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.

dreams of renewal

my mind is turning more and more inward. i just had two days off in a row. two days of staying here in the apartment working on a widow's quilt for one of her sons. two days of no talking to anyone but my daughter when she called once a day. otherwise i did not speak at all.

i find it easy to not speak. should that bother me? or should i be grateful that being so utterly alone is easy, and always has been? i've always turned inward to escape my life. mother, father, brother ~ check. first husband and the out-laws ~ check. widowhood ~ check. inward i go and i fantasize. i write in my head and carry it forth to the computer.

i've written 3 novels, over 600 pages each. so different in genre and yet, not really in vein. one is about a woman who escapes from abuse. one is about a woman who gets murdered before she can be saved. one is about Hell. they are all written from my soul and my observations of people, and from my misery. i write to expunge the poison. i write to vent. i write to free myself.

"It is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears.

We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea--whether it is to sail or to watch it--

we are going back from whence we came."
- John F. Kennedy

i dream of being renewed. i dream of a home by the ocean. i dream of salt water and gulls, of sand and driftwood, and shells. i dream of sleeping a rest-filled sleep with dreams that do not haunt me once i awaken.
i dream of kinder mornings where i can walk on sand and feel water swirl around my ankles, where i look down at shells and small crabs scurrying, and out at infinity.
i dream of sunrises and sunsets that warm my home with their light and promise of days that do not hurt, that do not have stress or worry in them. i dream of looking out at the water from every window and every door.
i dream of rebuilding myself one shingle at a time, one porch, and one window. if i could live by the ocean in a home, a real and true home that i own and no one can take it away from me, i think i could do this widow thing.
i think if i were home, i could find myself again and then start to heal. until then, i am a lost and abandonedsoul searching for peace, searching for a way to stand up for herself, searching for the water she no longer sees. not even off on the horizon.

i feel childish in writing this but i wish for things i cannot have or cannot find. i wish for a different life. i wish i lived beside the ocean in a little house, a real home that is mine. i wish for a small group of friends who have known me, known the "us" i used to be. i wish for a past that doesn't haunt and hurt and i wish for a future that is safer, more calm, more peaceful. all these things i find inside myself though. i daydream, and night dream. i know they will never be true in a physical sense, but i can live in my dreams.

what would he say to me if he could see me now? what would he think of this body whose carriage is strikingly weary looking? what would he think of eyes that cry over harsh words and being ignored or dumped? what would he do if he saw me laying on a bed that is sometimes without sheets or pillowcases because i am too tired to pull them out of the dryer? what would he say to me as i research what to eat, count pennies, and struggle to smile a fake smile? would he cry? would he offer comfort? would he turn and abandon me too, because i no longer look like the me he knew. i look like the old me from when i was ruled by tyrants. i look like a far older, more exhausted version of that old me when i had nothing and no one to save me, to comfort me, to reach out to or work for.

oh, my heavens, and in saying that, did i just admit that i am not worth me saving me? must contemplate that.

i wish anyone who reads this, peace and this nugget of truth. try to always be kind. you never know what kind of anguish or how deep it runs that someone may be hiding.

do justice to this life

and it cost me almost, almost as much as my rent. i couldn't swing it, not even with my son's contribution. going to have to wait for the bill for the amount i could not pay and do the payment plan.

but, he was nice. the office was clean and soothing. the nurse was funny and sweet. they talked to me. really talked to me. answered questions. the lab vampires were hysterical. everyone was so very nice.

so, yeah. i have diabetes and high blood pressure. slam, bam, thank you. that's unless my blood work comes back with some horrible, unnamable disease on top of all that.

how can i live as timid as i have become and live well? how can i do justice to this life i have if i am always worrying, always pining for something i can't have?

i want a friend who i can call on to do stuff with, like go to that doctor's appointment when my daughter could not go. i want a here in my face pal to come over and eat with, laugh with, do the occasional thing with. not all the time. just once a month or so. i wouldn't be a burden.

i want to know what some of those women out there are thinking,; the ones i went on that retreat with, when they see on Facebook that i am struggling, and they ignore it. i thought we had connected. i called us a "tribe." i photographed the whole thing. i felt like there were others out there who understood, more than just that "get it" thing i always hear and see being batted about. what happened to them? was just me not enough? and why? why am i not ever enough without all the sewing and creative stuff? just me.

