Now the yard is calling out for my attention

I will rake and trim and take care of the yard

He designed and loved.

In twelve months there have been changes

The giant jade tree and the heliotrope died and

I found different plants to replace them.

Some have worked, some haven’t,

I’ll keep searching for the right ones.

Though Jack’s spirit will always be here,

It’s my garden now.

Mine to tend and care for,

To change and redesign.

I bought bulbs for the spring,

The second one without Jack.

It will be my spring,

And I will make it bright and beautiful.

I started this project as a way to move beyond the loss of my husband.  My rules were simple:  look, listen, and write from the heart.  I have come to a time where I can see that nothing will replace Jack or the life we had together.  Though at times it was hard work, it was always rich and fun and loving.  I will carry and be sustained by that love for the rest of my life.

There is a beautiful sunset over the ocean right now.  There will be many more.  I can’t wait to see them.

This concludes Widowswatch’s Blog.

Tears, not a day without some tears.

A sense of quiet that is both peaceful and lonely,

A need to be aware, honest and open,

A need to listen.  To wait.  To watch.

What has helped

Keeping an open heart,

Saying yes more than no.

Sharing the night with Miles Davis and Bill Evans.

The arms of my family.  An army of friends.

Work. Teaching. Children.

Hiking. Poetry. Breathing.

Gardening and Paris.

Dancing. The beach. The dog.

Joni’s friend, Old Man Art.

What hasn’t helped

Platitudes and anger,

Temporary moments of hysteria and fear

Looking backwards and forgetting

There is no yesterday or tomorrow.

That is so calming.

It cries out order and yes,

Control.

And yes, control is an illusion,

But nature has its own order.

Cleaning can be a meditation.

After all, there are no messy monasteries.

Monks seem to know how simple repetitive acts

Are like breathing in and breathing out.

I have done a lot of cleaning

During my year of grieving.

Closets and drawers.  Shelves and files.

As well as the simple daily tasks of dishes, laundry, and floors

All made simpler because it’s just me now.

Grieving and keeping house are so similar

They are never really done.

Things are put away. Furniture is polished.  Rugs vacuumed.

But it will all need to be done again and again.

So it is with grieving.

Memories come, followed by sighs.  Maybe a tear or two

Or more.

You stop.  You look, and then you put it away.

Until the next time.

See it  as a process.  Learn to love the act.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re alive.

There were days when it was hard to stand up

Walking was an ordeal. But people were counting on me

And I kept going.

Then suddenly after being pinned to the present for countless seasons

The match was done.  The angels were gone.

They took those they had come for.  Hopefully to heaven.

And I am still here.  Still.

Different than I was, but not sure who I am.

Still.  I am here.

I need to share some final thoughts with you before I move on.  About us and you and me.

We knew the future when we married.  You were older; I was younger.  I knew we would not grow old together.  But  because I am ever optimistic,  I tended be naive about a lot of things.  Your steadfastness and determination made it easy to believe that your many illnesses would be overcome.  Because we had dealt with so much, I could not comprehend that death was finally going to take you from us.  You were the indomitable fighter who refused to stay down for the count.  Or so I thought.

I took so much for granted.  Our marriage was a good one, not perfect, but good.  I just didn’t see it at the time. We worked at it together, but now I can see how much you gave.  Care and patience.  Time and respect.

  You used to say I was the best thing that ever happened to you.  (I could easily say the same thing.)  You would tell me that whenever you saw me your heart would beat a little quicker.  These comments made me smile – everyday.  

Regardless of what work or projects I became involved with, you were always there cheering me on.  You helped me reach a little higher, dig a little deeper, become so much more than I could have been on my own.  I think I did the same for you.

I marvel at the transformation we experienced.  I will never be what I was before we met.  As an artist, I’ve always known that creativity blossoms when discipline and commitment are present.  What you taught me is that it is the same for love.  Our marriage succeeded because we made such a total commitment to each other.  A commitment to care for and be honest with one another, always.  A commitment not to give up, even when it was hard.  We committed to simply be together, no matter what.  How do I thank you for that?

I tell myself that I am not leaving you, because you are the one who left me.  Still, I feel like someone who is about to move out of a beloved home.  What hasn’t been packed and labeled has been given away or cast off.  I’m trying to travel lightly.    I’m not quite ready to close the door on our world yet.  There are still some things I need to deal with,  but I am thinking more about the future, my future.  It is exciting to move away from all the hurt and sadness, to contemplate the possibility of creating some joy.

T.

In the world

Looking forward

To tomorrow.

But a memory will rise like smoke

And I know

Embers still burn

In my heart

For yesterday.

A year of yesterdays may not be enough

To launch me into a year of tomorrows.

To pause and think.  To breathe.

When rip tides of  fear and sadness came to carry me under

I tried not to struggle.  Swim parallel to shore

Home would come soon enough.

Twelve months have passed.  I am home.

It’s the same home, but it’s a very different place.

There are rooms of memory I’m still not able to enter

There are other rooms though that bring smiles

I feel love and appreciation.  Gratefulness.

I have been so blessed.

But even in this memo to self, I was planning.  Always planning.

I’m not one to just let things be.  So more than once this year

I’ve pushed things along.

I created the celebration. Chose the poems and the songs and the photos

Bought the flowers.

Next I gave away the medical equipment and then the clothes.

And I tended to the house and garden we had neglected.  I’m good at tending.

Over the years I tended him.  Sometimes struggling to care for his needs.

Trying to control what could not be controlled.  It was a habit we shared.

My year of grieving has been busy.  No wonder I am so tired.

The only thing that has sat still this year

Is his last bottle of port on the kitchen shelf.

It’s only right that we should go on learning from this event.  Jack was a gifted teacher, and even in death he continues to teach what is most essential.  On any day, in any week, in any year, someone is feeling like we did on Thursday.  Someone, somewhere, sighs and shuts their eyes to remember the loved one they are missing.  It is these moments of memory and love that make us human.  They bind us together in our pain and joy, and we need to remember that.  There are no others, no outsiders.  It’s just us.  All of us.  Together.

In other cultures I would be putting away my black dress today

Or I might be married off to my dead husband’s brother

Thank God Jack was an only child.

Unlike last year when the house was full of people,

Friends and family, arriving because Jack had just left,

I was alone today.

I chose to be alone.

In the morning, at the  hour of his death,

I sat in the room where he died.

I watched my breath go in and out,

I asked only that Jack be safe and happy,

I repeated this prayer for each of his children.

Throughout the meditation, I knew I was alone.

Then I cleaned the house with the energy

Of a bird preparing a new nest.

It was like a dance.  Organize the space

Find the balance. Create some order out of the chaos.

Make a new home.

At dusk the dog and I went to the beach

To Jack’s beach, where I used to watch him surf,

Where Sean scattered his ashes.

Already the winter birds have arrived,

Sanderlings were doing their funny folk dance

On the shore of Jack’s remains

And I knew he was happy.

I walked away knowing

This was the goodbye I had been waiting for.