My Wonder Woman silver bracelet, a gift from Salida artist and friend Susan Bethany
A friend recently commented that I maintain a “relentlessly cheerful” front. The remark, tossed out in the thick of a heated conversation, was not meant as a compliment. It hurt. The friend saw that and apologized immediately. But the words made me think.
I am by nature a happy person. That’s generally a good thing. Viewing the world through a lens of happiness and love has carried me through some hard times–not unscathed, but more or less whole. It may in fact, have saved my life.
That tendency to look for the positive side of things is not a good thing though, if it blinds me to my own unhappiness, grief, fear, or just feelings of uneasiness or being overwhelmed. I need to notice when all is not well within, because I’m not a superhero. (Despite my striking Wonder Woman bracelet!)
The house a sculptor built, in a photo shot on a rare snowy day last winter. (The guest cottage is the left-hand bay, the main house is on the right.)
Lately I’ve felt rather more mortal than not. I’m tired, overwhelmed, cranky around the edges, and prone to be short-tempered and emotional. Do you suppose I could be grieving for the love of my life? He died from brain cancer less than nine months ago (eight months and 23 days–not that I’m counting obsessively or anything).
That’s definitely part of it. I suspect I’m also grieving for me, for the changes his death brought. Not the least of which is, he’s not here.
The living and dining room, seen from the breakfast counter in the kitchen. Steel dining table by that same sculptor….
His absence leaves me alone, without his company and with the care and feeding of half a block of property, a 2,400 square-foot house with attached guest cottage (a house which while quite wonderful inside and out, isn’t quite finished; it’s lacking trim, some cabinetry, a finished master bath, and interior doors), and a 1,700 square-foot brick and timber-frame shop building that turned 100 years old this year. I am not, as I’ve said before, Tool Girl. I’m learning, but building and restoring and fixing does not come naturally to me as it did to Richard.
I don’t have his support in a host of other ways, from cooking and paying bills, to talking about every aspect of our lives and snuggling.
I’m learning to live as Woman Alone. And mostly, I’m okay with the concept. I don’t have much choice. The execution of that concept, though, needs a lot of practice and brings tough decisions.
Richard’s historic shop/sculpture studio
The most important decision, which I’ve been mulling for months, is what to do with this “lovingly crafted” house and guest cottage combo, the grounds, and the historic shop. The place is too big for me, and while I am devoted to finishing it, I don’t want to devote the rest of my life to maintaining it. I’m a writer, not a curator.
I had imaged forming a partnership with an arts non-profit and selling them the property at a much-reduced price to use as a community center for creative endeavor, along with, of course, serving as a home for the Terraphilia Artist/Writer Residency program.
That partnership didn’t happen. And the residency needs to change in order to survive.
The upshot? I have decided to sell the house my love built for us, along with the cottage, the restored dryland meadow yard, and his shop. There’s that finish work first, so I don’t plan to put the place on the market until next summer. (If you know of anyone who is hankering for small-town life in a house heated and cooled by the sun, with its own organic kitchen garden and wildflower yard, plus a generously sized studio, feel free to pass the word along….)
A small house with big views, heated by the sun and connected to the surrounding landscape.
Where will I go? Not far. I’m going to build my own much smaller house on one “arm” of this formerly blighted industrial property. I’ve already subdivided that chunk, and am working with a designer on plans for a house that incorporates much of what I love about this place, in less space. A lot less: 860 square feet for the house, plus a small garage with a second-floor studio.
There’s uncertainty in this decision–money, timing, finishing the current house, selling the property, downsizing, and so on. But it feels right. When it’s not terrifying, that is.
That’s life as Woman Alone, or at any stage of our allotted span: we feel our way along, learning, growing, sometimes terrified or grieving or confused, but walking forward as best we can anyway, hearts and spirits open.
Here I go….
