said "This is no longer the right place for you, honey."

Saying goodbye to this place will break my heart. As it mends, though, it will be stronger. Yet another hurdle to say I conquered.

As of today (Monday, January 22), It looks as though I will be temporarily moving to the big city on  February 4. Wish this country mouse luck moving to her new urban digs!