the last snowstorm ~ the first sleet storm

this is the last snowstorm my Dragon and i walked in. the day before he died we took the dogs and walked along the seawall as the storm silently cranked up. it was fun. i love walking with him. he always stopped to check on me. he was so good to me. i always thanked him and he was always amazed that i would. i told him that i never took him for granted and wanted him to know how much i appreciated everything he did. i wanted him to feel loved.

i had a flask in my pocket for her. she'd gotten hypothermia once pretty bad. almost hospital bad, but i got to her in time. her fingers tips were never the same though. her fingertips can get cold when it's 50 degrees outside. i always looked back for her. she'd get distracted by the whole world around her, like every day was a new day and she couldn't get enough of being outside. she'd never been taken care of. my looking out for her, keeping crackers and a flask of hot chocolate for her, i just wanted her to feel loved.

i took so many pictures on this day never knowing he'd be gone within 32 hours. he always stopped to look back at me. when i caught up, he'd ask, "did you take another picture of me? don't you have enough?" he'd smile and wink. i loved taking his picture. i think he's ruggedly handsome.

she took so many pictures of me and i finally got used to it. i don't think she ever knew how much i liked that she took my picture. a woman doesn't take that many pictures if she doesn't love you, think you're okay looking. i see her looking at all of them now. i'm glad she has them.

fast forward to not quite a year and it's the first, not snow, but a highly commendable little sleet storm. i took Bunny out on the balcony but she got cold so i brought her inside. she sat and looked out at the sleet. so did the dogs. they whined. and of all the things that could have reminded me of him today, Scootie went and got his boot out again. every so often he just goes into the closet to get my Dragon's boot. i just let him. who am i to hinder someone's grief. dogs grieve. elephants do, too. i read that if an elephant comes upon the bones of a dead elephant, they bury them under tree branches. and they weep. so Scootie can go into the closet anytime he needs to and get the Dragon's boot.

silly little dog. i'm glad she has them. but Scootie. i think he misses me. she always called him a sensitive little soul, and he is. he watches her as much as i do. he senses when she's low. both of them do. the white stuff out there exacerbated her anguish today. she missed the Wolf Moon. it was sleeting so the heavy clouds covered it up. i watched her. every 30 to 45 minutes until after 3 am she'd get up to run check to see if the clouds had thinned, or parted, for her. they didn't. when she gave up, she cried. it broke my heart. i laid beside her until she fell asleep. my poor Bunny. a little over a week and she's going to be in Hell, and there's nothing i can do to stop it.

the lighthouse dream

I’ve been having a dream, essentially the same one with only small details that vary. It is mystical in the way some old ghost stories are. Not scary, more woven from the longing I feel, possibly fantasies that my own mind shelters me in since I still cry before I go to sleep. I am a woman of faith. I will not proselytize but as a parenthetical reference I need to say that I say prayers plus have a conversation with God and my Dragon because it is solace for me. I tell you this only to expose my frame of mind as I try to find sleep. To distance myself from my dream I’m going to tell it in story form. I call it my “Lighthouse Dream.” The first photo is my shrine to the months that have past. My Dragon died on February’s full moon. I missed March because of tears and grief. I got the others because I am compelled. The second and third photos are of the island.

The Dragon and his womanNshadows had been living on the knife’s edge of poverty. All the money either of them earned was first allocated to her children. The Dragon’s son had been keeping his father at arm’s length ever since his father had married and returned all the money his father sent. It was a very sad but true fact that the boy’s mother had greatly disliked the fact that the Dragon had found someone to love, and someone who loved him. At every turn the young man would relate some statement that his mother had said, some awful perversion of the truth that cannot be unspoken. The Dragon had tried to reason with his son. He’d tried to speak to the complex emotions of a long ago divorce without speaking against the woman who had mothered his son, but there are some things in this world that are impossible to do. There are some minds that choose to remain closed. So the Dragon had grown sadder as the years passed and found family in one not exactly of his own creation.

Fortunately for the Dragon he had been accepted into this little family of three, his womanNshadows and her son and daughter. He felt blessed to be with them and knew only love and tenderness with them. The womanNshadows’s daughter claimed him as her own “true” father while her son called him for “guy” advice, respecting and honoring all that the Dragon had to teach in a way that the Dragon wished his own son had been able to do. In spite of his sadness over what he thought of as the “loss of my son,” he felt truly happy for the first time in his life.

The womanNshadows adored her Dragon. She grieved for him his agony over his son. She listened to him, offered advice if he asked, or kept her silence if she felt he desired only to vent. She kept telling him he had done all he could, and urged him to keep trying, to never give up because one never knew when the young man would escape his mother and learn to think for himself. She worshiped her Dragon and most every day thanked him for his generosity, his love, for just the miracle of him wanting to be with her. She made sure that she expounded on all his virtues to the point where she would see him blush and know that his smile came from his heart. She made sure he felt every word of praise as her truth, her gift to him.

As was said, the Dragon and the womanNshadows were very poor. They took care of her children first then scraped together whatever was left for them to live. He never minded and she always felt safe with him no matter where they ended up. They claimed it was a gypsy life they had chosen for themselves rather than one of poverty that life had forced on them. They danced on the beach. They collected shells, driftwood, and sand dollars like some people determinedly collect Coach purses or clothes and jewelry. Together they lived in a 130-year-old house on a bluff that overlooked a cove. From their bedroom window, the old wooden floors would creak, as they would stand there looking out to sea, across thousands of miles of ocean, directly, as they teased each other, to Northern Spain. That long fetch across the Atlantic brought storms with heavy waves and nothing to block their fury. Immense amounts of water would crash heavily into the granite coastline and the Dragon would watch over his womanNshadows as she ventured out on the rocks to take pictures.