Oh my dear, thank you for expressing my thoughts and experience of the past 7 years. I so know the feelings – fears, overwhelmed and then also the joys. It is my nature too, to see the joy, good in whatever is landing on my plate. Then I react, slowly figuring out my true response to it and finally I settle into it…as with so many things, there is often little real choice and a lot of letting go. This is a very big decision for you, I know. I am glad you are taking it slowly. hugs
Susan K, Isn’t it a gift when another’s words can somehow express our own experience and we see our life anew? I am glad that you’re seeing your journey positively and finding the grace in your days now. The letting go is so important. I am practicing carrying only what I need–what truly nurtures and sustains me. Letting go of Richard’s shop is the hardest part in many ways. What will I do with those thousands of tools? The answer is out there; I just need to be patient and let it come…. Hugs back
You may be relentlessly cheerful, but you are also courageous.
Susan T, Thank you. That’s a huge compliment coming from you. I often think of you when I struggle to understand how to deal with the simplest of repairs and construction, and there you are, building your own elegant bicycle, honing saved boards into counters, transforming what we so clumsily call “raw materials” into fine and useful objects. That is a kind of courage and knowing the work with your hands that I admire.
A subject I too have been thinking (and blogging) a lot about lately. I too wish for a simpler, less cumbersome life if/when I become a woman alone, and new developments here in my little town have helped me figure out just how to do that.
Becky, Do you suppose it’s these difficult times that have us working to simplify our lives, and lighten our metaphorical loads? I’ll look forward to reading about the new developments in your town and your life that are helping you figure out a way to find a simpler path. Blessings as you walk forward.
Finding a balance that allows you to view thing positive possibilities and perspectives, yet doesn’t negate the negative, or at least less-than-postive, when it needs addressing… Sounds like a project for all of us to undertake.
Wish circumstance had allowed the transfer of the house to Colorado Art Ranch had been able to happen. It would have been a supreme fit. It will feel odd, someone else owning the house and workshop. (However, the Salida sorcery does have a sneaky way of taking care of its inhabitants—the new owner may just wind up being an even neater fit than Art Ranch.)
I’m intrigued by the Casa de Tweit, to be. Will it still allow you to play gracious occasional hostess? Is it your writing studio that’ll be upstairs? Will the view change much? How much garden will you maintain? Aye, so many questions. Onward we leap into the great unknown—at least we’re hoping it’ll be great.
I too wish the creative community center vision had worked out, Eduardo. But it wasn’t what the non-profit wanted int he end, and that’s that. So as you say, I’m working to find that balance of staying aware of what’s hard while not losing the benefits of my largely positive perspective. I can’t say I’m leaping into the great unknown, but I’m certainly walking cautiously but surely forward into whatever’s ahead.
You are not as strong as we all see in you. Give yourself a break. Greive, miss your love, and cry a lot.
We are all here for you.
Bless you, Bev!
I’ve never owned a house in my life. Your house has been my dream house in Colorado. Every time you’ve posted a photo of the interior, over the past few years, it fed my dream. What a wonderful place, gardens and great colors inside, all of it, and a nice market across the street.
Penny, This IS a wonderful house, and I’m glad it’s fed your dreams! It’s just too big for one of me to care for or afford to keep. Someone will love it and be inspired to fulfill their dreams as they live in it, I know.
Wow, Susan, this is quite a dream, a huge step for you, but one you need to make for yourself. I admire you and pray for your healing. Take care, my friend.
Heidi, I always said I’d never move again, but when I said that I imagine that Richard and I would grow old in this house he built for us. That didn’t happen, so my sense of “never” and of what’s possible has undergone a rather drastic shift. It’ll be hard to leave this beautiful space, but I also look forward to having a smaller space that’s right for me alone. Which is where me life is. I don’t mind being alone as long as what I have to do is manageable! Blessings to you and your beloved.
Susan, I am surprised and I am not surprised. I know just how much work that amount of property can be and I know I too would find myself downsizing – a lot. I do think Eduardo hit the proverbial nail on the head with the first sentence in his comment regarding finding balance. You are seeking balance and it will arrive in your life. This decision is a huge step and you are wise to take it slowly.
