melancholia

i'm down.  i don't know why.  well, i do know why.  i saw something on the social media venue of Facebook.

sometimes they suggest or ask if you know someone based on facts you have given them.  there was a woman i knew from a long time ago.

a girl.

from grade school.  i knew her from 1st grade to 11th grade.  i flipped through her photos and saw a photograph of her standing with another girl i knew from that same time period.  they had both grown up in our town, stayed, and married brothers.  they were "sisters" as well as sisters-in-law.

there were also photographs of them standing with their husbands.  and it hit me.

these two girls i had grown up with were family.  they had known each other for over 50 years.  friends.  family.  sisters.  they have roots in the town they grew up in.  homes.  lives.  everything so familiar.  so comforting.  home.

they were still home.  they had created their own homes at home.

they looked so happy.  of course i have no way of knowing if they truly are happy; if they have longings or wistful dreams of having done something else.  but in those one or two photographs i saw a sense of family and community and deep commitment to a place, land, people, town, to each other as a family that i have never known.

and it has brought me down.  i look at my life and do not see any security.  i had to move so many times for various reasons. 

me.  whose only childhood dream was of a forever home where i could be part of a church, a town, have lifelong neighbors and friends.  a little house where i lived and loved and raised my family.  a marriage where i was loved and loved. 

well, i got the love part right here at the end of my dragon's life.  such a brief time so late.  but i cherish it.  and i miss it.  i miss it so much that i ache.

i miss his holding me.  i miss his laugh.  i miss just knowing he is there.  because he's not there.

he was home.  no matter where we had to move, (and even in this marriage we had to move) i was home with him.

home.  it is such a strong word.

there is a back story to all this that i will never tell anyone.  it is a secret that haunts me and keeps me close to the darkness, too close.  things have happened to me throughout my life that i wish i could part with, share with someone; but i can't. 

home.  i wish he were here to hold me and make me feel like i was home.

i will work through this but that is all.  i am the creation; i am what is left due to all the things that have happened to me. 

i guess we all are.

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.

i hope so........

"i picture Death as being millions of years old but only looking about forty."

~ anonymous 

i've been trying very hard to ignore what i am feeling.  i'm tired.  i think i've been too outside myself of late.  i've given too much of myself away and i am drained.

  

i'm tired.

i would really like to talk to him.  i just want to hear his voice.

i want to hear the love in his voice.

i'd like to see his eyes when he smiles at me.

i'm tired.

i've got stuff going on i wish i could write about but it would be a

"oh, my good Lord, she is complaining again."

i don't want to be thought of as a complainer and yet i think i give that impression here.

but this the only place where i can talk about what hurts.

where else can i go?

i have no one to "complain" to.

is what i do complaining?  i always that that a horrid word.

it was a word that i thought was used as an insult.

complain.

it feels like a person who is not grateful for what they have.

i am grateful.  i am grateful for my little place, my dogs, my children,

and the life i had with him.

and yes, i am scared, lonely, alone, worried, exhausted.

so if i talk about it here, know that here is all i have.

complain?

oh, i hope i do not ever feel stifled by the worry of that word being thrown at my doorstep.

i need the freedom of being able to speak my mind here.

otherwise, i'll really and truly have no place to go.

"the most important thing any of us can do to comfort the grieving is to listen when they want to talk - and to accept their silence if they are unable to speak about their loss." 

~ Susan Jacoby

i work and function at a high level.  i keep thousands of details in my head about what needs to be done, what is coming up, who is doing what, how can i make the store run more smoothly, and then i get a feeling of being so terribly alone in the world.

i wish i could see my children more than i do.

and......

i miss him terribly.  i have my moments when it hurts so badly that i don't think i've made any progress at all.

is there even such a thing as "progress" or am i making progress and don't realize it?

am i being to hard on myself considering how much i love him and how fast he died,

how unexpectedly?

 "love is the only thing that we carry with us when we go...."

~ Louisa May Alcott

{i can hardly wait until Friday, my next day off.  i am going to see my daughter.  won't talk too much about what i feel but i get to be with someone who loves me and cares about what happens to me.}

i'd like to live in bed in a drafty old house.  just a handful of rooms.  kitchen, bathroom, porch, and a big-assed living room that would double as my library/bedroom.  there'd be a fireplace or a wood stove that i could keep going.  i'd hop in and out of bed and work, read, write, and most of all

sleep.

of course there's that money thing.