Shortly after they had moved into the old house and started haunting the beach, the womanNshadows fell in love with the solitary island just off the coast. On it was the lighthouse that still flashed every three seconds and had the fog horn that blasted for the fishermen and lobstermen who plied their trade out beyond the Selvages. The lightkeeper’s house was falling down. The island abandoned from the 1970’s after the light went automated. It is a lonely island with nothing but prickly beach roses and small thorny brush growing waist high. Gulls and heron, terns and ravens had claimed it as theirs, but it was the wind that truly owned the island. It was, still is, an austere place where no one is allowed to go. Heavy fines are levied on anyone who tries to visit the island. This is because of the crevices that the ocean and the weather had created. It is a dangerous place for those who are arrogantly careless. It would be perfect for a woman from the shadows and her Dragon who never took anything for granted. The other odd thing about the island was that it seemed to have an invisible caul around it dampening any radio or cell phone signals. The Coasties who still maintained the lighthouse had stories about the place if anyone cared to listen. The womanNshadows and her Dragon listened.

A year long photographic study of the island gave her and her Dragon a vivid image of it even though they had never been granted permission to row out. They often dreamed of living there. Talking about saving the house and going solar, the Dragon had been fully vested in his woman’s fantasy of creating their own sanctuary out there, away from people, away from anyone who might try to hurt them. They would live there alone, the two of them, needing only each other. The woman could sail or drive a boat with the best of them and there was literally nothing the Dragon couldn’t do. He’d lived off the land many times during his years, through all his missions as a Marine. He would be able to create a wonderful life for his wife, his love, his womanNshadows out on the island. Then she could literally stand on the safety of their front porch and take all the photographs she wanted. He would have her safe in a world of his creation, of God and the wind and water’s creation. She would be able to be herself, to bloom, and he would keep her warm and well loved and so very safe. It was a dream that they comforted themselves with; just as soon as the kids graduated college, just as soon as all the bills got paid, one last mission out of the country to earn enough extra money to help out their son, her son who had turned to the Dragon’s in need of money for a medical issue, and then they would move heaven and earth to try to obtain the island as their home.

One week before Valentine’s Day, the Dragon’s heart gave out. His great heart seized suddenly in what his “daughter” later called a “covert mission orchestrated by God.” The Dragon who had once roamed the earth as a warrior for his country, and whose body ached down to his bones from all the clashes and wounds he’d survived, could not survive this final attack. He closed his eyes and died.

For his womanNshadows, the whole world went dark and the only light she sees now, the only one she looks at comes from the full moons; like the one that shone so silvery cold on the night her Dragon died. She prays that he never heard her crying for him. She hopes he never knew a moment of fear or pain, or regret.

Now the Dragon’s woman is alone in a world that seems to forget widows can hurt long after their husbands have died. She has dreamed of him. She had not dreamed of him. Have there been signs she’s afraid to cling to? All she has is the island and the metaphor it represents now. She looks for meaning to her life where the absence of the Dragon has drained her from all desire, at times, to continue. She looks for light in this dark sea of grief. She looks for the lighthouse.

The full moon calls to her. And in her dreams, so does her island with the lighthouse. Lately, when she manages to sleep at all, she wakes on the island. She knows it by heart so her dreams take her there. She’s on the island walking, talking to the Dragon. He is there with her, just out of sight, but she can hear him and she can feel him. The stars shine down on her from far away, so far away that if they have died, she doesn’t know it yet. She can still make her wishes. The light from the lighthouse is her permanent nightlight to fight off the dark that tries to tear at her sense of security. The lightkeeper’s house has been saved by the Dragon’s hands and there she lives with her dogs, her camera, and her sewing. She lives there with her Dragon. He is everywhere she looks. His photos are on the walls. His shoes and clothes hang in the closet. His voice is in her ear and his wings, his great and strong arms are wrapped around her.

Every time the wind blows, which on the island is all the time, it is her Dragon moving to be close to her, surrounding her with his presence, and telling every cell in her body that she is not alone. He is there with her. He never left. He is at peace, therefore so is she.

Once she manages to fall asleep, it is hard to wake her because she is far away. Once she is awake, she feels immense sadness that it was all just a dream but she carries the idea of it with her all through the day. She can momentarily close her eyes and see the lighthouse beam so white cutting through the darkest blackouts. She knows what it would feel like to have that solitary existence of a life on the island with her Dragon, just her and him. The constant wind would wipe clean any bad thoughts and push away any bad people that might try to take from what the womanNshadows and the Dragon share out there on their island.

The lighthouse is the draw. Like a moth to a flame it calls to her. When she closes her eyes she tells herself that at first it will be dark, but then there will be that beacon of light reaching out to her, flashing from the island, drawing her home.

The idea can make the days bearable.

and then there was one

this island is off our cove. it has a name but my Dragon and i named it Isla (insert the Spanish of my name here). we always wanted to try to buy it from the Audobon Society since they never took care of it. the Coast Guard never maintained the lighthouse anymore either. there are unremarkably electronic bouys floating in the water for that now. since my Dragon has died, the island is being given away to anyone who will rebuild, maintain, and commit to live there for at least five years, but they'd love eight. they want daily readings on weather and bird activity. a simple observation of some science data typed into a computer every day. damn it all to Hell. we would have done that in a heartbeat. i am crush and somewhere my Dragon is roaring in frustration.