Hugs
Lindy, Some people would probably say I’m being hasty, since the conventional wisdom says to wait a year after any kind of major change in your life before deciding how to adapt. But for me, a year would be too long because the effort required to keep up this whole property by myself is much too great. So I’m figuring out how to keep that balance and to make my little house happen. Hugs back to you!
Susan (and Lindy), seeking balance is so important. And Susan, as you may remember, I moved less than 3 months after my Bill died. It meant downsizing and a very different life in South Jersey. It was the right thing for me to do, both financially and emotionally. I’ve been here in my small condo now since Jan. 2009 (can’t believe it will be 4 years next Jan.!), and still am learning to be “woman alone”, but it does get easier. One even finds some silver linings to living by oneself.
Susan I wish you all good things as you get ready for this major change in your life. And yes, the recent feelings you’ve been having are grief-related, for sure. We can talk more about that another time. I’ve leaned a lot from attending and now co-leading a local support group for widows and widowers called HOPE that has chapters here in South Jersey. Grief has its own rhythms and seasons—but you already know that.
Penny, I too am surprised to realize that it’ll be four years in January since you moved. Time does fly, whether we want it to or not. I know that what I’m feeling is grief–I was being flippant in the blog post. I have plenty of experience with it, and don’t mind the various permutations, though sometimes I get impatient with myself.
I’m sure you have been there! Blessings and thanks as always for your wisdom.
Life has taught me that I am on a journey. I try to pick a direction (and that changes, often) and the path I will take (and that changes too). I don’t go backwards but I may stay still for a while. I always try to move forward. I use my intuition, curiosity, and passion to move me. It is scary, but what choice do we have?
Mary, Your words remind me of something I wrote in my memoir, Walking Nature Home. For me, life and the particular circumstances of mine have been my greatest teacher, and the journey of my days has brought me much delight and joy, and a serious measure of grief and pain. But as you say, we move forward because to do otherwise is to decide not to live. That’s not a choice I’m ready to make. Blessings on your journey!
susan this sounds huge and hard and very right for you. i had dreamt of being a resident, making paper and books in the space richard loved, yes i did, but such places for artists need sponsorship of the right kind. your job is writing (among other things!) and to recognize and embrace what you have to/need to do will go a long way towards keeping you “right”.
Velma, I think we can figure out how to accommodate that dream, even with the changes ahead. We’ll talk off-blog about that. Blessings!
You’re always showing us the way, Susan. Thank you for showing us how to pause, wait, listen–and then go forward.
Forward sometimes feels like groping in the fog, as you know, Susan A. But thanks for your support. It’s precious. Hugs to you….
Of course you are still grieving for your love. And I understand the part about grieving for yourself as well – the self that is now forever changed. As you know, I too stand at a crossroad of change in my life. And if I could quote from one of my pieces, which which you are familiar: “How can I tell you that things that seem impossible at twenty-six can seem eminently possible at forty? That nothing is quite as it seems, that everything turns inside out and becomes something else again.” (OMG, quoting myself – how weird is that!!! But you dragged the writer out of me, and now you are stuck with her.) Everything will be something else again, and it will be good. In the meantime, there’s relentless cheerfulness, hidden terror, memory, and courage.
Lynda, I don’t think I dragged the writer out of you, and I’m delighted that you’re quoting yourself, because you have a lot to say that’s very wise. It’s true that you are at a crossroads too, and I hope whatever route you take will be the one that gives you more writing time. I think my problem with this crossroads is simply that I’d like some time to not have everything change. But it’s going to take some more change to get there….
As someone who has been prone to being too hasty in moving and with large life decisions, I think you’re doing well with your plans. I hope designing it brings you joy, even if you had hoped the circumstances had been different. Downsizing is such a good idea.
Will you incorporate elder friendly aspects into your new house?
Hope you find the best new neighbors!
ET, It’s funny, I used to think I was hasty–or at least impulsive–with making large life decisions. Now I realize that I mull stuff over in the back of my mind for a long time–I let it compost there if you will. When it’s ready, I leap. It seems sudden from the outside, but it’s not. Thank you for that wise that designing the new tiny house will bring me joy–it already has, and I’ve found out things about myself that I didn’t realize, which is always interesting.