"i think God has planned the strength and beauty of youth to be physical.  but the strength and beauty of age is spiritual.  we gradually lose the strength and beauty that is temporary so we'll be sure to concentrate on the strength and beauty which is forever."

"hope means to keep living

amid desperation

and to keep humming

in the darkness."

~ Henri Nouwen

i promise i'm not complaining.  i'm just down.  i've been down again for a bit.

i need to go back to the doctor.  diabetes and high blood pressure doing okay.  it's the foot that is hurting.  i am having a hard time walking but walking and standing on my feet all day is all i do.

i think being in pain and only having 1 day a week off now is wearing on me.

and this last quilt i've been working on?  she has added weeks worth of embroidery work to it.

i cried after her phone call.  i want this one to be done.

 but she is a widow and this is her quilt.  she wants what she wants and all i could say was,

"yes."

"the Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

~ Psalm 34:18

i hope so.

home

i am really in  rough place.  i know the reasons.  can't, no, won't tell you.  i don't think it really matters anyway to anyone but me.  just know i am in a rough place.  but i am still here.  won't quit.

will never quit.

my Dragon never did, and he had been in some very rough places, actual, physical rough places and times.  'cuz, yeah, he was {is} a Marine.  those guys are sent to rough places and rough places stress you out.   my Dragon never gave up.  so i'm not.

i also have my two children, grown though they are.  never going to lay down and quit.

but i am low.  tearful.  exhausted.  worried.

a man my Dragon and i had gotten to know during out walks about Rockport was Paul St. Germain.  he is the president of the Thatcher Island Association.  he is also spearheading the renovations to the lightkeeper's house on my island, mine, as in all mine ~ Straitsmouth Island.  or as i like to call it, mine.

anyway, i opened email this morning and he had sent me 12 photographs of the island and the renovation that is going on.  i smiled.  so bittersweet.  he said if i ever get back up there he will take me out to my island.  we'd walk around and i could take pictures to my heart's content.  he said, "dawn to sunset.  the island will be yours for the day."  he said the town still and the island association still refer to it as my island.  they just remember all the hours i spent staring at that austere and secluded piece of real estate.  the lobstermen would be hurrying in and spy me out on the rocky point off Whale Cove at the start of the big nor'easters taking photos.  they would head in.  i was staying out there.

it's home to me.  and when you're in a rough place, all you can think about is going home.

fading away

the doctor was wrong, i think.  i feel worse and worse.  i've woken up crying because i am awake.  i feel lost and alone at this time.  no plans for the future except to keep my head down and work and scrimp out a living.  no dreams big or small except hoping i get time to see my daughter next month, and my son after that.  no dreams at all for anything. 

when a person stops having hopes and dreams, little plans for a future fun or day off, are they even a real person anymore?  i don't know how long these feelings will last, but i guess i have to last.

i wish for a break from this:  physical pain {i have a day off next month, doctor visit that day for diabetes, going to talk to him again about this}, loneliness, lack of energy, sleeping too much, worry, stress over money, fear of not having enough to pay my bills, introspection at what it is about me that does not endear myself to anyone....any one person.  and the one person who could stand me has died.

i wrote that my brother died, and not one comment, no reaching out, not one, "i'm sorry for the loss."  grief again magnified by not being good enough for him and not even a {{hug}}.  and in real life?  "can you work?"  yes, of course.  i will work.  i am working.  i will always work.  if i don't show up for work, either my child has died or i have died or a meteor has hit the earth.

maybe if my body didn't hurt so much, physical pain, i could rise above this. 

i feel like i am fading away and .......

only my two children will know.

if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound?

if a person is abandoned, ignored, forgotten, let behind, is she really there?

i hope he remembers me.  i hope he still loves me.  i think God knows i'm here, if only to see if i need to be punished for being bad.  hope slipping away is a little like losing faith.

fading, fading a bit more, maybe not writing anymore, i don't know anymore since i don't plan anything anymore, pulling back and in, not reaching out to get forgotten or dumped as in the past, fading,

                            fading,

                                                        fading away until....

