in the company of loneliness

for those who asked:  my Sanctuary at the moment.  still working on it.

looking down into my foyer.  the hanging on the door to the right blocks the window that looks into the garage.

 still working on it, most of my boxes are unpacked and most of the painting is done.

 i do have almost all my beloved books out in places....like here

 and the stairwell.

 these photos are a couple of weeks old and more has been done...

 but i haven't posted in a while and wanted to let any readers who may still be out there that

i am still here.

i love my Sanctuary.  it's more than home, it really is a place to come hide, to relax, to be myself.  i do feel safe here.  

i miss him a great deal but missing him is like walking and talking with someone who truly understands what i've been through/am going through.  i talk to him about things.  mostly i talk to myself though.  i am talking to my grief which resides inside me; deep inside me where i do not let anyone see.

people expect me to "miss" my husband.  but they do not understand the depth of that loss as it plays out for me on a daily basis.  i would love some "magic tea."  {you would have to be a reader from the beginning to understand that one.}  i would love to take a walk with him around here.  i would dearly love to have his advice, thoughts on my ever-aching arm ~ la tennis elbow that i cannot get fixed.

i miss all the minute things that go in to being part of a mated pair.  i am lost out here but that intense loneliness i feel is almost like company.

i walk my dogs in the silence that surrounds my rural Sanctuary and feel the wind on my skin, through my hair, pulling on my jacket.  it feels wonderful.  the warmth of the setting sun on my face and the feel of the coolness of the rising darkness on my back make me feel small but important.  it's a communing with nature coupled with the gratefulness in my heart for where i live now that i think is healing.

i am a widow.  i have no pull for being with others, for dates, for outings.  i take myself out to supper if i wish to go and i go in the company of a book.  i do what i want without fretting anymore about friendships from anyone.  i talk to my Dragon and to myself about how i feel and know that no one; no therapist, no support group, no counselor will ever take the time to know me and my story to be there for me.  i can do this alone. 

there was a time when there were no grief therapists, no support groups, or counselors.  people grieved their own way all the time.  the first 3 years were hard and i tried to find someone, believing that i needed outside help.  being rebuffed time and again, i would return home to lick my wounds and feel bad about myself.  i would feel unworthy, unimportant.

as more time passed, now 5 years, 8 months, i have struggled for my job, this place, and my right to be who i am.  so many others, grieving ships that have passed me in the darkness leaving me on my makeshift raft, but you know?  i'm doing okay.

i have my daughter, son, and grandson.  i have two little dogs who love my unconditionally.  i am working at a job that is trying to drain my strength both physically and emotionally but i do not let it.  someone can crush a flower, grind it into the dirt, and in a little while, a tiny green shoot comes up again.  like a tiny little middle finger flipping us all off.  i love that about flowers.

i am still grieving.  i always will.  but it is not an unhealthy grief.  it is the missing of someone who cannot be replaced, who cannot be forgotten, who will never be out of my life.  i love him.  he was an awesome man.

i am grieving and lonely at times, but that loneliness keeps me company.  i know it so well.  and it knows me.  i can talk a lot to it and it listens to me.  it nods it's head understanding what i am feeling.

it lets the wind caress my hair.  it has the sun shine on my face and warm it for those last few moments before it sets.

it also keeps the cool, rising darkness at my back.  

i said it was company.  i never said we were friends.

finding home

the word home can bring about deep feelings.

we all want a home, to feel at home, we all have ideas of what home is,

of what it looks like.

i have been blessed with the opportunity to create a home for myself.

i am unpacking as fast as my work schedule allows me to.

here is one photo.

 give me a little more time and i will post more.

but back to finding home.

i have my sanctuary now.  it will be where i go to get away from the world.

it's a quiet place IN a quiet location.

just as quietly i love this place.

when i get finished painting and unpacking, it will look like the inside of my heart.

once you see it, you will have seen me.

but home.....

truly home was with him.

in his arms.

in his eyesight.

within the warmth of his smile.

i quietly got through his birthday and our wedding anniversary.

i got through the 5.5 year mark.

i got through another full moon.

i have found my sanctuary here now.

i pray it lasts for a long time.

i need some peace and feeling of safety in my life.

i am still searching for home.

it is him.

so i guess let me say it differently.

i am waiting for home.

i am waiting for the chance to find him.

five years of grief

five years

it used to burn ~ this grief that i still feel.

it used to burn me up inside.

it was as if someone had started a fire inside me to burn all that i was.

the fire ate away my insides for a long time yet it deliberately stopped short of killing me.

that was it's way of torturing me.

it never finished the job.

i continued to live.

and i got used to the heat.

then grief changed tactics.

it showed me loneliness.

it brought me back into the crowded world where no one notices me.

no one sees my pain.

no one accepts you can grieve after a year, after two and a half years,

after four years.

the world is a place where sympathy stops while the pain continues.

that is loneliness;

when your pain goes unrecognized, or unaccepted.

when you are expected to rejoin a world that fundamentally hasn't changed,

but you have.

i have.

i'm grieving.

and i got used to the loneliness.

it is now five years.

five long years.

grief is introducing me to it's next experience.

i am cold.

i feel chilled inside.

so cold i burn.

i feel detached at times, like i am a spectator to the world.

i am there but not included.

i refuse to be what i not and what i am not is this:

i am not through grieving.

i do not feel comfortable away from my tiny home.

but when i am home i still feel cold.

i can vividly recall his laugh.  i can conjure up an afternoon spent with him.

i can hear his voice in my head, my heart, deep in my soul.

time has taken nothing from my memory.

nothing has faded.

nothing has dimmed.

it is all still there.

but it is like being on the outside looking in on my own life

during that time we were together.

i remember what it felt like being with him but that is the one thing i cannot get back;

that feeling of safety, that feeling of being loved.

so i feel cold.

so i crawl on.

a mental picture of me is this:

imagine meeting a woman who is kind, funny, genuinely easy to be around.

you can tell she is a heartfelt listener and cares about others.

and you listen to her for a brief moment.

her words are soothing, make you smile, make you feel warm inside.

but there is something a bit off about her.

for all her smiles, her eyes seem sad.

even when she looks at you, you can see that her soul is split.

and her voice.

it sounds as if there is another voice speaking in chorus with her.

two voices from one soul.

that is me and my grief talking.

she and i speak simultaneously.

we are no longer separate.

we are a unit; a team.

we are entwined much like he and i were entwined while he lived.

my grief lives inside me or i live inside her.

it depends upon the day.

we color my existence together.

we share my life.

she is company.

i know her very well.

she lets me ask the hard questions and counsels with her silence.

my one and only consolation ~

the night before he died, we made love.

the night he died, i was lying in his arms in bed.

we had said, "i love you" to each other;

not with that peck on the cheek or a quick press of lips that makes a travesty of passion.

it was as it always was between us.

it was a soft, lingering kiss.

it was shared breath.

it was the silent acknowledgement that

"parting is such sweet sorrow"

even if only for sleep.

ten minutes later his body betrayed him.

it began separating his soul from me.

twenty minutes after that we were severed.

but we had that kiss.