i want him back. i want him to whisper in my ear and feel his warm breath. i want my skin to tingle again and my body to come alive. i feel so dead inside that i wonder if, in all seriousness, a huge part of me didn't die with him. i tried taking my rings off. i froze. i couldn't leave the bathroom. when i put them quickly back on i felt like myself again. married to my Carl. i still feel so very married. i only want him.

a lot of men come through the store. nice looking me of a certain age. divorced mostly. buying for their children. they talk. they flirt. i am not aware of the flirting until they leave and one of the other girls i work with comes over and says, "hey, he was nice looking and he was really flirting with you." i do the furrowed brow thing and say stupidly, "huh?" never knew it happened. i only see single men as fathers buying for their children, never as men. i see them as handsome, too, but from a drawing/artist point of view. never as a woman. i have my Greek god and he died, but he is still mine and i am still his.

i am scared of living and scared of dying. living is mundane now. there is no ocean. there is no life as i relate to it here in this city. living is bills and money worries and health scares and worries. living is waiting on people to notice me and then watching them ignore me and then forget me. living is too hard to do and yet, living is what i have to do to get to where i want to go. i am trying to live with a kind of rumpled and messed up grace that honors my children and my Dragon. ah, my lovely, lovely Dragon. just the words echo through me like a song that i am struggling to not sing out loud.

i an scared of dying. what if i don't find him? what if i am lost in some horrible blank, colorless world like my nightmares? or, oh, God please forbid, stuck as a lost soul in my tiny apartment to haunt the next tenant. i'll end up being a made for tv movie on the Chiller network or SyFy Saturday night, "the most terrifying night on television."

i want to go "home," to live and when i die. i want to win a lottery so i can take that money and go live on the beach. to hell with rising ocean levels. i need the sound of the surf. i need the peace of walking with my feet in salt water. and when i die, i want to go "home" to the Heaven that is offered. i want to be forgiven for being a wimp all my life, for being hurt all my life and feeling so badly. i want to find my Carl and hold his hand and find the beach in Heaven, and live forever with him there.

but first, i need to find a way to do justice to this life. i need to just get past the lab results, find the food i can eat and not be so flippin' hungry, {i've lost 8 pounds in 5 weeks}, and accept that working to make toys for people is, though a humble job, a sometimes profound one for some. my heart ceremonies matter in some way to the sea of life. one tiny ripple expands to something that touches more than i can ever know.

i need to see a way to do justice to this life; even if i go against the grief time lines and stages ~ wearing my wedding rings, and feeling married to him forever.

“We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been — a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time. Community. Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.”

life now & some people leave, some people stay

life now.....

there are a lot of times when i wonder what i’m doing here. it sometimes seems ridiculous to be alive when he is gone. i have raised my children. i was here for him. i eased his soul. i hope that doesn’t sound arrogant, because the last thing i am is arrogant. in fact, i am so not arrogant that i almost don’t exist with regards to self-worth. it is something i am told i need to work on and yet; is it possible that low self-esteem may be my gift to the world? it is something i have had {suffered from?} all my life. very little in my life has been a catalyst for me to change my opinion of myself.

i am proud of Bunny though, and what she brings to the world.

i wish he were here to talk to, to listen to his voice. he was gentle with me, and kind, so very kind. i have always known, since i was very small, that gentleness and kindness are mutually exclusive. a gentle voice can express threats and dispense crushing verbal abuse, while kindness is seldom misunderstood. i wish my Carl were here to talk to me. i always told him that even though the world could not know what he did for it, to help the cause of freedom for us and others, the world still felt the ripples of his patriotism. me? i have always lived in the shadows. i cling to the walls. i have done a few good things but nothing like him. nothing that warrants me still living while he has died, unless, it is because he deserves his rest. he deserves his own personal freedom from the pains his body felt while i am being punished further for my sins by being forced to live without him. i try to think of it that way. i know, but surprisingly, for me, it helps ease the sorrow a little bit.