"man was born to live, to suffer, and to die and what befalls him is a tragic lot, but we must, dear Fox, deny it all along the way." ~ Thomas Wolfe

it sounds like good advice but what it is, is avoidance. i can no more deny that my Dragon has died than i can deny the pain that i am living with because of it. i am alone. i have to deal with the fact that he is gone every minute of every day. and every night.

i was born alone. i did the best to get by as quietly as i could. i was never a noisy person. it was a particular skill of mine to be able to go undetected through a gathering, a room, my life. in certain social situations, i can raise reticence to an art form. but i have always been able to write. i just never say it out loud. writing is a solitary journey of which i am very much at home.

in time, though, i became the mother of two children. the Three Musketeers. i was Athos, the one who carried the hidden sorrow, the melancholy one who took care of the younger two. but then a fourth came to join us, a Dragon; a seasoned veteran to lead us, to guide us, whose boot was the last one left standing in the dirt after we three had entered the safety of the house. it was the Dragon who always closed and locked the door.

the two younger Musketeers grew up and left on quests of their own, to start their own lives. it was me and my Dragon left in our home by the ocean. we were wrapped up in each other. we are each other's best friend, confidant, lover.

the February moon was full. it was four below outside but the Dragon and i were warm in our room. we had finished our pre-bed rituals and the lights were out. there was our kiss, slow, heartfelt. i had a slight headache and the Dragon was tired. i settled my head on his shoulder. my fingers were laced in his hand.

"i love you. good night."

"i love you, too."

i had no idea those would be our final words. seven minutes was all it took to bring my Dragon down.

and then there was one.

how empty my life is now that the Dragon has passed. while living, oh, Lord, you have to believe me, he was larger than life. his stories of his exploits as a warrior were the stuff of legends. he'd shake his head and blush at my awe at his abilities, but his life story is truly incredible. and he always came home to me. now that he isn't here to temper my hero-worship, he has become mythic.

i am separated from him by something i cannot understand. i am depressed. i sew. i try to sleep. it's always fitful and i wake up exhausted. and then i sew. if i didn't have the sewing, i think i would sleep for 22 hours a day.

i think of him. all the time. but i cannot "deny it all along the way." he has died and i have to deal with it, even though i am beside myself, even though i am devastated.

but maybe tonight i will fall asleep a little sooner than i usually do. maybe my Dragon of a man will come visit me. if i dream i can forget. for a little while i am not alone.

forgetting for a while isn't the same thing as denying the truth of what's happened.

{no one has accepted the terms of living on the island. it's too austere. it's too lonely. for me and the Dragon, it's perfect. for me alone, it's too dangerous. with good sense, the terms demand it be two people, no children under the age of 17.}

is this living or merely existing?

i'm not sure if i'm actually living or merely existing now. i feel like i'm drifting in a ven diagram of three overlapping circles. one circle is fear ~ financial and health. another circle is loneliness and hesitation to call anyone to simply talk, to let someone know i'm out here. the third circle is one of shock and numbness from the toll life has taken so far. fifty-one and i'm alone, without money, and hope is slim. all these circles overlap each other in that slice that is grief. it is the largest by far and the heaviest to sit in. i try to move out of this diagram but there is no map. it's a labyrinth of twists and sudden walls. i can't see over it and i can't find a way under it. i'm walking and walking but i get clubbed in the knees almost every day.

i am short of money, again. i am rationing food, again. my ex has decided i need to learn a lesson so he won't make another payment of the money he owes me until the first of the month. i've done it before. i can do it again, but i'm so tired. i'm tired of living. it's so hard. without the strength of my Dragon, i feel myself sliding down to my knees all the time.

it's ironic how much i want and how little i think i deserve. i want a small home, a townhouse maybe with a small enclosed courtyard for my two little dogs to play in. i want a small car so i can drive myself to the store. i want my quilts to sell, my sock animals to sell, my photographs to sell. i want my novels to be accepted for publication. i want to provide for myself so i don't have to make 5 days of food stretch for 14 days, or until he decides he will lower himself to make a payment.

i'm scared all the time. it goes up into a state of panic every other day or so, but i wrestle it down. i draw on my memories of my Dragon's stories of what he went through as a Marine. i draw on his strength from what i know he endured and transform it into my own strength.

there's no other option but to keep going for as long as life lets me. it's been taking these big bear swipes at me for what seems like forever. i want something good to happen financially, just once. i wished it could have happened while my Dragon lived. he deserved so much more than he got. he deserved a long, quiet, peaceful retirement. if you are a person of faith, it can be argued that he got it. that he's in Heaven right now with no physical pain and a soul at peace from the horrors of this life. i just wish he could have gotten some peaceful time with me here in this life. it's such a beautiful world. mountains. ocean. clouds. sunsets. the smell of bar-be-que. the sight of your daughter trying on her wedding dress. the sound of your son on the phone laughing.

i miss him. he's so handsome. his smile is so contagious. he laughs with all that he is. i could go on but it wouldn't matter to anyone but me. let me just say that to stand next to him was a powerful feeling for me. i cherish him so much. i just wish he were still here with me. i sit in this little apartment and wish for all the world that he were here for me to talk to.

going through each day in fear, loneliness, hesitation to let anyone who knows me how bad it really is, all the shocked numbness that he's dead, and all this heavy, oppressive grief is not really a life. i get up and i breathe, sort of. i dedicate myself to work all day, long hours to try and get it all done so i can have some more money to try to get a foothold, only to have to be realistic and know i'll never catch a break. he was my break. being in his arms was my one break from the tragedy that is my life. he protected me. he carried me at times. he made me laugh. he loved me and there was nothing that felt greater. having his full attention on me made me feel whole. i felt alive.

i answered my own question. is this living or merely existing? he's gone. the one person who cared every minute of every day what i thought, what i felt; who sought me out and wanted my love, he died. so i'm not really alive. i'm existing right now, and for as long as this fear lasts, of dealing with the ex and his payback for the divorce by using his weapon of financial oppression, i can't grieve fully. i can't live. it's so hard and so lonely without him. my mantra isn't working anymore. i'll have to make up another one.

money. i need some. i'm supposed to get a thumb splint. i'll get food before i'll get that. new glasses. you have to shake your head and laugh sometimes, but it's a bitter laugh, hollow if it's audible. i'm out of Aleve. even cutting them in half i didn't make them last. damn. things i can only write about. could never say out loud.