The new house will be at least as aging-friendly as this one. I learned when Richard was in a wheelchair during the last weeks of his life how important it was to have the house be fully accessible, something the architect Richard worked with on designing the house gently insisted on. And was he right! Pushing an 180-pound guy around when you’re 115 pounds isn’t easy, but it’s surely easier if there aren’t steps or bumpy door thresholds or than kind of thing. This house has lever door handles and accessible sinks and bathrooms too, all of which came in very handy. As did the concrete floors, which I love for themselves anyway. (They’re my winter-time solar heat storage, and my summertime cooling.)
As for neighbors, they’ll be the same ones I have now. I’ll just be on the other end of the block.
Yours is a courageous path, and your cheerful demeanor is no cover up. You have shared so much through your words and writing. There is grief and assimilation in all that. I learned something really important from you. I’m a private person, but I was able to open up to write an effective speech for my family when we buried my parents ashes in Illinois this summer. I handed out flash drives with the speech on it, with family photos, history, and other momentos. I would not have tackled it, but I saw in your articles the beauty and value of sharing thoughts in this way. You provided an example, so I knew how to proceed. Your new plan is full of adaptation and growth. Enjoy the peace that your new home is bound to bring. Best wishes and I’ll see you down the road. Received the WWW slate and was excited to see you on it! Take care — Joyce
Joyce, What a wonderful gift to your family! I am honored that my experience inspired you to write a talk and give it to your family members along with photos and history, and all on flash drives. That’s jsut such a great way to honor their lives and your feelings about them. And thank you for your support, especially those wishes for peace–I can use a bunch of that. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the Women Writing the West meeting in Albq. And congratulations on being a WILLA finalist with Baby Doe Tabor!
Sometimes it is just easier to exist within that facade, and it can be a necessary respite from the overwhelming grief and loss.
It is good you are taking stock, though and measuring what dwells within. And good that you are deciding things to help support that woman alone.
Diana, you are right: sometimes it is easier to keep up a facade. I just have to remind myself not to forget what’s underneath…. I think that being me solo in the world is a big challenge in part because I really am not a social person, and I really do prefer to be alone. I was lucky to have Richard to “be alone” with. He was social, but he had the gift of quiet and of being able to listen attentively. In a way, we were a universe unto ourselves, and now I sometimes feel like my twin star is missing, leaving me orbiting, well, a void, out there in space.
Endings and beginnings, they can be so painful or self-renewing, frightening or hopeful, and sometimes all at the same time. I imagine you’ll be experiencing a lot of all that as you move forward.
Wishing you well.
Deborah, Seems to me the whole cycle of life is yin and yang like that, frightening and exhilarating, painful or joyous, and as you say, sometimes all at the same time. I often say that I am hoping for a quieter life, and I don’t know when that’ll come my way, but I’ma long for the ride regardless. Thanks for the well wishes and the same back to you….
You are indeed a brave woman, and of course you are still in mourning for Richard. He was your soul mate. I ‘m thankful I know you. Thanks for sharing this wonderful piece of your life, which helps so many of us tune into our own souls. Hang in there. Hugs
Pat, Thank you. Those are just the words I needed to hear tonight. I am hanging in there, and I am heartened by your support and those hugs. Bless you!
I came to your post just before bed. Trying to sleep, too much on my plate, feeling restless and uncertain. Your words were the last thing I remember. They really touched me. This morning is a new day, I will find the good in it. You are grieving and coping the best you can and I admire your courage. Just be yourself. Sounds like you are making good decisions Susan, going forward as you say. Took a ferry this past weekend to an island not far from the mainland. Here my childhood flashed before my eyes. Salt air, lush landscape, cottages, rocky shores–sights, sounds and smells that make me happy. Wishing you happy little thoughts and peace in your day. Rough patches are there, unavoidable, we walk on. Soon I will meet you in Terraphilia. Until then.. hugs and blessings.