i think i can anticipate some thoughts from those who know me a bit. i know you are going to mention the “heart ceremonies” i do at work, plus my idea for the Ambassador, all her thoughtful and soulful work of coming to personally meet each of you who wanted her. there are a couple of things right there that should be important, and they are, within reason. but how many falling stars, that you’ve seen, can you remember? there was the initial “ooo ahhh” but then the star fell beyond the horizon and was gone. out of sight, out of mind. you can sit there and read this and say, “but i’ve seen falling stars.” yes, maybe you have, but they were just that brief flash of light and then nothing. that’s me. people will remember Beach Bunny and the Ambassador. people will not remember me by name. and that’s all right with me because really, in all honesty, i am the Bun.

i can’t find my place in this world. i can’t find my place in my own life. i am cryingly, humbly grateful for my car, my apartment, my job, my children, and my Scotties. but almost irreverently with regards to all those things, all my fantasies are about being a recluse in a tower at the water’s edge. i have a sketchpad with photos and well, sketches of what it looks like, what i would have done if i had had millions and millions of dollars. i have to laugh, because yes, what i have conceived would take all that. maybe someday i’ll create a mixbook of it and share it with you. there is still more to do to it before i would unveil it so don't hang from a rope.

i am still waiting to get in to see a doctor. my daughter’s mother-in-law is supposed to be directing me to the better doctor from the list that is under my health plan at work. when i am allowed to sign up for health care through work i had wanted to already be under the care of one that is covered by the plan. i didn’t want to have to change doctors due to the health plan coverage, or lack thereof.

i hate this high blood pressure and diabetes. until i can get in to see a doctor and get the real lowdown on me in particular, i am scared. are my feet going to fall off? will i go blind? and then there are the things i love to eat that are now taboo. extra cheddar goldfish crackers. oatmeal cookies. Cheerios. they all seem to have too much salt. some too much sugar, too. i’ll have to wait until i can see the doctor to see if i am being overly careful. i have no idea but i would rather err on the side of caution. i do not want anyone pointing their finger at me and saying, “she gave up.” it would be a disgrace to my Carl’s name and all he went through during his life. it would also be a disgrace to my name after all i went through during my life, from my childhood through my first marriage, and after my Carl died. all the worries, the stresses, the condemnations, the beatings, the verbal abuse i've endure; i will not let myself or my Dragon down by quitting now. i will keep getting up and doing what i have to do. you may now call me Sisyphus.

but i do wish that woman would hurry. ten days getting back to me so far. please, just ask some nurses. they always know the doctors best. i know she is busy. i know she has a life but she offered. if it was going to be too hard for her to pick up a phone then i wish she hadn’t offered. i would like the advice but i cannot wait around indefinitely. i’m scared about all this and i am in a city that cannot/will never be home. i am scared and flying solo and blind without a net. this is my health we’re talking about here. i need to try.

so far very little appeals to me food wise. i am losing weight, which is fine. i need to. but i miss food. i miss the comfort of my chicken and dumplings, which i know has too much salt. i have to try and reconfigure that recipe. Boo has sent me a book that came on Saturday after the office here at the apartments closed. i will take the receipt for it from the mailbox and pick it up Monday before work. i am excited to read it. it is the DASH diet and is supposed to be ~ let’s go ahead and be dramatic ~ sublime.

some people leave

i remember all those posts about being so alone and with this go-round of stress and worry it has all become clear to me. i do not miss anyone. i have made only one friend here, a very recent friend, whom i had lunch with the other day. she is on Bunny’s itinerary and you’ll see photos of her visit with the Ambassador when it comes time. but for over 2 years, people here have blown into my life and then blown out just as quickly and i use the word “blown” indicating stormy for a reason. they created havoc.

i have been told i am not worthy as a friend due to lack of money and car. i now have a car but i do not have much “extra” money so i did not plan on renewing my acquaintance with that widow.

another widow who has me do things for her, has swooped me in on but it is once in a blue moon. she asks after me, after a fashion. “how are you? i think about you all the time but anyway, i need you to make, {or buy Girl Scout cookies}, yada yada…et al ad nauseum.” so i do for her. i buy from her. and then i stand there and watch her walk away without a backward glance. that is the time i am allowed to answer her. “i’m okay, i guess. i miss my husband. things are hard financially. but i’m okay…….nevermind.” and that’s when i turn and walk back in my own direction without a backward glance. *sigh*