                                         gone.

home to the puzzle box ~ my grief at 3 years 3 months

first off, don't be startled with the first "song."  it really is what you're hearing.  i found a fog horn.  keep reading.  it has meaning.

i'm ahead of myself.  it won't be 3 years, 3 months until tomorrow night at midnight, but i have a bit of time this afternoon, taking a break from embroidery work, and i wanted to get my thoughts down.

at this point in my life, i sincerely believe what i wrote up there in gold under my main photo.  i had once thought of my whole life as a journey.  i was arrogant, and so very wrong.  it was simply my life.  now that my Dragon has died, i am truly on a journey.  grief, dealing with his death and all the questions, guilt, and fears that came with it; this is my journey.

in the days and weeks that followed his death i used to ask myself, why did we only get 8 years?  why had all the terrors of my life lead me to the warmth of his love, only to take it away after so short a time?  i told myself, i have convinced myself, that his death was predestined and that his guardian angel was not going to let him die alone.  after the life he lead, the missions he went on as a Marine, all the times he must have wondered, "will i die out here and nobody come claim my body," all the times he came home wounded, the fears he must have had, he died with me holding him, giving him CPR, talking to him, soothing him, telling him he was so very dearly loved.

and it is me left to deal with what's left all alone.

i read once that "death ends a life, but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivor's mind towards some resolution which it may never find."  in my experience that is true.  my relationship with my husband has not ended.  i still wear my wedding rings.  at this point, i most likely always will.  i cannot take them off without feeling claustrophobic.

i do have my memories of him, of where we walked, of our little place by the ocean, up in the cove.  there was  a small gate off our property that we walked through to get to the beach.

 we had to walk through our gate and across the top of the ridge to get down to the beach because we were set up a bit high.

this view is from the back yard, looking southeast towards Thatcher light.

and this is from the edge of our backyard looking east northeast toward what i always called, my island.

this the view looking out from the den toward "my island" that i saw everyday.  we'd hear the fog horn sound sometimes, especially at night, and know that lonely sound was reaching out to any mariner who was still out there trying to find their way home.  we'd listen to the wind rattle the windows.

i took this set of three photos the day before one Thanksgiving.  a nor'easter was expected that night with high winds.  i loved those nights.

he and i would lay together upstairs in our small bedroom under the eves and snuggle.  we'd hear the ice hit the glass behind our headboard.

i hold onto those memories when i drive the now half hour to work and all i see is concrete and red earth and traffic.  i humbly thank God for my job that pays my way to survive, but when i am back at the apartment with my little Carmen Sophia and my dashing Scootie Wootums, i remember when i could walk them on the beach.  i remember when we would sit and laugh at them bite at the water rushing the sand and rocks.

i remember feeling the sunshine on my skin and the wind in my hair.  i remember the smell of salt and the sound of gulls and water.

oh, and that Thanksgiving morning?  we woke to this.

i miss him terribly.  i miss him and still sometimes cry.  i miss him in songs i hear.  i wish i could tell him things.

i talked to a widow i know who lives across the Pond in Europe, and she agreed with me.  she and i will probably never look for another man.  she is two months longer into her widow journey than i so we are at the same place time-wise, and seem to be at the same place emotionally.

we miss them.  we are doing what we can to make this journey tolerable.  she in her way.  me in mine.

i look for peace.  i try to create it when i cannot find it.  and i tell myself that i'm doing alright when what i feel is sort of the opposite.  i am lonely, but not for anyone but him.  only he will do.  i look at myself and say, "you're out of the box."  we were a puzzle that had two pieces.  he is back in the box.  i am still out here in the world struggling to make sense of what's left.  he got to where he was supposed to be, but it was much too soon for me.  he left me behind.  our timelines were off.

in every life there comes a journey.  maybe we think we choose it, but i don't think so.  i think it chooses us.  i am what i am making of myself with what life has left me with, which, compared to what i had, isn't much.  well, it certainly isn't as scenically beautiful.

i miss the ocean.  i miss the snow.  i miss the wind, water, gulls, and the fog horn.  i sometimes wonder if, when i dream i hear that fog horn, it really is sounding off up there and is reaching out to me trying to call me home.  home to the ocean's edge.   home to the beach i knew and loved.

or maybe that fog horn i still here in my mind and in my heart is letting me know that it is out there in the fog i cannot see through, the fog of what's to come; letting me know i have a sound to walk towards so i can find my way home.........

home to the puzzle box where my darling, beautiful Dragon's piece sits and waits for me.

winter in my soul

Dan posted an interesting thought. i responded with a comment as to why i write here. here is what i wrote:

i think some of us write because we are, by nature, a narrative species. we have always been storytellers. i also think that we seldom feel truly listened to. blogging is a way to put our words out there for all time. it is a technological carving in stone. we want to be heard, by someone, at some time; hopefully during our own lifetime. it is not lost on me that schizophrenics suffer from a loss of their story.

