Tuesday, July 15, 2014

You Didn't Leave Me Much

I was studying the final account of my inheritance from Jed, and looked with sadness and concern at the low numbers.  I was alone, thank goodness, but I heard myself say, "you didn't leave me much, sweetheart."  I was very sincere and a little forlorn thinking of all the financial responsibilities that lie ahead.  But then I was instantly shocked into, "what are you talking about, he left you everything!" 

Everything.  He left me, me.  For 25 years he built me up.  He gave me the gift of myself and the knowledge that I have the capacity to accomplish whatever I set out to do.  What an amazing gift.  The legacy I have from Jed is not financial, it is empowerment.  It is forever and cannot be taken away. 

He left me with a home that I can now afford, a business that seems to run despite my inadequacies, a wonderful family including beautiful great grandchildren, a great friend in Ubaldo, and a sense of faith and peace that only he could have given me. 

Ours was a marriage.  Ours was laughter and ideas, battles and resolutions, explorations and adventure.  Ours was full.  Completely full with no room for doubt. 

The fact that he left me, is a hole deeper than I am, but the fact that he left me strong, and empowered, and complete is way more than much.  It is me.  I so value what we had, and know that what we had is now within me, looking for a new road to travel.  Thank you, Jed, for all that you left me.  I will cherish it forever. 


Thursday, July 10, 2014

Alone In The House

I'm alone in this old house tonight, and it seems to have been a very long time since this house and I could listen to one another all by our selves.  Alone can be very nice.  With it comes quiet, and with quiet, memories float like invisible stars.  This house has stories to tell.  This house has saved lives and mended many.  It's been a giving home. 

We've had so many birthday parties on the deck, Jed's 60th, James and Jean's 70th, Ubaldo's 55, Ian's 1st, and the kids, how we've celebrated. And our almost daily times with Reg and Erica will be held as solid validation that life is good.   This house has housed quite a few people who needed a place to live for a while, or a place to rest.  Mike, Phillip, Matt and the family, Candy, Ubaldo's mom, Elnora.  We've had Angie's graduation party, Nate and Jen's wedding reception, Alicia and Mario's Wedding preparation party, and now it's party central for catering.  This house has served us well. 

Ah, and the transitions.  First the upstairs was for Angie and Nathan, period.  They were teenagers and adjusting to a new life.  The upstairs gave them space.  "Mom, do you mind if I paint my wall?"  "No, honey, that would be fine."  "Yeow!!!!!  Not like that...."  It was a dark mother daughter time.  "Mom, may I plant a garden?"  "Sure, honey, that would be great."  "Yeow!!!  Don't plant that, I'll go to jail."  It was a dark mother son time.  Darkness is followed by light.  The children finally leave and Jed and I move upstairs.  Jed builds an amazing bathroom and shower, installs a Jacuzzi tub and we live happily ever after. 

Well, not ever.  After Jed fell, we turned the living room into our bedroom.  The upstairs was empty so Ubaldo moved in...it seems this house has opened it's doors to all the options and possibilities and joys and friendships, families and needs of our lives. 

We almost lost this house several times, I think 5 times, to auction.  It was a dark, dark time of fear and anguish.  I was quite ready to leave.  It was just too much.  Too much of everything.  Too much fixing, too much pain, too much and way too little.  I started shopping for another house.  Leave it behind was my mantra.  But things change.  New paint, new modification, new garden, and now the stories float.  I can visualize the house breathing deep breaths of appreciation for our not walking away and for recognizing it's importance in so many lives. 

The grandchildren grew up in the back yard, or at least that's my memory, and now the great grand children will, because it has been brought back from it's near death of neglect.  I cannot walk into this house or meander it's yards without seeing Jed.  His vision for creating the porch and the deck and the bathroom upstairs are so incredible, and I am so grateful for his strength and his work. 

Someday I will leave this house, and it will be okay.  But for now, I am happy in the knowledge that not only has it been a wonderful place for us to build and go forward with our lives, it has been a wonderful place for many, many people to feel loved and know they belong to something quite powerful.  They belong to the dream that we had, the dream that we realized.  Even as Jed lay dying in this house, amidst all the pain and sorrow, it felt right and good, and blessed. 

Being alone in this house is quite a wonderful joy.  And with that joy is the knowledge that soon this house will flow with energy and plans and happiness, and being alone does not mean being lonely. 


Tuesday, July 1, 2014


It's primal.  Dancing.  It's strength gathering cell by cell.  It's grief tossing and joy gathering.  It's basic and primal and real.  Thinking of the deck party brings vivid memories.  We danced away grief.  We danced away pain.  We danced away differences and we danced joy into our hearts.  If only for a moment or a few hours, we let grief and pain and worry and fret wash off our skin and we were free of it all. 

How sad for people who don't dance. 

Jed and I would dance silly.  Really, silly.  We didn't have the great moves, but we moved with great abandon.  That's one of the things I loved most about him.  He did almost everything with great abandon.  He never cared how things were "supposed to be."  He just did.  He just let himself be free to express or act as he felt.  Free. 

It's been 5 months since Jed moved freely into his other world.  He sat up with great assurance to tell his daughter that he was not afraid.  His comfort with death was beautiful. 

And, I know he wants me to dance, to go with abandon into the next phase of life.  I know he is there providing opportunities and encouraging us to be greater than we think we can be. 

Having a dancing fool in heaven who loves you, is quite lovely.  I miss him like water.  I miss him like air.  I miss him like music, but in missing him, I am so reminded how perfectly perfect it was, our time together, and how without it all, the whole sorted package, I would not be the dancing fool that I am, able to capture magic almost everywhere. 

It was a beautiful night full of magic at every turn.  The heavens opened up and poured perfection on our night.  We are all better for it.  Thank you for the music.  Thank you for the dance.  Thank you, Jed, for making me your dance partner beyond my imagination.