the grief counselor that wasn’t. the “tribe” that has disbanded, or went dormant. after a powerful weekend, at least for me, no one kept in touch save one. in their defense, they were all hurting terribly. but i am hurting, too, and i think about them, messaged them, emailed them to no avail. i guess they are all too involved with their own lives, their own sorrow, and/or their own agendas. but when we meet another who hurts, supposedly connect with them on some level, why can't it be like the parable of the lost sheep? the 99 are safely in the pen and the shepherd goes in search of the lost sheep. i have always responded or been there for a widow or widower who has written privately to me, and i am busy. i have things to do. but i always answer with the most heartfelt writing i can bring. these people are reaching out from the abyss. how can i do less than sit back and ask myself, “what would you want to hear?” i send hope and understanding and the acknowledgement and awareness that there are few answers other than we are all on this journey together. our own personal and very intimate sorrow, but grief is a path that has many pilgrims on it, not travelers, but pilgrims for this is a journey of the soul.

to the widow who told me i was only her back up, the last person she calls simply because she knows i “will always be there and always say ‘yes.’ “ i now say, “no.”

to the widow who cursed me as “clumsy and an embarrassment” to her because i tripped while walking with her, i say, “thank you for never calling again.”

and to the widow who promised me she would be there for me, but who turned on me when i could not get some embroidered work done for her in her time frame, and who cruelly told me i needed anti-depressants, i say, “i am changing a few things in my life. if you contact me and i do not return said contact, you are one of those changes.”

i do not miss these people.

i do, however, miss is him. i am lonely only for him. i want him back. i feel like a spoiled child and yet, all i want is for him to come home. but alas, the adult that i am, the woman who saw him die; knows he is not coming back. i’ll never see his smile, hear his voice, feel his touch, smell his skin, or taste his lips. i am forever without him, or until i die and then……i guess i’ll see if i am worthy.

i want to go home, wherever home is now. i want the ocean so badly that sometimes my skin crawls when i look outside my windows. there is no life out there. there is such a controlled and anemic patch of nature out there i feel like i am in a failed biosphere. how can this city breathe without more nature? and this is called the city of trees. there are a lot, but they are culled and pruned and controlled. they are not as nature intended. they are as man forces them to grow in their little assigned areas, lined up like sentries in places. but always, always under man's strict control.

nothing feels free here. nothing feels slow or laid-back. it is all hurry and money and success and then the other side of that coin. illiteracy, narrow-mindedness, and callous little abuses handed down to the children, the worker bees, and the insignificant.

i want to go home. i want to go home. but home isn't there anymore because he has died and left me behind. i just wonder though, if i could wake up to the smell of salt air, and work to the sight of the gulls dancing in the air, and try to sleep to the sound of wind and waves, if i would feel better? if i would heal just a little bit?

some people stay.....

he would have stayed with me if he could have. i know that. i have my moments of doubt and fears, but the truth? he would have stayed with me. he loved me as much as i love him.

i have met some people who have stayed. Suzann called last night. always such a blessing. i was upset and she called to tell me she had found some Buddy Poppies to mail to me. i want them like some women want diamonds. kinda sad. kinda funny. but true. the Bun want's her Buddy Poppies.

Suzann has stayed. she has no idea what i look like. she sees me as Bunny. i guess i should send her a photo but then i do not want to disappoint her. Bunny is lovely. i am not. i know it will not matter to her, but it is that poor self-esteem thing rearing its ugly head. sorry, Suzann. one day.

Boo has stayed. she is my Diabetes Buddy. when i get my glucose meter, we're going to be there for each other to help each other stay on track.

Judith has stayed around. a woman from Canada named Marjorie and her husband, even her son has gotten into the Bunny fan club. they have stayed. they love the Bun, and me, and we speak online often. Dan is there for me if i need to talk. so is Deb. and the irony of all ironies, i have a grief counselor who lives about 9,500 miles from me. she is the one i need and yet, *sigh* she and i obviously cannot do the face-to-face kind of counseling i would like, but beggars cannot be choosers. she is a Godsend and i accept.

there are people out there, just not close. i am grateful.

i just wish he were here. i wish i could live beside the ocean with my art providing a decent living. i wish i may i wish i might have the wish i wish tonight..... i was recently told by a nameless someone that if i cannot support myself solely on my art, then i am not a real artist.

*sigh*

Dragon said i was an artist. if he said it, then it is gospel. i am an artist. i just also do other things.