we write to break the silence that surrounds us, or at least i do. for all i have written of in my own blog, it is truly the tip of the iceberg. so much i wish i could say but do not out of fear. i, sadly, am one who blogs to, yes, see if anyone is out there, and if anyone is listening to me.

i have always been honest; told i have been brutally so. but here is the only place where i can be. i have not had benefit of friends to open up to, nor grief counselors who stay with me for longer than a handful of weeks. i am bereft of anyone to tell my story to. i have things i need to say, my heart aches to speak of, my mind screams to let go of, but i cannot here. not this publicly. and so, i use Beach Bunny, the Ambassador, my photos, and metaphors to try and give voice to what i cannot say/write.

i am tired. i feel used up. i feel like i am living with winter in my soul, and i love winter. or used to. i think in ways i still do though winter here is not like my winters up north with him. winter here is anemic. winter there, winter in Rockport, the nor'easters were magnificent.

winters there were spent walking outside for photos, to feel the cold on our skin and see what no tourist sticks around to witness. fierce winds. blinding sleet and ice that stings. waves whipped up throwing themselves like demons on the rocks around the town. even sunny days, with no storms on the horizon, held a power that kept me in awe.
on sunny days, the cold could be so brutal that it could kill if you did not keep track of the time. the sun seems so far away, smaller than in summer time, as distant and uncaring as a mother's rejection. and yet, i was not alone. he was beside me, behind me, holding my hand, handing me a flask of hot chocolate. always there with me.

and going home, the smells of stew simmering on the wood stove. the dogs needing to have ice balls slowly combed from their fuzzy bodies. the warmth of sitting on the sofa between his legs and leaning back against his chest, both of us reading. both of us warm. entwined physically. our souls essentially melting into one another until you could not tell where one left off and the other began.

such was winter with him.

and then he died, and i was left alone.
only my children but they have their lives. i have tried to connect to widows here, but i cannot. they do not want or need me. and i do not want or need them. after the pneumonia of Jan. this year, and what was said to me, i became angry at the world, angry with people, quicker to judge motives. i am ice cold inside. winter has come and i am alone in it.

there are things i wish i could tell someone. there are things i wish i could sit across from a person and say out loud; say it out loud and witness their reaction, feel some kind of compassion come across to me.

i feel hollowed out. life has taken me and carved me up and then stuck a knife in and hollowed out as much as it can and still leave me breathing. then it said, "there, you bitch, make something of that. make something of yourself now."

so i sew. so i stuff bunnies and bears and wolves, and say words over them, heart ceremonies. and i write. i send a stuffed bunny to do what i cannot do. but do anyone of you who host her know why she is there? really know why? because i need her to be. i live through the photos. i crave the attention. and it is all because i am lonely.

just before Camp Widow this year, a widow wrote to me and asked if she would see me there. i wrote her back and said, "no. i have no money for something like that. and the job i have pays minimum wage therefore i can never take off. i will never have enough money for a vacation."

there is this ineffable sadness that dwells inside me. i feel it all the time. even when i am smiling and laughing at work, it feels like a lie. i do not want to be there. don't get me wrong, i love my job. it is giving me a food in my stomach and gas and paying for my electric and other stuff, but i feel like a marionette. this is where life has dumped me. i am not where i want to be, should be, or with whom.

i am alone in winter. i am knocking on the door, {or am i already inside} the winter of my life. i am older, 53, and i am sad and angry at people. i hurt so much of the time. there are things that are going on that i cannot write about but know that i am hurting over them and it is nothing i can fix. it is something that i will have to let wash over me and fight to not let it drown me.

as odd as this sounds, i miss winter. even though it lives inside me, it is the barren winter of blowing ice and snow, of the distant, uncaring rejection of the sun. i want the winter i knew with him to come back. i want to drive up to the warm glow of my Dragon waiting for me at home. i want to walk into a place that smells of his stew and cinnamon and brewing hot tea. i want to sit on the sofa against his big body and feel his warmth radiating into my back.

i want what i can never have again. him. and i am bereft.

so i will write it and then sit back and wonder if anyone truly reads, if anyone understands what i mean.

i am without solace.

winter is in my soul and i am cold and tired.

