My Old Life

I can't tell you how much I miss my old life.  The other one.  The one when Jed was alive.  I can't begin to list all the things I miss, but the laughter and arguing, making love, discussing about ideas...and just knowing that whatever I came up with, however weak or strange or needy, whatever idea that stirred in my head, I could share with him.  And he would validate me. 

I miss making him dinner and folding his clothes.  I miss his snore. 

I've filled my bed with pillows and textiles in an attempt to take his place, but they just clutter up my bed.  Actually I've done lots of things to paint over sorrow.  I've had the trees trimmed, the deck repaired...lots of stuff to make me well.  And I am well.  I'm just lonely for him. 

I am remarkably blessed with amazing people and I'm not alone.  I'm not even lonely.  I'm just lonely for him.  We bantered with utmost confidence in one another.  We took off and explored places with abandon.  We said, "screw it" to convention and did only what we felt like doing.  Sometimes that got us in a great deal of trouble and sometimes it took us to amazing places and left us with life long stories to tell. 

I miss how he could tell a story about anything and make it believable.  I miss how he sang off tune. I miss his passion for knowledge and his often irreverent way of expressing it. 

And now, I realize how much I miss having him to make decisions about money.  I took the road of disagreeing and "I told you so," when things went wrong.  What a bitch I was.  Someone had to make decisions.  And now, it's me.  I have to decide what to do about stuff.  What to fix, what not to fix.  I always held this, "I know what to do" attitude, but then went along with what ever he said.  If it went sour, I poured it on.  If it went well, somehow I got him to agree that it was my idea.  That was a real shitty place to put him.  I wonder if he even knew?  I'm not sure I did.  Not until now, when I have to make decisions with no one to blame.

Marriage.  It's more than it seems and when its a fit, a real fit of two lives, two souls, well, it's pretty near perfect.  That's what I miss.  We had it perfect.  We fought and cried and hated one another at times.  We talked about divorce hundreds of times.  But it was always, "if that's what you want...." and it was never what either of us wanted.  We laughed and loved making love.  We touched one another to the core of our beings.  How we loved to argue.  I can see the twinkle in his eye as he would watch me get red faced and passionate about something.  He would listen and beckon me toward him.  I would  rant louder, but move a little closer.....perhaps this is too personal.  I miss my old life. 

My new life is lovely.  I don't do anything.  It's all done for me.  I don't buy groceries, I don't do laundry, I don't make breakfast, I don't make dinner, I don't even clean my toilet.  It sounds good, and it is, but it makes me miss my old life with a ache that creeps and crawls around in me till all I can do is go to bed. 

I'm okay.  Most of the time I'm more than okay.  Jed's birthday is next week and perhaps that's my maudlin cause.  Last year on his birthday we were at the cabin with Steve.  But missing something that was so good, well, it takes a bit of time.  I asked my father a few months after my mom died if he had any regrets.  Whatever made me ask such a question is beyond me, but we were in the truck going over dirt roads and he said, "only that she died."  It took my breath away then and still does, because that, too, is my only regret, that he died. 

Got Friends?

I'm a really fortunate person.  Lucky.  Yep, I'm just plain lucky.  Today I was talking with Elizabeth, my employee, about life and the way things are.  I just get stumped sometimes.  I think young people like her, are looking at me for answers, and I look back at my life and know that I really don't have any.  The only one is, that I'm lucky.  I was raised by great parents.  I lived in a healthy environment most of my life, I had great kids, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Deal is, I was, and am, just lucky.

Had my shares of stress and bad decisions.  Had my share of really bad stuff, but it's all been okay.  Even the really bad stuff.  I am a Christian.  I believe in the whole ball of wax.  But, even though I believe, I also know that sometimes you just need to be lucky.  My luck has been in my peeps, as Jen, my amazing daughter-in-law, would say.  My peeps.  The people I love and who love me.  Forever,  I have been lucky with peeps, 

Got friends?  Yep.  I have friends.  Friends to share with, friends to yell at, friends to share space with, have meals with, laugh with and try to solve life problems with. This is God's greatest gift.  Luck/God toss a coin.  I know that the peeps that make me whole have come to me through family and accident.  How was it that I connected with such amazing people?  I will thank God every day of my life for the luck He granted me through the people that I gratefully call friends. 