Dragon, my love, you'll never know how much i miss you. or maybe you do. and i worry that you miss me, too. i want you to wait for me, but i want you to have a peaceful, fun time where you are. i want all the wonderful things that Heaven has for you be given to you. i just want you to be sort of hanging there waiting for me, too.

i love you more than time.

stranger in a strange land // Home

i am not home.

i have not been home much my whole life. home is that place where you feel safe. it is where all your stuff is. it is where you can be who you are and not worry about someone turning on you.

home was with him.

he did not hold all my stuff in his arms. in fact, during our marriage all my stuff was in storage. it still is. but in his eyes was all the love and acceptance i had never gotten during my entire life. in his arms was safety. when i was with him, i was home.

i miss him. i miss him every moment of every day. it has not been two years yet. it has been 23 months. i cannot believe that. 23 months without his voice in my ear. 23 months without his hand in mine. 23 months without spooning while i fall asleep.

i am homesick. i got out of work this evening and i waited for my ride. i looked around and nothing was familiar. i am a stranger in a strange land. there are no gulls whirling overhead. there is no rush of waves on the shore. there is no salty smell in the air.

there are no more walks to gaze out across our cove at our island. he is not ahead of me or behind me. he is nowhere waiting for me that i can see or get to or call out to him across the yards of ground.

"honey. i'm home."

honey is not there and i am not home. i will never be home again and that hit me like a 2 x 4 to the chest today. tears stung my eyes. nothing is familiar. my phone number, the apartment, the sky, the mall where i work now. nothing is familiar.

the football team is different. the accents are different. the air is different. i am different because i am alone. Dragonless. husbandless. i am a widow.

i wish i could wear a huge embroidered "W" on my shirt. "i am a widow! do not say anything to hurt my feelings! i am a widow! i hurt all the freakin' time! i am a widow! i go to bed alone and cry my eyes out -- every -- single -- night.

i am a widow and i love him so much i do not think i can make it without him.

i am His widow. ask me about him. please."

my Miss Carmen Sophia, the Wild Gypsy Girl with the Sensitive Soul has been worried about my lingering cough. she sleeps so close to my chest. her eyes are always on me.

Mr. Scootie Wootums, Lord of the Dance with the Stardust Eyes follows me everywhere i go. i am never out of his sight. and when i return from work, it is his face that stays in the window watching me walk to the stairs before he dares to duck away and race for the door.
i am not alone in the apartment. i have my two furry companions, but it is still not home. he is not there. it is not a place he has ever been and i have to admit i get very wistful reading about others who speak of their forever homes, of "not moving his things," or of thinking maybe they are ready to pick up about the place and make some changes.

i have had too many changes in my life since my Dragon died. i wish i was where we were before he died. i wish circumstances were that i was still in Rockport, still haunting the beaches, still searching for him in the moon as it rises over the North Atlantic. still in front of the fire he built that i would never have let go out even over the summers. his fire. his warmth. same place. our stuff. his chair. our home. home. home. i want to go home.

but there is no home for me anymore anywhere. because he is home. his arms are home. and i am lost in a strange world where i cannot find a friend to come sit with me and talk to me like that book speaks about. i got a copy, too. Seven Choices. it talks about having someone to talk to. i waited 21 months to find someone who will talk to me and as fate would have it, our schedules do not allow for much talk anymore. it has been a month and it will be another 2 weeks before i can talk to her again.

and i have unexpressed worries, sorrows, hurts that have happened to me that i would like to speak to someone about, if time would ever allow it. if someone would ever allow it.

i miss him. i wish i could go home. but home is only a memory now. a very dear memory of being safe and warm in his arms.

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.

alone on my island ~ a poem to comfort me

if i am to be this much alone, let me be alone by the sea

where all the silent nothing i have can be comforting to me

if i am to live a quiet life, let it be on rock and beach

so sun and cloud and wind and stars all seem within my reach.

if my home is surrounded with ocean and sky then i could stand to live alone

so i can feel a part of the earth with sun-warmed skin and hair wind blown.

let me live alone on my island where my home is the only one that stands

on land of rock and scrub and gulls and waves crashing up on the sand.

the lighthouse can be my sole guardian to keep all the bad dreams at bay

it’s light can caress my home at night and brighten the days that turn gray.