zero

heavy heart times, and not even an asterisk.

busy people, busy lives. it's me. it isn't me. i'm hurting too much thinking about the 5th, the 9th, the 11th. people don't know what to say. they don't care to say anything. what words to use? choosing to say nothing. too many others with more upbeat attitudes. they witness the power of running to the light, opening doors and windows, positive thinking. Bunny does that, but only in real life. here? she expresses in honesty what is inside her, trying to box it up and be done with it.. but know this. Bunny is very well liked by the guests in the store. she has people return to her, people who have heard about her and are sent to her, people who just look into her eyes and gravitate to her. Bunny does positive, likeable things at the store.

was sent a website for Canadian pharmacy. no other words. just the website. the only drug they offer that Bunny takes was 10 times more expensive than she can get it at Target. nice thought though.

the woman Bun writes to for grief counseling will probably not be able to write back anymore due to her own sorrowful life happenings. wishing her the very best. will always think of her and remember her kindness. should Bun try and find yet another grief counselor? strike one. strike two. strike three. Bun's out. she'll keep it all inside. seems that's what life wants.

maybe she was meant to tell her story differently. she'll sew and embroider her life story. if anyone cares, it will be her art that speaks now. Bunny talk about what hurts her? not so much anymore. going to do things differently. not be different. just do this different. try to be more entertaining? appealing? don't know what it will take. but......thoughts gather. something will be different.

the pain she's poured out here of late has met with some silence of late. zero. 0. it stings. Bunny hangs her little head. "spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart." comments disabled ~ no unkindness, no expectations, no hurt feelings, no wondering where everyone is.

stop looking, Bunny.

Bunny walks away towards the 5th, then the 9th, and then the 11th.

peace.

Soul Widows Spiritual Retreat ~ Six ~ Saturday ~ Breakfast, Talking, Angels, & Art Therapy

after my morning meditation, i went inside and joined the women for breakfast. we laughed. we rehashed what we had talked about the day before, at supper, and the night before. we enjoyed the feeling of family, of belonging. here we sat, different ages, different family situations, different everything and yet we knew each other's pain. we could tell when something had affected one of us. the mention of a song. the worry when a text message would chime on someone's cell. we were sisters. Hans Christian Anderson could not have written of a tighter group.then it was to the alcove.

candles on the shrine lighted. a soothing song played to calm ourselves, to center our thoughts to why we were there. we had some serious talking to do. our grief counselor knew she had to take our fragile selves to some very difficult territory, but she was there with us with the fire of her spirit and reminding us over and over of her presence.

she is not magic. there is no magic to be found when your husband dies. but she is there. we sobbed. we broke down completely, but we did so in the safety of our tribe. we did so beside the warmth of a fire in an inn that has stood for over 120 years. we did so with our Fiery Fairy letting us know she was not going to leave us there. she could not stop us from breaking. we will break. but she was not going to leave us there with platitudes. she has been where we are. she has experienced great sorrow in her life. she never left us.

so maybe i was wrong. maybe she offered a little magic after all. for staying with someone who feels broken beyond saving takes a little bit of fairy. it takes an openness to the eternal to sit there and not want to run. our grief counselor never budged no matter how bad the pain in our voices got.

bless you and thank you. you know what it means to us and that is the point, isn't it?

then lunch and after lunch our art therapist came. first she offered angels. angel cards. select one and then speak to it. i got Synthesis. i did not want it. it is boring to me and i wanted to talk about tenderness, or communication, or delight, or Creativity. hey! i am creative! fate on a 1 " x 3" card. ah, well, maybe the angels, or the card company that makes them, is trying to push me in a new direction. the art therapist, Diane Strazzer, tried to push me into elaborating, which i did. but i was a pill a little bit. but even in that, that is a step for me though i do not think she thought so.

i am the woman who raises her hand to speak. i am the woman who will not send food back that is wrong. i am the woman who lets people walk all over her, so being a little bit of a pill about not getting the angel card i wanted made me feel like i was still alive a little bit. i also knew that my tribe would agree with me. so i smiled inside. there is life in the 'ol Bun still. bring on the black leather and a Harley! i am ready to join the 2%!