i haven't been able to stay at the widow's meetings the last two times. if i speak, i don't think i'd be allowed to say it all. and if i got cut off, i'd be so embarrassed. i'd hang my head and weep. they'd think it was for him, but it would be for me.

no, i'm not living anymore. i died, i think, when he died. i saw my future without him and knew what it would be like. not pessimism. it was survival skills kicking in. i was being realistic. and it's played out exactly like i thought.

i miss him. i need him. there's so little left for me to work with. i'm tired and in physical pain. if i could just get some food and some Aleve in me. and that stupid splint. i tried it on. God, such relief.

well, pity party needs to end. i need to get back to work. it's only 10 PM. i can get in at least two more hours before i completely play out.

if you got this far, thanks for reading. i'll be okay. okay is better than not okay. i'm the Dragon's wife, after all. he never gave up. neither will i. i want him to smile at me.

my pendant and new ring ~ my response to the widow who emailed

this has been building in me for a couple of weeks, something that i feel i have to address. i read only a few blogs, faithfully, and leave comments when i feel i might be able to say something worthwhile, usually in the way of validation. i feel we write here in hopes of connecting with someone. i don't think we need life coaching. no one can and should direct our lives. we gain insights to others who feel, or have felt similar, to see that benchmark for where we are.

i have been told to never say never. i have been instructed that i should be getting better. all this is sound advice that comes from people who know what works for them and is very well meant. i understand that at the beginning of grief, people say never say never because life happens and may gift them with a new love. lovely. such a wonderful second chance.

but my Dragon was my second chance.

i have been told that i am flat out wrong to grieve at all. not going to say who from, it came through as a private email. it was harsh, direct, and very self-serving of a life plan that works for this particular woman. she loved her husband. he got sick. he died. people need to move on quickly or they are only wallowing for their own benefit.

i felt a little sorry for her, that she felt such contempt for me. the catalyst for her vehemence was due to my "Dragon and the womanNshadows" missive of a couple of weeks back. she felt i had, in her words, "over calculated your affection for him. no one should mean that much." oddly her words didn't wound. i know what i had in him. still have.

i deleted the email without responding. all she knows of me is that i am womanNshadows. all she knows is that her words passed by me without comment. but then i thought i would and add the photo above.

i read the handful of people's writings here and i feel the hurt, frustration, and sadness that can overwhelm. i feel it deeply myself.

i spoke on the phone to Suddenwidow and told her a secret. besides the urn for my Dragon and myself, i purchased something else from that company, something i didn't know was available but wanted immediately when i saw it. as is obvious, my Dragon was cremated. i have his ashes waiting for mine to join his to be given to the sea. i also bought the tiny cobalt blue glass pendant and put barely a teaspoon of his ashes inside. i sealed the top and it is ready for me to wear when i go out if i so choose. i chose the one i did because he meant the moon and stars to me. i'm wearing it under my dress to my daughter's wedding. she knows. she approves. she wants it when i pass. he was her Dragon, too.

without going into detail, she needed him before i married him, called him, and he came. my Dragon became her Dragon by protecting her until i could get there. her father had stopped by and was angry. she was scared and needed help. she loves him and calls him "Dad."

i also bought myself an anniversary ring from a company called "wedding vow rings." i had his vows to me, the Shakespeare quote, engraved on it. instead of moving my wedding rings to my right hand, i am keeping them where he put them. and i've added the silver ring i bought for myself to wear on my right hand.

to the never say nevers? sorry. i'm not there. to the tough love people who think i'm wallowing because of the pendant? i'm working on the Memory Quilts for others, taking in their stories and using those as inspiration for the quilts i make them so that they are unique. i feel, i think maybe, i tell myself i am giving them back something tangible, soft comfort, and memories for the children who love their dads, moms, sisters, and brothers.

i'm living. i'm getting up each morning. i'm working. i simply still love my Dragon. if i say never, i know i will get mail and/or comments. i will be told i'm making a generalized statement far too soon. but i have to throw on the table this one thought. you don't know me, what my life was like before the Dragon, and what our lives were like together. you don't know what we have. there are people who don't ever remarry and are considered living their lives. if i am one of those, i am no less a functioning human being than those who are gifted with another love.

let me be. offer solace. tell me you understand the sadness that has come to my life. but please do not tell me everything you know i am doing wrong according to how you live your own life. i do not tell those who cry to suck it up. i do not expect others to grieve as i do. it is my life. no one else has to live it. but i do.

everyone's lives has so many variables that come into play. don't criticize when all you know are the words chosen to become public. in loving my Dragon and writing about him, it was never my intent to rile anyone. i do not reach out to others for advice, only commraderie, the knowledge that they know what i'm describing.

i hope all who grieve find peace. i hope all who find another love, have long lives together. i hope all who their lives with the love and memories of the one who died, find joy in those memories and the tears become fewer and further apart. i simply wish us all peace.

hard dreaming, mortality, Split-Second Single Father, and Widower Howe

the first photo is because of something Split-Second Single Father wrote and my story of the photo I'll get to in a minute.

my sleeping habits have gone to H-E double L since my Dragon died. i am in physical pain from arthritis and from stress. i ache more now for reasons i will only tell you are this: he's gone and everything is magnified.

i have been working myself so very hard on the Memory Quilts and the sewing for my daughter's wedding. i told myself that on his birthday, back on August 5th, and on our wedding anniversary, back on August 11th, that i would take a break and work on my own Husband Quilt, try to get it finished for myself through both those days, but i didn't touch it. the top is done and i showed it to chillingwithlemonade when she stopped by for her pillow and grey sock dog but, well, i haven't finished it yet. it's become more wall art that a true wrap-around me quilt. i'll take all his t-shirts and make me one of those later on. but back to the reason for taking a break to write.