Robin, Life has funny ways of reminding us of all that is good, even when it’s hard to remember that. I am glad that you had the trip to the island on the ferry to bring you back to so much that sustains you. Your list is an interesting one, with contrasts that remind me of the yin and yang inherent in living: salt air, lush landscape, rocky shores, cottages. Salt air is astringent but also full of life, the lush landscapes contrast with barren, rocky shores; the cottages and the wild. No wonder you are inspired! I hope your time here as a Terraphilia artist resident is similarly full of experiences and inspiring. I’ll actually be away for part of the time you’re here, but there will be time to connect as well.
Susan, from all your posts and photos, I’m sure I will be very inspired as a Terraphilia artist. I will explore and enjoy the freedom of my space. Been feeling very creative these days so I’m sure it will all work out. Whatever time we have to meet will be very nice. Soon…
I have always admired that you choose to be a happy person. I want to emphasize the ‘choose’ part, because I see that as meaning that while life hands out losses and challenges, choosing to be happy in and around circumstances can be life saving. I’m learning to recognize that balance in life is not like a balance beam but a see saw. Knowing that, can allow and embrace life’s ups and downs. Grief on one side, relentless cheerful on the other.
I know how much you love your home, so deciding to sell it and move is a big decision. And scary. And overwhelming. And perhaps, a relief for you, too. A way for you to move on, to have a space that is yours, alone, and doesn’t constantly remind you of your loss. It’s good that you’re taking this one step at a time.
Hugs and blessings!
Susan G-T, I agree that choosing to be happy even with the seesaw of life’s ups and downs, as you so aptly put it, can be lifesaving. Of course, it can also blind one to the other half of the seesaw, so that choice, like everything else in life, involves staying aware of the where the balance is on any given day or moment. As for leaving this house, I love it and it is a happy place–it reminds me constantly of the beauty of Richard’s work and of so much of our time together. It’s just too big and too public for me. It worked for us as a couple; it doesn’t work for me on my own. It’s really that simple. Blessings back to you!
Susan, I’ve copied part of your post to send to my daughter, who is not a widow but is struggling with being Woman Alone as a single mother of two.
“There’s uncertainty… But it feels right. When it’s not terrifying, that is.
That’s life as Woman Alone, or at any stage of our allotted span: we feel our way along, learning, growing, sometimes terrified or grieving or confused, but walking forward as best we can anyway, hearts and spirits open.”
These are words that apply to us all, and I thank you for putting them together so wisely.
The decision to down-size into your new place makes complete sense, though it will certainly mean much labor and emotional effort. If good wishes help, it’s clear that you’re the recipient of many, many such wishes. Mine included. Susan/s
Susan S, I hope my words are useful to your daughter. I think being on our own, whether as a single mom (or dad) or a single whatever, is more difficult that we realize in a culture t hat seems to come in pairs pretty overwhelmingly. I actually like being on my own, although I loved being part of a pair so close that we often finished each other’s sentences! I don’t have the energy for that kind of intense relationship at this point in my life, and I do find myself enjoying doing just what I want to do when I do it. That’s the good side. The harder side is learning what and how much I can do myself, and what and how much I need help with, after decades of not needing to ask for help because Richard was right there…. I hope your daughter finds confidence in listening to her own inner voice, and that her kids are a delight to her as she walks her path as wisely and with as much love and humor as she can. Thank you for adding your good wishes to the stream coming my way. I am surely blessed….
Three cheers for finding the balance that enhances your new life. How I relate to the responsibility of caring for a big house and lots of property alone. It takes so much. I know you will design a perfect house for you and all will fall into place in just its right time. As always, you are courageous and wise. Much love!!!!
Bobbe, Thank you for understanding. I hope that your Florida place is a more comfortable size for you, and that being there brings you health and much joy. It seems to me that so much of being happy is finding what feels right and making it happen….
