Monday, May 26, 2014

Three Years

On June 4, it will have been 3 years since Dave died.

On June 5, barring any complications with inspections, I will close on a new house. A sweet little pale yellow 1940s Cape Cod in an incredible neighborhood with a big backyard.

On June 10, I should be all moved in. Deciding to move, finding a home and having my offer accepted in a really tough buyer's market all happened so effortlessly and easily, that from my current vantage, I can't remember exactly how I got from where I was to where I am now. It feels a lot like it did when I sold the house that Dave and I lived in together. I couldn't imagine leaving but then the pieces fell into place and once the move was in motion, it swept me along when I had just enough strength to go with the current and land where it took me.

The significance of the date of the closing and the third anniversary of Dave's death is not lost on me.
The house and the new beginning it offers feels fitting and it feels like a gift. I'm starting to see my future as a wealth of possibilities instead of a dark and lonely unknown.

The move isn't just about finding a new home and saying goodbye to my old place, that cradled me for the last two years, and helped me feel anchored to an uncertain life I hadn't ever expected to be living.
It's also about building a life and a home with my new love. If you had told me, even 6 months ago that I'd be moving into a house with a man, I'd have laughed and told you to fuck off. Not that I had no hope that I'd ever find love again. I wasn't without hope. I just never thought it would come along so fast and fall into place as fluidly as it did.

It hasn't been easy, this giant step of loving and committing again. It's been powerful and redeeming and transformative. But it hasn't been easy giving my heart a chance to feel vulnerable again. The falling in love part was easy and lovely. But committing and imagining a future with someone else has been bumpier. It's been scary and raw. I've wondered how I could possibly feel these things again when it still seems as though Dave was just here. I've doubted my ability to be emotionally available to a partner. I've worried about going through it all over again one day.

I've doubted a lot. And then, miraculously, something happened. It was as if a switch was flipped and I realized that with this person in particular (and maybe with the me I've become now), I could risk. I could fail, and flounder, and doubt and worry and talk about all of that worry and he'd steadfastly hold it all. And I realized that I could also be present with him. I could transcend my own pain and anxiety to be there for him. It wasn't the case any longer that I had nothing to give. I did. I do. I have a lot to give. I am not broken and he mirrors that for me. He loves me. The verb love. He proves to me, over and over again, that I can trust him to make the choice to be committed to our relationship, even when it's not simple or perfect or easy. But, it's better when we're together. Life is better.

So, this chapter has completely surprised me. It's brought me treasures I only imagined. I can genuinely feel Dave's relief and joy at things turning out the way they have. It's beautifully hard holding two relationships in one heart. One that was suddenly, horrifically over but not ever actually over and one that is just beginning. One that endured 15 years and was as familiar as my own skin and one that I'm still learning about. I miss Dave and I love him dearly. I love my boyfriend too. That's a lot of love. One doesn't make the other less than. One doesn't make the other harder to feel. But the growing pains of my heart making space and stretching and exposing itself again have been intense and will continue to be.

I have stayed true to my vow to allow for love again. I knew after what I've been through that there'd be a strong temptation to close up shop and build the defensive walls higher and higher after Dave died. I fought that urge like no one's business. I can't have love and beauty and life without fear and risk.

So, with a ton of excitement and joy and only a little fear, I am leaping into this next adventure. We will be a family of five. Me, my love, his dog and my two cats. And maybe one day some human kids, too, who knows.

Off we go.

The new house





15 comments:

  1. Congratulations! So happy for you. The house looks beautiful. It looks...happy.

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  2. Cassie, I am so happy for you. Thrilled that you worked on yourself and so deliberately moved ahead toward loving a partner again. Thrilled that you resisted the temptation to close up shop. My home has been my anchor in an uncertain life, too. And getting out there and meeting men and opening to love "hasn't been easy", but I have found it so worth it. Though... none of my own boyfriends have shown the promise yours is showing, but, hey, fewer and fewer men are around in their 60's and 70's. So, with a sigh, I substitute the word 'life' for partner, and still endeavor to meet my goal of loving and being romantic.

    Much happiness in your new home with your new partner. The house looks beautiful.

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  3. Thank you for sharing this special step with us Cassie. It gives me so much hope. Good luck for your move.

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  4. This is the post I needed . I use to read the blog everyday in the beginning of my journey then things got easier and I wanted so badly to move past this. But today I was drawn to read this blog again and look what happened. It has been almost 5 year without my love and I am losing hope of ever finding love again! But your post has given me hope that it is possible even if it might be more complicated!

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    1. I'm glad you came here again today!

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  5. Wow Cassie, thank you for giving words to my life. It has been 2.5 years since my Bruce died, leaving me with two little kids and an amazing support system. I "met" a new man (I knew him a little through some of our common interests) about 7 weeks ago and it feels like it can be just as you described. I can be in relationship with him and with my husband. One makes changes in the other. He is open to hearing my grief and I feel like I am a better person with him. But my heart is tired sometimes, stretching to make room for both, and disputing my head, which sometimes wants to scream "what are you doing, do you remember what happened the last time you fell in love?" Hopeful and scary and lovely,that's how it feels. Thank you as always for your honest writing. It strengthens me.

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    1. Hopeful and scary for sure. Thank you for letting me know how my writing helps you. Good luck with the stretching!

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  6. Oh how absolutely lovely!! I breathed a deep sigh as I read the last line, I am so fantabulously happy for you both!! The house is adorable but more importantly, the love you will fill it with is boundless. Here's to everything a heart can hold and then some. Much Love...

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  7. Oh, Cassie, this has all been said, but CONGRATULATIONS!! The house is adorable and I'm sure you will fill it with love. I am more like "gowiththeflow", but I choose to substitute "life" for "partner". Being able to share in your success makes it seem that much more attainable for the rest of us. What a wonderful ending to my holiday weekend and what a fantastic chapter in your life's story! -Snowygirl

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  8. So so lovely to hear this, and what a lovely little abode to make yours, with someone to love again. I am just about to list my house, make the move to a temporary place, whilst I figure out where I really want to be. I understand that excitement and joy and fear, as I walk around my home and yard filled with spring flowers, crying as I imagine starting over. Reading of others doing it gives me strength to do the same. Thank you so much, this came at just the right time.

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  9. This house is beautiful and I'm so incredibly happy to read about new love and new life - and the idea that we can love them both but that there is room for a new future. Congratulations Cassie.

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  10. I don't know you, but I'm SO HAPPY for you! Thank you for sharing this good news.

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