my island will stand against the wildest of waves that roar in wild from the sea

the majesty of which inspires awe and belief that my love can return to me.

let my Dragon fly in on the wild night wind and come to my arms like before

and we’ll love as we loved before death took him and left me alone on the shore.

alone in a city is no way to live so let me return to my island small

and there i can live alone where i have all of nature that enthralls.

only on my island can i be free from expectation and strife.

only on my island can i hope to have any kind of a life.

musings after one year

i walked a mile with pleasure

she chatted all the way

but left me none the wiser

for all she had to say.

i walked a mile with sorrow

and ne'er a word said she

but oh, the things i learned from her

when sorrow walked with me.

my first year without him is over. the anniversary of his funeral on Valentine’s Day is over. i have no big excuse at the moment for feeling this badly other than he’s gone. he’s not coming back. i’ll never touch him, hear his voice, or be in his arms again.

if you’ve read my writing before you know i love the ocean.

i would give anything to be back walking the beach with him, climbing the rocks, and taking my photographs. i miss it with a heartache that won’t be healed. i have never found the serenity i experienced living by the ocean. it didn’t matter how wild the weather was, the ocean calmed my spirit. i felt free there. i can breathe there. wading. swimming. walking beside it. holding his hand and listening to the world, and his voice.

my Dragon’s and my last day together was spent by the ocean. we walked the beach and talked about nothing. we laughed. we shivered in the cold. a few hours later he was gone. i had no idea for a whole year what to do. i was confused and lost and desolate.

but a year has passed and from just barely into this side of it……. i am still confused and lost and desolate. when i sew i can stay focused on this life, mine, the one i still have. but when i stop sewing, or if i pause, i think about what it would be like if my Dragon was still alive and i know the truth. i would also be alive.

Unless you can muse in a crowd all day

On the absent face that fixed you

Unless you can love as the angels may

With the breadth of Heaven betwixt you

Unless you can dream that his faith is fast

Through behoving and unbehoving

Unless you can die when the dream is past

Oh never call it loving.

~ E. Browning.

my mind is a muddle, or maybe it’s a symphony, i try to look on the bright side. my mind is a maelstrom of thoughts, songs, pieces from literature, poems. i think of things and they all make me think of him, remind me of our time together, glittering moments in the sun or under the moon and stars.

Tennyson wrote of the walls of Camelot, “They were never built and therefore built forever.” magic is like that. some love stories are magic.

i know about time. i know how long a minute is. waiting for the Paramedics to come, doing CPR, talking to him, trying to convince God to let him stay with me. then waiting for the doctor at the ER, alone in a cold waiting room, minute after minute. there were ten of them that culminated with an empty life, a shattered heart, and a broken spirit.

i know how long an hour is. i was agonizingly alone for 20 of them waiting for my children to fly to me, to get to me. hour after hour sitting silently alone. i just sat in a chair holding his coat. i would get up to walk the dogs but then i would return to that chair in front of the picture window. i stared at the ocean the rest of that dark night, and all that day, and into the evening until my children came to me. of all the days following his death that are lost in a haze, i remember those 20 hours of solitude. no sound except the ocean and the gulls.

and i watched the sun come up.

there it is. the first sunrise over a Dragon-less Rockport, over a Dragon-less world. the pain in my chest was a terrible thing to feel. i still feel it at times. he’s gone and he’s never coming back.

i know how long a year is. it is endless days and nights without him. i can't smell him, hear him, touch him, talk to him, cry in his arms, languish in his arms, be in his arms, his strong arms that kept me safe and warm, and loved. now that i know, facing the coming years without him is bringing me to my knees. i’m trying to focus on work so here is some news.

i won the Camp Widow photo contest. i sent in two so i’m not sure which one won. my quilts and i will be part of the expo at Camp Widow. there will be an article about me in the newsletter Hope Matters. i have a new website up. the link is on the right side over there under his photo. i’m trying hard to drum up more commissions, also by letting people know i can do more than just the Memory Quilts. please go to my new website and see if there is anything i can do for you, or someone you know. pass it along.

sewing, quilting, creating things is my tether to this life. but i wish my life was beside the ocean again.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

~ Masefield

but i’d trade being beside the ocean for him. i’d live in a desert to be with him again. i’d live here in this apartment and give up ever seeing the ocean again just to be in his arms.