Wow, 2,400 sq. ft.! I had no idea. We two live in 800 sq. ft. of very badly laid out house and it is plenty of room. Otherwise we would acquire even more stuff. Would that it had been designed rather than haphazzardly assembled but it is ours non the less. It seems rather difficult rattling around alone in all that formerly shared large space. Better to have a space that reflects your changed circumstances, with your lovely qiviut cap keeping you warm this winter and many more….Nine months is almost a year and enough to hatch a baby, so I think it is fine. The distraction of building might be useful as well.
Anna, Thank you for your encouragement. I should say that 2,400 square feet is the total of the house, attached guest cottage (450 square feet itself) and the large garage plus storage (itself 450 square feet). So what I live in is not as huge as it sounds. But the whole complex is simply way too big for me: half a block of lot alone plus the buildings (add in Richard’s 1902-era shop, another 1,700 square feet) is simply too much to maintain for one person, as you can imagine. I’ll be much happier in a much smaller space, more the size of yours, but probably better designed.
This baby won’t probably actually hatch until next spring, but I’m working on plans and permits, and that feels good. And I surely will love having that Qiviut beret this winter! Blessings to you….
Dear Susan, I’m just flabbergasted that you’ve come to the decision to sell your home, but I did wonder how you’d be able to care for it and continue your writing, too. As I dream about how I’ll remodel my little studio/guest cottage in the back yard, I’ll admit that the thought has crossed my mind that we (or I) might end up living in it some day. It’s very tiny, but even after downsizing from our huge place to this 1500 SF house, I still long to go smaller.
I wonder–have you considered moving into your guest cottage and renting out the other half? Building something from the ground up is a huge (and expensive) project.
BTW, I asked Rudy if he wanted to move to CO and he said NO. LOL. We both love the photos of your home we’ve seen, though, and know it’s not an easy decision for you to make–especially with all the handcrafted touches that Richard put into it. Happy trails from Texas! bobbi c.
Bobbi, I hope your little studio space ends up being just perfect for you, and if you and Rudy ever live in it, it’s the snug space you need then!
If I lived in my guest cottage and rented out the house, I’d still have the care and feeding of 2,400 square feet of house, 1,700 square feet of historic shop, and half a block of yard. So that wouldn’t solve the problem of having much too much to take care of. It’s funny, selling the house is actually not a hard decision to make at all–it was always Richard’s more than mine, and it worked beautifully for the two of us, but was never intended to be mine alone. If we’d known it was going to be just one of me just six years from when we started building it, we would have done it very, very differently. The hard part of the decision was figuring out how to continue the residency program, and I think I have that sorted out. It matters more than the house, which, beautiful and unfinished as it is, is just a building. A rather remarkable one, but still only a thing…. Blessings back to you and Rudy!
Oh Dear Susan,
Your passage here is really something. I understand all too well as I negotiate my singledom after 27 yrs. of marriage. I vote for the “allow yourself your feelings” in this jungle you have found yourself. This journey is yours and you will negotiate the best you know how. Just as in “The only thing that prepares you for marriage is marriage” so too “The only thing that prepares you for singledom is being single.”
I have decided to stay… in a house made with love, found materials, my own handmade tiles, my lovely mixed media space, my salvaged bowling alley counter top that my father found for me and my brother in law reworked with a lovely curve. For now I have decided to stay. I have a spare room with its own entrance and have a delightful and quiet artist living upstairs through Feb before he goes off to France for another residency. After that, a pensione of sorts. Near public trans and many urban amenities. So far, I have appreciated the company.
I too think of the Smithsonian article and the book
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/Eric-Klinenberg-on-Going-Solo.html
Living alone = more the norm. An interesting read.
But science aside. Continue to breathe. Continue to love. Continue to live. Peace to us Susan.