but then it came time for ARt THeRapY!!!!!!! i love glue and scissors and paper. i love being creative.
we made books; journals to write in. oh, baby, i know how to write. the cover was to be a collage to speak to our grief. what we want to bring to it, or get out of it, or, you know, all i heard was glue and cut and sew the pages and grief and husband and i was off.
we got messy. we laughed. we chatted. no pressure. no depth unless it went that way. i love making things. i love, love, love it. the glue bottles were clogged which is no problem. unscrew the cap and it is time to get sticky. gosh, i love to glue things together. creation at its most basic. little kids have all the fun.

i know i got focused though. i got worried about getting certain images in on my paper. moon? definitely. and a flag. one of the women, the Goddess Diana, had found both and when she gave me the picture she had cut out of the National Geographic of a full moon, i sobbed. she knew what it meant to me and she just handed it over. she gave me the moon. sisters do that for each other.

troll with a roll of film

the warm feeling of my good day on Tuesday has not lasted. i am cold inside again. we are supposed to be able to recall happier times, wonderful moments, and keep ourselves bolstered with the confidence of what was. but i think there needs to be some kind of balance, or at least a better one than i have.

put the good times, the happy memories on one side of a scale and there should be some heft to it. the bad should not far, far outweigh the good. not by the margin that my scale is tilted.

i am alone all the time in between my daughter's once a week day off. there are people who email me fairly regularly, and keep emailing. some are readers who chose to comment through email. some are my readers from the web magazine i write for. all want me to write to correspond with them in my, i guess to them, unusual style. that has been nice. people know i am out here. i guess you could say i am not "alone" but i do like to occasionally see a face, hear a voice, sit beside someone and listen, and be heard. i am grateful for what i have,

but i want to go home.

i am on a list for emailed updates on real estate in Rockport, MA. it is "home" to me since it is where i lived a life that had love in it. "hey, mom. guess what? someone did love me. got nothing to say? yeah, finally." i was the unlovable one.

we were sitting on the bluff overlooking Whale Cove, {see photo below} on a stormy day. we were silently taking in the stiff, cool wind and listening to the cry of the gulls and the rush of the waves. there was lightning in the distance hence the newly added soundtrack} that Dragon was keeping an eye on. he broke our silence by asking this question:

"Why are you always surprised when you see how much I love you? Would you like to tell me what happened to you?"

"my mother told me i was unlovable. she had said that i may get married but he would not really love me. she was right. he told me i was unlovable. you know the other stuff. but i guess it is just the repetitive syllables of un-love-able being beaten into my brain over and over, and over for years, decades. and you are so beautiful. you are so capable and strong and, you're just a lovely person. how can someone like you love someone like me?"

"I love you because of all the gentleness you have inside you. You see so much beauty in the world. All anyone has to do is take a walk with you outside to know what's in your heart. And after all you've been through, you still carry hope inside you. You still think such beautiful thoughts. The scars you think are ugly tell me the story of your survival to hang on until I could get to you." he put his arm around me and told me, "I will never leave you. I have you now. You're mine, and when there's no more you and I on Earth, there will still be a you and I."

i embroidered that last sentence on my own Memory Quilt. from the look in his eyes, he meant every word of what he said to me. he loved me. he loves me? i love him.

i want to go home. i want to go to the ocean where the sky can be seen without tall buildings in the way and there is grass and sand under my feet. i do not know where home is anymore since home was where he was. i am alone all the time and i am so used to it that when i am out for long, i get anxious. i think, "i should get back. i have work to do. i am having a nice time with {my daughter] but i am not working and i need to work to have value."

i have no value as a friend. "you make the quilts and then they forget about you." "you don't have a car and you're grieving so you're not any help to me and too inconvenient to come and get." i am very low today. a woman, another widow, had entered into the realm of my little world here through the 'Net and she had wondered if i had wanted to go somewhere with her. she knows i have no car. i wrote to her that i would love to go, it was a place i would have loved to have gone and seen, no details here, but i told her my daughter works Saturdays and i have no car. she did not respond until late last night with an email where she wanted me to comfort her while she was having a bad night. i got on Facebook and chatted with her and she felt better. today, she is meeting two other friends at this place, spending the day with them. they both have cars.