i was exhausted and took a short nap, a "snap" if you will, after eating lunch while working with Photoshop on my daughter's wedding program. (see, i can multi-task with the youngest of them.) now i've taken "snaps" before but this one is the first one where i woke myself up crying. i heard a sound and thought it was one of my Scotties but, it was me. crying. for the Dragon.

i was disoriented after i woke up but somehow through my dreams i'd figured out how to make my daughter's wedding gloves. on the aside, has anyone had to price lace wedding gloves yet? oh my stars above. they cost that much, all the stars above. (note to Split-Second Single Father - start saving.) i woke up with it all figured out - how to make them from my old wedding veil. "something old."

but in my disorientation i felt waves of panic. when i die, wait, what if i die very soon? before i get it all done? and then i thought, what if i can't find him? it was wave upon wave of panic and not the good waves of warm ocean water that can bring about bliss. these were frightening crashes over my fragile psyche and i cried so hard i gave myself a headache. stupid. so stupid to my rational mind and yet, when it comes to missing my Dragon, i'm emotional. all emotion. hence the second photo. i took it solely for this day's writing. as with the third photo.

my Dragon, had be been here, would have comforted me. he would have catered to my iced tea-aholicism and then finger-combed my hair. he would have sat with me and held my hand and talked to me. he always knew i suffered from an overly creative mind. a curse and a blessing. it helps me create things but it also takes me down very dark roads. "she's insane? she's an artist? ahhhh. therein lies the answer."

now for the first photo. this one is for all of us and the catalyst comes from Split-Sec. Single Father and also from criticism i've received for "not getting over it" as fast as some think i should. i should be "further along." well, since i cannot curse here, then i say "go away. i don't need you and here's the story of Widower Howe."

the Widower Howe lived in the town where i lived during the majority of my 20 years with my first husband. it is a rural little town in southern New Hampshire with lots of cows, horses, apple orchards, and a feed store. the center of town had the general store called the "Common Cracker," the library, the Feed Store, the church where 3 faiths alternated services every weekend, and then the fancy, rich people's houses. around the center of town no building is younger than 75 years old.

Widower Howe and his wife Esther were born in the same month in the same hospital in the neighboring larger city. they grew up 1/2 a mile apart and married when they were both 21, her father's request. she gave him 5 children, 3 boys and 2 girls and died in 1947 from a sudden and unknown heart condition. Widower Howe was understandably bereft. seventeen years of marriage and at the age of 38, he was alone to finish raising their children.

by that time, though he was a prosperous man having bought into the only feed store in town called, yes, you got it, The Feed Store. he owned it outright and was an expert on grasses, grains, and food for horses and cattle. you could get dog food and supplies there and on the side he had taught his sons carpentry and two of them went into business together starting with bird houses and eventually going into building homes for people. one of his sons was a United States Marine who was killed in Korea. his daughters married boys there in town and never lived far from him. basically he had all his children close and kept his Marine son's ashes on the mantle along with his flag and photograph all the time i knew of it. now his eldest daughter has carried on the tradition.

Widower Howe, for that's how he got to be called, never remarried. he never dated. he never tried. women tried, but his eyes were only on the horizon. that's what one of the old men who sat "cutting wood" on the porch of The Feed Store would say. ("i don't whittle, i cut wood with my pocket knife." though i did ask to buy a little bird he "cut." he gave it to me for simply noticing him in a kind way. sweet old man. - you can see why i loved this town.) "Widower Howe keeps his eyes on the horizon for that's where she is a'waitin'."

when he died in 2004, my Dragon and i went, along with the entire town, to Widower Howe's funeral. the pastor who spoke said, "Widower Howe is 95 years old and for each one of those years, he was a kind and gracious man who always took care of his family and friends. he extended credit when times were hard and he carried folks for longer than their own relatives would. Widower Howe never got over the untimely death of his beloved Esther, but we can all take comfort that he's joined her now. he was lonely for 57 years. Widower Howe is lonely no more."

i want to find my Dragon like i like to believe, along with everyone else, that Widower Howe found his Esther. i want to be back in his arms again. i want to rest and sleep safe with his great and strong wings surrounding me. i want his breath on my neck and his whispered words in my ear.

i want to quietly grieve for him and wait for him with the same courtesy that all of that tiny, rural town allowed Widower Howe to grieve and wait for his wife. we say very often that "no one gets it." they don't have to "get it." they just need to "leave it alone."

you are what you leave behind

my husband died. it's the first thing i think of when i feel the need to convey thoughts out to anyone. i feel the need to get that out there so as to explain why i'm sitting in front of the computer and typing anything to anyone.

i was never this lonely, to be drawn to sit at a computer. my life didn't revolve around a computer beyond checking email, balancing my accounts with the bank, and visiting my children's Facebook or Myspace sites to see the new folder of photos they set up for me. i don't mind computers but they were never the focus of my life. i don't believe in artificial intelligence. when a computer binges then goes to the bathroom to throw up because it thinks it's too fat, then i'll believe in artificial intelligence. why would i sit on a computer searching for people to talk to when i had everyone i ever needed? no one but my children and my husband cared about what i thought or was thinking or feeling. but my husband died and i am alone. my children have their busy adult lives and they don't need me like they used to. they are raised. they're done. the advice i have given out lately is that it's okay that the chicken cooked a little bit when they used the microwave to thaw it and if you haven't, at some point, thought about picking up your handy copy of "War and Peace" and beating someone over the head with it there's been no real relationship.

i am existing each day and wondering where do i go from here? my home is not a house where i can paint the walls or go outside to a little yard to garden. i don't need to fuss over hydrangeas that are sitting in a row by a beautiful little fence. i don't have a gate to open to walk a path to ocean's edge.

