I’m not treading water anymore, I’ve been swimming in my archives lately, paddling around and taking a closer look at memories that have been muddied by grief. I’ve been reliving the days leading up to the end; the end of life as I knew it. The strange thing is I’m not drowning in tears as I do this, I’m taking a lengthy moment and really looking at the thing I survived and trying to get a handle on what is coming next.
I’m still standing. My stuffing is worse for wear, my veneer is a little cracked, but I’m still here. They say scar tissue is stronger than skin but doesn’t have the same flexibility. Scars may be tough but they’re not pretty. My heart is a map of scar tissue – it is constricted, it feels distorted and changed. It aches – and yet it still beats. I am still standing.
There are times when I’m angry I’m the one still here – that it’s me with the mess and the broom and a lifetime to sort out, both the past and the future. I’m mad every problem has fallen to me – mad the buck stops here. I’m mad I’m the one who has to make the changes, pull myself together and carry on. I’m mad he died.
I am weary of this anger, this grief, this sadness – I’m spent. I’ve been keeping my eyes on the road for months because every time I looked at the horizon I’ve fallen to pieces. It’s time to really look at where I’m at and chart the course to tomorrow. The time has come to determine where I’m going.
I can’t stay in our house. I can’t drag all the stuff of our lives with me when I move. I have to acknowledge my age, my energy and the fact I’m as young as I will ever be. I have a big fat reality to face. I’m doing this thing and I’m doing it on my own – I am walking into the sunset by myself.
This wasn’t the plan, we had pictured ourselves enjoying our golden years together; he was going to work on old cars and I was going write, we were going to watch our granddaughters grow up and be the cool old grandparents that ‘got it’. We were going to travel. We weren’t set or ready to retire but we were figuring it out. Now the ‘we’ has turned into ‘me’ and the pace to figure things out has picked up.
I’m more resolved lately, the scar tissue on my heart has made me tougher. I’ve already been dealt the biggest change, the rest are small in comparison. I can do hard things whether I want to or not, I have to face the things, all the things. Facts are facts, they are real – now I have to get real too.
Comments (6)
I’m about two years ahead of you. I’m taking my time to cull everything, slowly getting the house ready to sell. Still no idea when or where to go. Developed some health problems this year, purely as a result of the stress of the last several hard years so watch out for that. Be good to yourself and try to step out of your grief every now and again. Patience is part of what’s needed as the process of healing progresses. These transitional stages are difficult, but they will eventually become firm ground.
Thank you For your words of wisdom Nancy. Much appreciated.
Sounds like a plan. Plan A and possibly a plan B. Looking back is giving you a view of how far you’ve come. You will get there. You are inspiring me…
Thanks Leslie – you inspire me.
My feelings and resolve harmonize with yours though our circumstances have been very different. I have been living with bereavement longer though and found deciding where to start a challenge. I felt like a wet dog who is giving herself a shake and made some decisions. I have chosen to remain in the house but it’s a struggle to renovate and reorder. I figured I’d have to clear out a lot of stuff anyway, mine and his, if I moved so I’ve been “decluttering” and reinventing rooms to different purposes. My pathetic writing room has been well and truly ignored for a very long time. I made a small start in there yesterday. It’s a relief to be planning and doing though it all feels a bit unreal.
I think a lot of us are in this place of re-invention. It’s hard – I think some of my reluctance to moving ahead stems from my reluctance to let go. Hope to see you over the holidays.