Miles away….

Dearest followers, many a post have I started, yet I can’t seem to finish any of them. Maybe because I like to tie my tales up in a bow, and at least attempt to bring a nice conclusion to my mind’s rumblings, er, ramblings – and these days I can’t seem to wrap anything up. I will be honest and admit that lately I prefer to play games like Candy Crush and Fairway Solitaire on my ipad, rather than complete an emotionally-driven thought. I play these games over and over and over.

It’s a self-protection mechanism, and an avoidance tactic. I recognize it for what it is. Because if there is one thing I have learned in this past year, it’s that my mind is extremely powerful. It rules the roost around here, and when it tells me it needs an escape, you better believe I listen. I know it might sound strange to keep separating my mind from the rest of my little old self, but I think some people tend to be ruled by emotion, some are ruled by their bodies and desires, and some of us are ruled by our minds. Like I said, in this house, the “noodle” is in charge.

Now, I’m not going to debate whether this is a good thing, or a bad thing. That’s a post for another time, it’s just an observation about what I have been doing, and why I haven’t been writing, and how my mind is trying to steer miles clear of the pain point coming my way, the unavoidable fact, that in one month, on May 28th, it will be one year since my husband died.

Me and my mind, we’re just not sure what to make of this. That much is clear.

I have been feeling pretty good. I recently attended a wonderful retreat for people who have lost a spouse. In addition to playing games on my ipad, I’ve also been gardening, re-seeding the lawn, taking the dog to the park. I’ve been “busy”, ya’ know? I haven’t been stirring the emotional pot. Am I in denial? I really don’t know. I have a month to go, my mind is starting to tire of games, my heart is getting restless, and reality is coming knocking. Many people say that the actual day isn’t as difficult as the build-up to the day. I say, TBD. TBD.

In the meantime, if any of you are so inclined, let me know which half-completed thought you’d like me to try and finish: the one about Uncle Jim’s Worm Farm, the one that references “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat”, the one titled “Touch and Go”, or the most recent one about Parallel Paths…

Yeah, I know, everyone’s going to want to hear about the worm farm.

A shadow of light.

Loss can cast some strange shadows across your days. Sometimes dark and engulfing, other times a sharp sliver of illumination. Gone if you’re not paying attention.

This morning, as I sat drinking my coffee, I noticed the speckled light moving across the room. It landed on a porcelain bear that my husband had picked up at a garage sale, and cast an amazing shadow. A strong, angular bear, chiseled out of the ice on which it’s standing. A bear that looks a lot like the tattoo my husband had on his arm. A piece of art that I will never see again.

I continued to think about shadows as I walked out into the beautiful morning. We used to laugh at my old dog’s shadow because we thought her shadow looked like an ant-eater. My new pup, her shadow looks like some kind of mythical wolf. Fierce and fangy. I looked over at my shadow this morning, too. A long, lonely alliteration.

We are our shadow selves, are we not?

Stuck in the middle.

Sometimes I refer to myself as a widow. I know friends are usually a little surprised when they hear me use the term. I’ve seen the look on their faces. Believe me, I’d rather not be one (a widow, that is).

There all kinds of people. All kinds of widows, too. Sadly there are really young ones, and old ones, and also the ones who fall in the middle (like me). Officially, I belong to a “young widow” support group, it meets once a month. I haven’t gone in quite a while. Winter storms canceled several meetings, other things came up. But I finally made it back, last night. It reminded me that there are all kinds of widows. Loud ones, quiet ones, cheerful ones, sad ones. And that as we move through our loss, as we continue to live with it, our relationship with being a widow changes too.