most of all i fully realize i don't have him to talk to. he's not here to come sit beside me and coax me out from behind my book, or up from my sewing to go walk with him, do something with him, not even to go to the grocery store to pick out something for supper. i see his shoes in the closet and i know he won't be using them anymore but to give them away or toss them would be akin to an act of treason. it's cruel and it's so simple. the more i try to hold onto him, the less i have to hold onto. he's gone. all i have are my memories and i'm told that he will someday become a sweet moment of sadness that passes by as i go on about my day. i take what other's, who have had their spouse die, tell me and try to see if it can be applied to my own life. then i think, maybe i'm not there yet. i keep filling in the cracks that open up because of this grief and as soon as i address one, the next one is starting to open.

the facilitator of the group asked, what have i learned and what would i say to someone else.

as of now i've learned that i can be in debilitating pain, cry an ocean of tears, barely be able to catch my breath, dream of a dragon of a man who was one in one hundred million, and still be called alive.

what i would say to someone else is you are what you leave behind. everything you do and everything you say, however small, has ripples that affect the world in a lasting way. toss a pebble in a small pond and the ripples glance off a twig, submerging it for the length of time it takes to blink, and possibly a dragonfly dies.

i wonder if it had been me that had died would he sit and remember all the times throughout each day that i said "i love you" and if he would become quiet and introspective. i wonder if he would flash on one of the countless of times i sat beside him, looked at him, and would reach up my fingers to touch his mustache and stroke his beard and say, "you're so pretty" in a hushed, meaningful whisper that held my reverence for him. i wonder if he would become remote and unreachable in his grief over the death of his woman that he rescued from the shadows.

he gave me belief in love. he gave me his medals and his stories. he gave me his undivided attention. he gave me his hand to hold and his heart to keep safe. i was going to die in his arms just as he died in mine but we were going to be so old that it would be expected, even desired. but by God, we were going to be together. whoever went first, the other would not be long behind. but now? this situation now? what do i do now? what do i live for now?

my children are worth living for but i don't matter in the way i did when i was their whole world. that's the way it's supposed to be. i did my job with them. i raised them, guided them, taught them, protected them, and now i've set them free.

and my husband, i lived for him, for his smiles, his love, and now i still live for him only death took him but it won't let me go. it's not like holding onto a kite or a child. kite strings break and children grow up. but the death of my husband, my Dragon, my life? how do i let go of that and if i try, it doesn't let me go. he is here and so alive in my heart, the love i feel for him, so alive with no where to go. i can't reach over and touch his face. i can't see him blush with my adoration that he secretly thrived on.

i've buried my parents, my grandparents, my stepmother, and a baby. you never really know what death will make you do or feel. how do you define it that you can set up a curriculum for bereavement classes? how to you try to reach past all the pain and fit the pieces of a solitary life together when it seems they are way too broken to bother? is this the result of the half-year milestone, his birthday, and our wedding anniversary all rolled into one horrible conflagration of anguish today, yesterday, the day before, the week before, and possibly tomorrow?

where do i go from here? i have no extended family. i have no friends. i work at home alone, and i like it. i can't face having to rise and dress and go out into the world knowing i don't have a Dragon at my back. i love being the artist. but it's all that i am. all i am now is the mother of two wonderful children whom i was blessed to have been given. all i am now is the maker of the quilts, the designer, the artist, an unknown woman in the shadows who frequently puts her head in her hands and sobs. all i am is the Dragon's widow.

all i wanted to be was his wife.

we are what we leave behind. i truly believe that. some have huge wakes and plaque dedications, people gathered to support the family - siblings, parents, wife, husband, children of the deceased - all milling around, all calling and remembering the important days you have to face alone. i have my two children who gifted me with the two bracelets with our wedding date engraved and brief, heartfelt sentiments dedicated to a love that impressed them and left them with the benchmark they want their own loves to be.

he left me with so much love to still give him. i'll die and my passing won't be noted by anyone but my two children. i have left no mark on the world. my quilts, yes, but my desired presence in a room, no. only he and my two children cared. we lead our lives and when they end we leave behind a bit of ourselves. possibly money. a few quilts maybe. so many medals that people are surprised - a Navy Cross, 3 Silver Stars, 2 Bronze Stars, and 6 Purple Hearts and that's the first row - i told you my Dragon was a hero. a kind word and deed remembered - specifically from chillinwithlemonade who stopped by one evening with take-out Mexican food and an alcohol-free Margarita on a night that i wouldn't have eaten otherwise. my girl, you your kindness was seen and noted and will be remembered always. (if i knew how to make a link to your site i would do so for you but i am not that savvy.)

sometimes we leave an empty space. if after i have gone, anyone notes my absence, know that i have gone in search of my Dragon. if anyone can truly wait for someone to catch up, it is him.

Floss and Beaded Gypsies

it was my husband's birthday this past Wednesday. i didn't know what to expect. i didn't fall asleep until 3 AM and my little dogs have little bladders so i was up at 7:30 AM. first thing i did was get hit by a wave of pressure on my throat. my chest started heaving and the tears came flowing, exactly like they had done when the ER doctor and nurse took me in to see him after he was pronounced dead. i lay there for i don't know how long. eventually my little Scotties dancing and licking my face forced me to get up. they had to go out. they day had to start. both my children called me several times that day. my son who lives in Florida especially felt far away from me. his voice broke on the phone when he knew i'd been crying. "mom. i wish i could be there with you. i miss him so much. i sometimes don't know what to say. i love you, mom. i'll be up for a visit soon."

i bent my head and worked all day on quilting the current Memory Quilt that's in the frame. i went back and forth between it and the embroidery work for my daughter's wedding. but i ran out of floss. i switched back to the Memory Quilt and worked until after midnight.

then it was Thursday, my daughter's day off. we went to a discount fabric store that sells embroidery floss 3 skeins for $1. i bought 48 skeins - getting all the colors that i had in my head for the design i needed. if you click on the photo you too can delve into my tiny wonderful world of floss. i got back home and my daughter had to return to her home. i was alone again so i bent my head, as i do every day, and worked.

