You can't follow my trials, tribulations and adventures without knowing where I'm coming from. Some of you do know, but for those who don't, a brief synopsis:
I lost Ben, my 30-year soul mate/husband/companion, on December 18, 2009 to a 3 year battle with colon cancer. One month later I lost my mother. That's a BIG bunch to deal with in short order. Then I learned that I worked for a company that doesn't have a clue. So, being 62, I retired. I haven't felt such relief in years. But I suddenly found myself in charge of . . . EVERYthing. Yes, the realization of my losses came in waves over several weeks, making me wonder just where I was headed. As time moves on I can sense that I'll be okay as long as I stay in control, watch what I do, and pay attention to my "self talk". And I know there's a big diff in what I 'want' and what I 'need'.
I maintained a website (CaringBridge) for Ben beginning the day he went under hospice care on Dec. 9, 2009. I journaled there regularly until recently, thus this blog. The following are a couple of entries I made after Ben had been gone for about 7 or 8 months. It may give you more insight into this thing called being a "widow". I need to tell you that I despise that word, but I haven't invented a better one yet. I'll get around to it.
"Slowly, something has settled over me, like a comforting blanket; not a sudden realization, just a transition, a confirmation that I, and I alone, am the Master (or is that master-ette) of my destiny. I cannot be dependent on others for my happiness and well-being. My existence will not be at the mercy of others. Kind of like what they call "being comfortable in one's own skin" maybe. This is nothing new. I was always kind of that way. But my loss of Ben has forced me to be my own best friend, and I'm liking most of what I'm discovering. It's not that I like being alone mind you, it's just that that seems to be the way it is. Some people, including Ben, attract friends like a magnet ..." (but I've always been okay alone, and know when I need to seek company.) "One thing I know, without a single doubt, is that I want more than anything to somehow help those who are, or will be, going through the loss of someone close. I learned so much over the past 3 years of up's and down's with Ben, and later with my mom. I miss them both SO much. I know one can't go back, and that's where I'd like to help others. Those "shoulda's, coulda's, and woulda's" are hard lessons learned, and perhaps I can help someone to avoid at least some of them."
And this after "Letting go of Ben" in Iowa . . .
"I feel renewed. I definitely feel that sense of closure, probably because Ben is where he wanted to be now, and because everything came together to make that happen. I feel like I can move on now, find whatever it is I'm looking for, and take my time doing it. I learned so many things from observing Ben during the time I had with him. One of those things is to be methodical. I have only one crack at getting it right, and if I get it right the first time, it saves a lot of grief. You might ask why I'm still working on getting something right at the ripe old age of 62. Well, I guess because it's a new chapter. There is nothing else to compare with watching someone you spent a good share of your life with taking his last breath; a vital, living person being reduced to a small container of cremains. It gives one a whole new set of values, and that is what is going to get me where I'm going. I will always love Ben and miss his presence, but now I have to let Kathy find her way."
I know, it sounds as if I'm all alone in the world, but I'm not! I have my dad, 4 sibs (1 stays in frequent touch), various nieces and nephews, cousins and an aunt, Ben's 4 children, some good neighbors, and a few priceless friends. I also have two of the best cats in the world, my kayak, and my almost-constant companion, my Canon Digital Rebel Xti with about 5 lenses!! And right now, at this precise moment in time, I'd have to say I'm about as happy and content as I've been in a long, long time. I have a sense of peace. And, after all that has gone before, I've learned not to wait for the other proverbial shoe to drop. If it does, it just does. All I have on my plate is new shingles, sanding and staining two decks, and getting the carpet cleaned. Can life get any better than that?
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