the Bun is alone. in her mind, in her empty chest where her heart does not reside anymore, and in her actual physical little Bun Bun world, she is very isolated. she knows people can be alone in a crowd but even being alone in a crowd sounds kind of nice to her today when she knows there is a crowd she could have felt alone in. there were things she could have looked at and taken pictures of. she could have been lonely in that crowd, shuffled along listening to snatches of conversations, feeling the sun on her furry arms and the breeze through her furry fur. tousled fur for Bun would have been a nice warm memory to have added to the meager few she has.
so many people have told her, via email, that they love Bunny. Bunny even now has her own Facebook page. if you want to befriend her, contact me and i will tell you her last name. several of her friends are Canadians. Bunny is big with some people up there. but she wonders if people expect to see Beach Bunny, Bun Bun, The Bun and are disappointed by the countenance that she actually has been cursed with. Bunny is soft and pretty. the real Bunny is a tired, sad woman with a 1000 yard stare. she is hollow-eyed and haunted looking. she is haunted by the love she had finally been given and had to watch leave her.

she returned her daughter's camera and has been using her 35 mm from the ancient days of yore while waiting on her new digital she finally save the money to buy. the real Bunny looks nothing like soft, pretty Bunny with the digital.
she is just a toll with a roll of film. a boho, hippie troll with a creative mind that sees beauty in a world that does not see beauty or value in her because why? she does not own a car? she is not flush with cash to go places, even a little bit? she knows how people could be but choose not to be. Bunny as troll is not pretty on the outside. {her Dragon thought she was. he also said she was pretty on the inside and that is why he loved her.}

is it her? she is the common denominator in a lot of failures and yet,

and yet,

her Dragon loved her just as she was. he spent time with her and got to know her. he learned what made her smile, and laugh. he saw her eyes. he saw her heart. and she gave it to him to keep forever. that is why she has no heart anymore. shhhh. listen. hear that? nothing. yeah. Bunny gave her heart away to Dragon. he took it with him so he does not get lonely for her.

i guess the troll is only really the Bunny to him. get to know the Bun and that outer lovely mirage you think she is becomes the troll. maybe one day, someone will see the Bunny behind the troll and allow the Bun to be a friend. even if she does not have a car.

what grief will make one do

i miss my Dragon. i have almost finished the top of my own quilt. i am bringing it to San Diego, just the top, unfinished.

i read the words of widows and widowers online. it is my window to a world that is too busy to see me looking out. i am a little worried that i am not trying anymore. i am envisioning myself sitting at a table at Camp Widow alone, waiting for someone to stop by and look, to talk to me. i see myself sitting there while people team up for lunch, to hug and laugh, and i will not have the social skills to walk over much less speak. the last 17 and a half months have taught me that i am easily discarded.

i have had 3 people string me along for commissions. waiting. waiting. each time they email it is, "i'm mailing it this week." 2 weeks pass, 5 weeks. i cannot harass but i need work. i need to eat, to live. i can get angry but i have no voice. so complicated. things i cannot say. no one to say it privately to.

i miss him. he is my best friend. he would talk to me, listen to me, all day, all night, every day, every night. he noticed me. he cared about me so much. he liked me as well as loved me. and now i am silent for hours and days, weeks and months. my daughter calls every day, but we do not sit and talk for even 20 minutes. she checks in on me and then has her life to tend to. the accumulation of my silence is a weight on my mind.

with him alive, i was never alone, even when he had to leave for a mission i was not alone. he was out there loving me.

i can sometimes feel;

i tell myself;

i believe he knows i will never get over losing him.

he knows we are two who are more than a couple.....
we are one.
i miss our days together. i miss his friendship. i miss walking with him, exploring with him, living with him.
i miss our nights together.

and rising out of the heat of the day, it comes.

i have nothing to say that has not been said before. i have no new photos except for one. the moon. time passes and i grieve. i have nothing new to offer. nothing has changed for me. this is what grief will make one do. i reach out to a world that is aloof. i write to anyone and no one.

that's not true. i write to him.

maybe he knows. surely he knows. i pray he understands the power he had over me, the magic he shared with me, and the love he wove around me. i cannot breathe without him even though i do. i cannot sleep without him though i do rest upon occasion. i cannot live without him even though i am still existing.