Cathi, I am glad that you have decided to stay in your house “made with love” and such a wonderful assemblage of crafted and found materials. I think the critical part in any big decision, about living solo or otherwise is to throw open all the doors of possibility, see what’s out there, live with the uncertainty and discomfort for a while, and then decide what feels right. The decision, the timetable, and the process of getting there will be different for each of us, and we can only do our best to make the process as loving and thoughtful as possible. It sounds like you’re doing that, and good for you I say! I love the idea that you’re opening your spare room with its own private entrance for those who happen along–it sounds just right for you. I hope each and every one who comes through that door is a blessing. I’ll leave the company to you and aim for more solitude. I have had enough caregiving in the past few years (my mom, Richard, and now my dad) to hanker for time alone. Lots of it! Peace to all of us, indeed.
Susan, in the time I’ve known you I continue to admire your process, how you choose to meet life, how you place your feet on your path. I share the trait of letting things sit in a quiet, rear inner space, percolating till that moment when I know what I must do. It has never failed me. It can seem sudden to others because they don’t share that inner space. It’s really not much difference than the creative process, whether writing or any other art form, doncha think? When I turned 50 I did a ceremony with very close women friends in which, amongst other things, I spoke to that frightened 26-year old with a 3-year old son and no support system or financial support from his father, to let her know she did it. (I was drawn to go through about 9 different periods of my life remembering, acknowledging and honoring – it was very powerful.) You are so resilient – doesn’t mean w/o suffering, w/o grief and uncertainty – but you have a firm knowledge of who you are, I dare say, and the wonderful choice to be happy and cheerful cause we all have to get through what we have to get through and it might as well be cheerful (easier to attract more happy) than being down, as long as it’s by choice versus delusion. You don’t seem delusional. Anyway, I love your plan, makes perfect sense to me, and I hope it all works out. But I know if it doesn’t, then something more right for you will take its place. Know you are loved and supported by soo many, Susan, and you’ve earned it!
Mary M-S, I am touched by your wise words and the time you took to respond, and especially by your ceremony at 50, going through the stages of your life and speaking to the you at each one. That’s a beautiful and powerful way to heal and reintegrate any of the “yous” along the way that need it. It reminds me of the Progoff Intensive Journal method, with its emphasis on dialogues with different parts of yourself, with others, with events in your life, all part of the journaling process. I think the gift of learning how to live with–rather than fighting or futilely attempting to “cure”–a chronic and potentially life-threatening illness has taught me to listen to myself and take what I hear seriously. That means when I’m ready to make a decision, I’ve thought it through, and it’s one I’m going to be able to live with. Thanks for your deep understanding, and for your support!
I know exactly what you’re saying, Susan, as I’ve gone through — still going through? — what you have so eloquently written here. There are some things that come up and are so overwhelming when you’re a Woman Alone (love that tag) that you just have to dive in and deal with them anyway.
While I’m still living in our “retirement condo,” I have elected to put our dream land on the market. It was a difficult step for me, but I forged forward because the land is no longer “ours” to build and have a home away from home. It’s a piece of lovely property that I’m willing to let some other couple have.
I’ve often wondered if I, too, have a “cheerful front” that may get in the way of some of the truer emotions I’ve smothered within…
Alice, I think we go through the grieving and adjusting to the loss of our life-partners at our own pace, in our own way. It may take the rest of our lives for all I know! So just be patient and let the process unfold as it will. I am glad that your retirement condo feels good to you as a home for now, and I understand the decision to put the dream land up for sale. You articulated perfectly the change that those who haven’t lost a life-partner may not be able to understand: while the land was right for you when it was you and Jim, it’s not any more, precisely because there is no longer an “ours” to build on it. I’m glad you can see that and I hope you find some satisfaction in knowing that someone else will love it. As for the cheerful front, it’s worth paying attention to whether it feels like a strain. I think when it does, that’s a sign that there’s something deeper needing attention. Sometimes I wear that cheerful front simply because I’m tired of answering the oh-so-complicated “how are you?” question….
Susan, I am glad that you are not going to initiate the changes for a while yet. But I believe the altruistic approach to managing it will help you experience your missing love an a transformative way. One of the most difficult things about grieving the loss of our beloved is that our love keeps flowing outward, looking for them–looking for that connection–looking to be reciprocated in the way we hope it will. In time, it can be possible to take the best parts of that love and share it with those who remain with us–who will benefit from it and return it to us again in gratitude, love and homage to our missing beloved.Peace and blessings to you.