today my daughter stopped by before she went to work. she had been cleaning out a drawer that had her old jewelry box in it. she opened the box i had gotten her as a young girl and the little ballerina in the pink tulle tutu twirled on her little gold spring. and lying on the pink felt inside was the beaded gypsy earrings and bracelet that my Marine had made for her when she was still in high school. she gave me the earrings and wants me to keep the bracelet with her wedding things. she's going to wear the bracelet when she changes into her going away clothes.

i cried when i saw it. another punch to my stomach. so much love and thought went into his beading these little things for her. he knew her so much better than her own father. my Marine is Native American and Russian heritage and he had attended powwows where he danced. [he had always said he was just an Indian but i am trying to be correct as not to offend anyone who may stop by to read this.] he knew my daughter was a free spirit, artistic, emotional-heart on her sleeve kind of girl. he knew i had called her my wild gypsy baby when she was an infant and toddler. he found the pattern somewhere and beaded it for her 18th birthday. that photo also enlarges with a click.

and now we have it again. her finding it was a lovely surprise. we both cried as we looked at it and touched it. he's here in so many ways and yet he's gone from me and all these lovely memories come up and slam into me. but i wouldn't trade the tears and pain for not having had him in my life. he gave me everything. he gave me hope and gentleness. he gave me laughter and love. i could go to him at anytime and say, "i love you so much. i just need you to hold me for a minute," and he would smile. it always reached his eyes. he would open his arms and i would sit in his lap or he would come lay with me on the sofa or bed and we would just hold each other and talk quietly about the most important thing in our universe. not money. not our what the future will bring. we talked about how much we loved each other.

next Tuesday, August 11th, is our wedding anniversary. if his birthday hit me like a seizure i am not going to try to imagine what i will awaken to on Tuesday. i'm just going to bend my head down and quilt, and sew, and embroidery. i'm just going to dream of him whether asleep or awake and i'm going to keep going.

i told someone that i will be grieving for him for the rest of my life. i will get past this painful gut-wrenching part eventually. i will keep working. i will do things. i will laugh. but there will always be a part of me that is with him in a very profound way. i've been through too much with the first marriage to have to tell someone else what happened and why i have so little self esteem and too much happened that i could not not tell. there are too many very obvious scars. and my marriage to my Marine was too deep, too wonderful to be repeated. he was too much of everything that is good and decent and loving to ever replace. no one that moves into my field of vision could even slightly dim the vivid memory of his smile, his touch, and his voice in my head and heart. i adore him. i miss him.

so, the floss and the beaded gypsies came at a good time. i've come up for air between his birthday and our anniversary. i'm going to wear the beaded gypsies all day Tuesday. and if you're reading this and all set to worry about me, don't. Tuesday is my daughter's day off and after she goes home and i am alone, i have my Marine living in my heart. i'll never leave him.

The Dragon and the womanNshadows

for My Dragon upon the occasion of his birthday, August 5, and for our wedding anniversary. i will only be able to relate our beginning this once because, for now, the ending is what haunts me most of all.

He was as beautiful as he was fierce. The Dragon’s soft hair had gone completely white, a bit prematurely as far as he was concerned, and all the accumulated years of distant battles were reflected in his brown eyes. His body was still powerful with muscles acquired from the gear he had carried over thousands of miles of jungles, deserts, and mountains, in crushing heat and burning cold. But his body also ached, so much at times that an audible groan would escape from between his lips. His eyes would go blank and his lids close against the torment. He never revealed to anyone how often his body reminded him of the abuse it had taken during those years spent as a warrior because he never let anyone close enough. He had become a dragon; presenting a tough exterior to the world he faced each day. He smiled benignly, but his smile had teeth.

People depended on the Dragon, asked him to do things, but no one wanted to get close, not for long. There was something about him. Women sensed the wildness that had been a part of his life and that now surrounded him with an indefinable aura. Men could feel his underlying authority and confidence. Many would make his acquaintance, for knowing him was a good thing, they did not become his friend. They would always end up being in the unenviable position of realizing they did not know all that the Dragon knew. Car engines, construction, plumbing, rock climbing, scuba diving, parachuting, mountain climbing, eating off the trail, rifles, guns, knives, the Dragon was handy to have around but he was not good for their egos. And eventually they all wondered how the Dragon had acquired so much knowledge about so many things, and what he had done with that knowledge that had left so many scars on his hands and body.

It was in the Dragon’s nature to be honest, efficient, and direct. His expectations of others were no less than what he expected of himself, and he was oft times disappointed by the greed he saw, the self-entitlement others exhibited, and a deplorable lack of honor that bothered him. This disappointment encouraged his reclusive nature. He felt he had no right to truly judge since during his career as a warrior he had done many terrible things sanctioned though they were. So like most dragons who had spent their lives protecting the treasures of the kingdom, he retired and accepted a life that might surely be spent alone.

The Dragon was forty-nine winters old now. During this last lonely year, he had grown to accept the solitary existence he had carved out for himself. He had tried once, much early on, to have a family, but the dream had become tarnished when his wife realized that when he said he wasn’t ready to give up being a warrior, he had meant it. He explained that his country still needed him but she called him a “monster” and threw him out. She had divorced him and left him with a soul in agony over the medals that now meant nothing to him but a body count.

Watching the years pass, his eyes missed nothing. He became quieter and more introspective believing that there would be no one for him to call his own. There would be no woman who would see beyond the scars to the true heart that beat inside. There would be no gentleness in his life, no small treasure of a woman to protect and love and cherish as a man was meant to do. He bowed his head and accepted that he was the monster so many had called him, and he turned away from the thought of love. But he never forgot it.