Rowan

Tomorrow Rowan will be one.  The day one year ago is vivid.  "Today's the day!" was the message I got midmorning.  Jed said, "go."  I hesitated and, Jed said, "GO!"  Ubaldo got on the computer while I packed and Jed instructed.  I was off.  Quick flight, long drive, and into the forest.  Home birth in the wild country.  The day was long and I kept expecting to hear of his birth.  Into the night I drove up the hill through the trees, hoping all was well.  And, just as I arrived, so did Rowan.  When I walked through the door he was there, beautiful bitty Rowan Oak.  Born in a portable tub in a little love nest far north of San Francisco.  Little Rowan suckled and nuzzled next to his exhausted parents as the midwives took out the evidence.  The next few days I cooked and proudly cared for my new little family. 

Time changes things.  As it should be.  Now, one year later I have an ache in my heart that Rowan will never know Jed.  But, what I do know, is that Jed is looking out for him.  Angie shared with me that after Jed died he came to her telling her that he was sorry they didn't have a better relationship, and he told her that he would always take care of Rowan.  My God, what a beautiful and powerful message to be given from the other world.  Rowan will always be taken care of!  I have tears flowing as I think about the power of love. 

So tonight, I've written on tea mugs, "Our Little Honey, Rowan, is 1"  I've stuffed the mugs with honey sticks and have packed, or plan to pack, gobs of things to take to his teddy bear picnic party.  Ubaldo has planned yet another perfect party and we will go to Oakland on Friday to celebrate Rowan becoming one. 

But, as we plan this adventure, another awaits.  I am making plans to "move" to Oakland for an extended time.  This was rather spontaneous, but it feels right.  Angie and Robyn are under considerable stress and I am able to help.  I talk to Jed all the time.  I asked him, "so, what do you think of my idea of moving up to Oakland to help Angie, Rob and Rowan for a while."  And then I realized, duh, it was his idea in the first place.  Jed put the idea in my head because he has committed himself to always taking care of Rowan. 

With the help of Ubaldo, Dylan and Elizabeth, I am getting the shop in order.  Soon I will leave it to them to run.  I will miss the daily people greeting and affirmation that we have done a great job to make the shop amazing.  But, I am looking forward to the new adventures that await me in Oakland. 
Life is rich and wonderful.  Grandbabies make that more obvious.  I choose to hang with joy.  His little year has been filled with joy and tears for me.  But I rest comfortably in the knowledge that Jed came through the veil of death to vow his constant vigil of care to Rowan.  You just can't get much more beautiful than that. 

Hawks and Eagles and Things That Fly Through Your Mind

Jed's been gone from this earth more than six months.  The part that wouldn't burn is in a box in my closet.  His good friend, Reg called today and we talked briefly about what life is like now.  Well, it's not different at all, and yet there's nothing the same.  I hear Jed's voice constantly, guiding me and giving me validation to move on.  I hear his voice tell me to not doubt myself, to believe in who I am, to be the me that I want to be, that nothing I could do would disappoint him.  We had a love.  He used to say, "people would kill for what we have, Sherry."  How did this beauty come to us?

However it came, and however it continues, is mystery bound in magic.  We had a brief 25 years where we seeped and oozed and made magic and beauty midst prison and ugliness.  We lifted without knowing, we made it laughter, and battle and truth and tears.  We had a love. 

And now he comes to me on wings.  When I need to feel the confidence we gave each other, he is there in a swoop of wings, sometimes a call, always quick.  He rested quickly outside a window of anxiety, he swooped low at James's funeral, he often visits while I sit and think drink on the deck.  His presence is important.  Life without him is pretty much the same as life with him, except it's void of magic.  It's void of insight and spontaneous joy. 

I like to believe that Jed can channel his current existence to this one.  I like to believe that he has chosen to do that through the hawk.  It just makes sense that he would choose the  hawk because he was so enamored by their flight beauty.  And, he would know that I would know. 

The mind is a mystical place.  The faith that there is more than we know is not only mystical, but essential.  So, the things that fly though my mind are hawks and eagles and the faith that there is more than we know, and while I live and breathe on this earth, I will watch hawks and eagles with an awareness that there's more to death than gone.  There's more to life than here.  There's more.  Believing makes it so. 
 

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. 

 

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. 

 

Dancing

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.