Teri, I hadn’t thought of love “flowing outward” and looking for that connection, for our lost love the way you describe it. That’s a fascinating way to see it, and thank you. Every night just before going to sleep, I say out loud that I intend to live “in a way that honors and celebrates” Richard’s life and our love, and I think that’s what you mean when you say taking the best parts of that love and sharing it with those who remain. What that means changes from day to day and week to week, but it’s my firm intention to live that love in a way it ripples outward, spreading the gift….
You’re welcome, anytime.
Bless you!
well done dear Susan! i believe there is much relief in having made a decision…even a difficult one. I love your decision and think it fits so well, and yes not all of us can be or want to be tool girl~
Kudos dear one- our hearts hold you close with much love.
we look forward to sharing the unfolding of this next adventure with you
Love from our home to yours
doc chery miss maria and of course little chipper Cheyenne and the rest of the furs
Doc Chery, It does feel good to have made this decision, and I am excited about building a living-space designed just for me. (I am SUCH a hermit!) I will be able to take some of Richard’s sculpture with me, and that feels good. Also, I am not going far–just to the other end of the block, so it’s not like I’m even leaving the neighborhood, or the ground we worked together to restore. I’ll even be along the same block of creek–which quit running weeks ago due to our terrible drought. Sigh. I worry about the willows, dogwood, currant and other native shrubs we planted to shade its thread of water, and hope they survive. At any rate, thanks for sharing the adventure, and for your love and support. Hugs to you and Miss Maria, and all the fur family!
was a bit shocked to see your comment elsewhere about selling. But reading this post, it seems you have a peaceful solution to a daunting situation.
Shocked because I remember our first house. I thought, one day, we’ll move. As things go, one day happened decades sooner than I thought it would. I look at this house and garden, still at the fun stage of wanting to see how the garden will grow. And my heart aches a little, in anticipation.
Will you share a little of the designing and building with us?
Diana, It is shocking to a lot of people, I think because I have written of this house, its grounds, and Richard’s shop with such affection. The affection remains and always will—I love this place! But it’s simply beyond my means, both physical and financial, to keep it. I look forward to “right-sizing,” building a place that is much more compact and just as friendly and healthy and green.
And yes, of course, I’ll share the process. First I’ll share the design decisions a sI figure out how to finish this house, where many interior details remain undone. The design ideas for finishing it were in mostly Richard’s head, so I’m spending a lot of thinking time on considering innovative, affordable, and green options for trim and finishing the master bathroom and other such projects. What I learn, of course, will inform the little house to come….
For sure, when we live with another person (especially the one who pays most of the bills), we sometimes have to give in to their wishes about the way our homes look. You said that your home wasn’t totally yours, and I get that. I’ve only had one that was totally mine, a 900-SF condo I owned before I met Rudy. I LOVED that place, but it was too small for the both of us (we thought at the time) and moved into his larger house.
I understand about the stress of worrying about the upkeep of a large property–that’s why we moved from our large 6-acre property and custom home into a smaller one, then even smaller still when we moved here. I know you’ll enjoy designing and planning your new place. Yes, it will be stressful, but a whole different type of stress. I love the process of space/interior design, and I think you will, too. Hugs! bobbi c.
Bobbi, What I meant when I said that the house wasn’t ever really mine was that it was designed and built for the two of us together, not for one of us alone (and particularly not for the non-tool-girl one of us!). I love this house, and it was pretty-much perfect for Richard and I as a couple; we didn’t imagine though when we were designing and building it that I’d ever be living here alone and have the care and feeding of the whole complex. If we had, we would have made different decisions in size and design. It’s interesting how our sense of what we need and want as home changes over time, as with you and Rudy deciding not to live in your 900 square-foot condo and then over the years downsizing to your current cottage plus! I have have enjoyed the design and renovation and/or building process with each house I’ve own in my life. The little house will be the first one I’ve done on my own, so it’ll bring new challenges, I’m sure.