She had been born for the light. Her mind held dreams that she had once believed would be realized. She imagined designs and colors complex and rich. She envisioned using textures in fabrics, stained glass, and oils to create her visions. Her mind held words to express her philosophies and thoughts. And her eyes missed nothing. She would find the amber veins in a single petal that had fallen to the ground to die alone, separated from its stem. She might be the only one to watch a small cloud break apart from the larger collective only to fade into oblivion. And as for people, she would notice the flash of intense pain in the eyes of someone whose mask of bravado had slipped for the briefest of moments. She saw it all and felt empathy. Images, possibilities, the complex nuances in people fascinated her. She had been born an optimist, believing the whole world was waiting for her to discover it. Unfortunately for her, though, she believed in magic. She also believed in love.

Reality was a rude awakening. She was not the daughter her mother had hoped for. She was too studious. She was not the son her father had wanted. His sadness was etched on his face when he would look at his daughter and wish for a son. She was a disappointment to her parents and there was nowhere for her to go except wait to grow up and carry the knowledge of this failure in her heart.

She continued dreaming but now, she knew, that not all dreams came true. She stayed close to the shadows because she felt safer there as an observer. Her world was books, writing, painting, and stained glass, all of them silent, solitary pursuits. She stopped pointing out the things she observed. She stopped being surprised by anything anyone said or did. She stopped believing in magic.

But she continued to hold onto the idea of love.

At twenty, she had thought she was away. College. A job. But life was put on hold to return to the mother who did not approve of her. The young woman quit life to stay with her mother, waiting through six months of living in a hospital to be with her as she died. Through the long days and longer nights, she watched the light dime, hope fade, and sorrow shroud the tiny room. One day, it was over suddenly, quietly. One breath, then a long pause. One more shuddering breath, but the next one never came. Her mother never awakened to take it all back. Her mother never uttered four small words that would have healed the young woman. “I’m proud of you.”

Resigned, accepting that she would always have this unresolved, the young woman got caught up in the words of a man with dark eyes who said he loved her. He told her she was exactly what he was looking for. He offered her marriage. But after a very short time, she found that the only thing that lived behind his dark eyes was an abyss. In her innocence she had failed to see the avarice and ego that lurked there. She bore him two children and kept them safe from him while he kept his money safe, cutting her off from any escape. By the time her children were old enough to see with their own eyes, and understand from growing into young adulthood, they pushed for their mother to leave their father. The Three Musketeers tried to make it on their own, leaving behind a kingdom ruled by a man who believed that love was made of green paper.

By now she had lived her whole life as a disappointment to those who should have loved her. She knew the image in the mirror. She knew the one reflected on her soul. Knowing no average man would take on a woman with her baggage, she kept her eyes on her children, making sure they walked ahead of her. She protected their backs and gave men with dark eyes a wide berth.

A mutual friend introduced the Dragon to the womanNshadows. For him it was like having caught lightning in a bottle. He was attracted by the quiet sadness he saw in her green eyes. The honor that was part of his nature wanted to see her happy, to protect her so she could breathe. He liked the way the sun touched her white blonde hair and he knew her dimples could be deeper if she smiled more, laughed harder. The man in him wanted to be the one who gave her back the gift of joy. He could see it was deep inside her, lightness and whimsy. He knew people. He had not lived as long as he had by being obtuse about human behavior and character. He could tell she was a free spirit that had suffered something harsh enough to make her cling to the shadows she seemed to feel so safe living in.

He felt a stirring in his heart for the first time in a long while. He knew he would have to proceed cautiously. The warrior in him reminded himself that a woman from the shadows might not want a man who was capable of and responsible for so much violence in his past. But the dragon in him had clung to the idea of love and wanted to try for it, just once more. Maybe the free spirit inside her, the Dragon told himself, could be awakened so that she would see, not his scars, but his heart.

The honorable man that he was politely asked to take her to dinner one evening.

The woman unused to courting smiled as she quietly declined.

The warrior that he was, the one with the aura of worldliness and excitement that had always been attractive to women, was a little surprised.

The observer that she was saw the flicker of surprise that the warrior had thought was hidden. She quickly explained. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just that if I ever thought about going out with someone again, I want a certain kind of someone.”

He looked into sad green eyes. “What are you looking for in a man?”

She looked into questioning brown eyes and said softly. “I want him to be a dragon.”

He smiled, all the way down to his soul.

A dance began, a waltz between two people, one, a man who had turned his back on everyone and everything, and the other, a woman who had clung to the shadows in hopes that she wouldn’t be seen. But the man understood the stirrings of something permanent and earthy and the feelings of something profoundly eternal, and he turned to face the woman. She saw something in his eyes and it wasn’t darkness. It was strength and freedom, and something else. She thought she heard the rustle of wings. So the woman came to the edge of the shadows and allowed herself to be seen.

The Dragon enticed womanNshadows to come out from her self-imposed exile from life to see the world through his eyes. He showed her that she had worth and a love of living that needed to be released. He saw her, as she was, including her scars and he taught her to accept that he thought she was beautiful. He coaxed her to come close enough for him to envelop her in his great wings so that he could protect her and she could hear his mesmerizing words of love. He gave her back magic. He gave her his heart.

In turn, womanNshadows soothed the Dragon’s spirit and encouraged him to reveal his secrets. She listened lovingly to each one while holding his hands and after each of his stories; she would lift his hands to her lips and kiss each scar that marred his flesh. She eased his mind and calmed his spirit. She accepted his heart into her safe keeping and gave him hers. She scoffed at the stupid word “monster” which released him from ownership of it. She brought him laughter and gifted him with the name he had always known was his, but no one had ever seen in him much less accepted him for.

She called him, “My Dragon.”

It will soon be the wedding anniversary for the Dragon and the womanNshadows, an anniversary that will be remembered by one alone. womanNshadows will pass the day looking up at a sky where dragons no longer fly and she will close herself off that night and hold the darkness at bay with the memories of a love that will never die.