Dragon days are coming and i am having a hard time. his birthday, our wedding anniversary, our first date. all in August. the month of my Dragon.

and 18 months ~ a year and a half. i will be alone for it. flying back from San Diego surrounded by strangers. trying not to cry. shit.

surely he is waiting. please, God, just this one thing. let him be waiting for me. i need the comfort of his embrace, his smile, and his eternal love.

i need my magnificent Dragon.

lost soul

i feel like a lost soul these days. because of circumstances, i exist in a very limited way and space that makes me feel like a wraith in my own life. i wake. i work. i sleep. i do not go out. i am taken to the grocery store, for work supplies, and the used bookstore. then back. mondays allows me 3 – 4 hours out and away. clerks see me because they are the ones who finish the transaction i initiate by bringing what i would like to purchase to their counter.

i am lonely. would i like a woman friend, a peer to talk to about woman things? yes. it is hard here. i think the drawback of befriending me might be my lower financial situation, my lack of having a car which makes my company a burden, and my having come into already established lives that are flush with friends and extended families. i can only bring me to a friendship and so far i see that i am not enough.

my phone has rung twice since before Christmas that it was not my son or daughter. there are not many from anyone i have met here who check to see if i am okay and i have stopped calling. it feels too much like i am begging. it breaks my self-esteem. i did it for the first 11 months after i met a few widows but i was continually put off due to their busy lives. it lead to few of my calls being returned to none. like the song says, “I can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.”

i did get one “curiosity” call about my issues with the dentist. i said “hello” and the woman immediately advised me on what i should be doing, explaining that i was a fool to go back. she closed with, “See, you get phone calls. I just called.” the dial tone prevented even my chance to say “thank you,” and “goodbye.”

i do have a constant friend, that’s what i call him, my constant friend. he is my pen pal if one can be called such a thing when communicating solely on the computer. he is my husband’s Marine “brother.” i want him to know i am most grateful to him. one, he tells me stories about my Dragon which adds to the painting i had started in my head. two, he talks to me and has yet to find fault with me.

the stories. i seriously wish my husband’s friend had come for a visit. i would have plied them with alcohol and then taped them reminiscing about all their “adventures.” i would have been allowed such a legacy in that tape. two men whose lives were spent serving their country in places like Vietnam, Angola, Beirut, and Afghanistan, dancing on the tip of the iceberg. they have so many stories, both separately and together. some are wildly funny. some are just wild. listening when my Dragon told me things, i was always studying his body language to make sure he was okay during the telling. listening to my constant friend, i can continue my visions and empathy of what my Dragon and he went through. i can sense the fear they sometimes dealt with as well as the adrenalin rush. i can close my eyes in wonder at what these men were asked to do. most of all, i am continuing to learn what my Dragon and my constant friend live with.

i miss my Dragon. as each day passes, each week, i miss him more and more and yet, oddly, i am becoming more accustomed to feeling this way. it is not any easier. i am doing what has to be done to continue. I am adapting.

i am lonely for him. i miss the thrill i got when he smiled at me. i miss flirting with him. i miss his presence. i miss his words, his brooding, his nightmares, his laughter, and his breathing next to me in bed. i miss his warmth and his love. i miss his legs, arms, hands, mouth, and his eyes looking at me.

i wish he had not died. i sometimes want to go back to where we lived so much that it breaks me. i wonder if i could find peace back there. it was more a small village than a town. people knew us, they knew me and liked me. it was okay to be exactly the person i am. like my Dragon, they saw me, listened if i spoke, and liked what i made. i wonder if i had had the wherewithal to stay, if my grief would have been more poignant and less stressful as i settled in to wait to be with him rather than being here with this lonely gut-wrenching pain and not having anyone to talk about him with. the pull to go back to the cove is so strong inside me but is also one that, even with all the money in the world, would be impossible to fulfill. i cannot explain. the pain is so great that taking the time to explain would send me to bed. accept that it is beyond my reach. to quote another song, “you can spend your whole life working for something just to have it taken away.”

it was all taken away. it is for everyone who loses their spouse. i am not worse off than anyone else. i am simply trying to find a way to be heard. i am saying it was the same for me. here is the only place where i may try to express what i am feeling with any hope that someone will hear me.

when my Dragon died, i did not ask for any of my love to come back to me. i do not want it back. it belongs to him. i gave it all to him a long time ago. but i also lost my place in this life. i lost people seeing me, realizing i hurt as well. i lost our location. i lost our cove, our small slice of the ocean, our island, and all our dreams.

i lost the love of my life, the one i am meant to be with. it was sudden and he went quick. i did not get any last words. i wish i had. just to hear his voice again. once more.

sometimes, when i first wake up, or in the early afternoon with there are still hours and hours of living still yet to face in the day; i can get tricked into believing he is not really gone from me for the rest of my life. for a second i sometimes think that he should be back from his errand. but then i look out the window, not at the ocean, but at asphalt, and i remember.