Richard talking about his sculpture work, Salida Artposium, Colorado Art Ranch. (Photo by Grant Pound, courtesy of Colorado Art Ranch)
Nine months ago, after Richard’s death, I promised myself that when I got through the crazyness of after-death business, I would take the first quarter of the new year for some much-needed contemplative time to begin processing the drastic changes in my life.
After a work trip to Miami in early January to teach in the YoungArts program, I came home eager to settle in and have that inward time. My spirit was weary from two years of caregiving for my parents before my mom’s death, and then walking Richard through his journey with brain cancer.
I imagined quiet time to write and read, to catch up on my sleep and dream, to envision a new path as Woman Alone. And I managed some. But life kept intruding. My dad needed increasing amounts of time, sorting out post-Richard financial and other affairs dragged on, deferred house and shop projects demanded my attention….
Late winter flashed past, then spring in a flurry of work travel and preparing for the Terraphilia Residency Program, and then summer whizzed by as well. Now it’s September, my birth-month; fall is just around the corner. And I never really got that uninterrupted time to contemplate the wrenching changes of last year.
Richard with my parents, Joan and Bob Tweit, at the Betty Ford Alpine Garden, Vail
As the days grow shorter once again and our summer of record heat and drought limps to an end, I am once again thinking of finding contemplative time, of slowing down to absorb the shocks of the last year and some. That time won’t come this month: my dad is planning on being in his new apartment at Panorama City in Lacey, Washington, halfway across the continent on October 1st. He flies home from Washington this Wednesday, where he has spent the past two months in an intensive training program for veterans with vision challenges.
After picking him up at the airport, my task will be to help him sort through what he wants to move back to Washington with him, and to get bids on packing and transporting his small household. Then there’s the transfer of his banking and other services, plus moving his medical records from Colorado to the Southern Puget Sound VA system, and a plethora of other details.
And making sure that Dad, who is eagerly anticipating this move, takes time to say his goodbyes after a decade here in Colorado, to friends at the Westland Meridian, where he has lived for the past four years, at the church he attends, and in the Highlands Garden Village garden group, a community he and Mom treasured. (Thank you, Erica, for making them so welcome!)
The next few weeks bring a crush of writing deadlines too, so I’ll really be scrambling to meet my work commitments and help Dad. Which means my birth-month will rush by without time for quiet, much less contemplation. That’s okay; I’m determined to make that time happen once Dad’s safely off to begin the next chapter of his life in Washington, where my brother and family are as excited about his arrival as Dad is. (Bill, Lucy, Alice, Heather, and Sienna and families–you are simply wonderful.)
Succor for the spirit: a moment of beauty at dawn.
The pull of quiet time to tend heart and spirit has felt particularly strong these past few days, in part because the nights are lengthening and the weather is beginning to hint at winter, in part because of the sudden loss of my sister-in-law Lucy’s dad, Bill Winter, who died in his sleep at home on Wednesday night. He was 90-something and we knew he wouldn’t last forever, but still…. It’s a shock to think of the world without Big Bill’s dry wit and questing mind.
So many changes.
I yearn for quiet time to let those changes “season” as Quakers say, referring to the time necessary for experiences and issues to become less tender and touchy, making thoughtful responses possible.
Fall and winter have always been my contemplative season; I intend to give my spirit that restful, rejuvenating gift this time.
Blessings to you all for walking this journey with me.
Dear Susan, may you find renewal and much needed rest in your contemplative time. I, too, have noticed the shortening of daylight, though it’s still hot and muggy here in the southern NJ shore area.
Bless you now and in the days and weeks to come, as you rejuvenate body and spirit.
It’s hard to imagine hot and muggy right now, Penny, since we never have muggy in the high-desert’s perennially arid air, and now, as the days get shorter at this elevation, even the afternoon heat is much more ephemeral. I hope that your days begin to cool down, and that the hints of leaves changing color come before to long to remind you of autumn ahead. Blessings to you!
Finding/crafting/forging/creating/making time. I’ve been on my own persistent search for the same. If I find any, I’ll share with you.. Rather, I’ll tell you what: When I find some, I’ll let you get first dibs. I owe you so much more than that, at least….
Until that time(!), I’ll send even more fervent restorative, respite thoughts in your direction. As best as I’m able, I’ll hold you in the Light.
Brightest blessings, always.
Eduardo, when you find/create/make time for yourself, you use it. We all need it equally, I think! I expect the finding and making is simply part of the process of learning to respect and meet our own needs. Many thanks for the restorative and respite thoughts, and for holding me in the Light. Those bright blessings are lovely gifts.
I hope that you find and take that time soon, dear Susan. You’re reaching out and teaching me, as usual, as I follow you some distance behind on this path of walking alone. I kept so busy for so many months tending to my love, his passing, everything that had to be tended to after, completing my move and trying to get settled…and now starting a new part-time job. I am just now realizing that I have to take some time to really deal with what’s gone on/ is going on inside of me. I think I was afraid to do that, that perhaps I couldn’t handle it, that I’d fall apart–and I felt I just couldn’t do that. But, after your post about Richard’s birthday, I began to ponder and write, at first just a few words a day–and by the time our anniversary got here last week, I too was able to write about celebrating the day, our love and the nearly 44 years we had together. Thank you for planting that seed in my mind! I was actually able to smile through the tears as I wrote and remembered. Since then, I am writing–and crying–daily. I haven’t fallen apart and in fact, am feeling better and more hopeful than I have in quite some time. Thank you, thank you for your guidance and encouragement.
Sid, Congratulations on being able to write! That’s just huge, and I know it’s part of what you need in this journey. I think of you often and it makes me smile to think that you’ve found your way back to writing. It doesn’t, as someone I know suggested, “take away the grief.” Writing out the grief helps make it not paralyzing, and somehow integrates the grief and other difficult feelings into our experience, so we can feel again and we know ourselves to be strong and able to walk on. I am so glad that you got to the writing in time to be able to celebrate your 44 years with Harold, and to write through the tears. Bless you!
If I could wish you anything at this juncture, it is time for peace and contemplation.
Thank you, Bobbe. I suspect, like everything we truly require, it has to come form within. By which I mean, I have to create the space in myself for that time to be possible. Blessings to you in your journey….
oh, yes, we DO need to let changes season. i like that! i, too, dive into the flurry of september when i would prefer to have this month, and october, to season and to begin new work.
Velma, I hope that time will come for you when fall is your season of seasoning, a time of beginning new work and aligning yourself with the rhythms of the earth, rather than that of the school year. I haven’t forgotten your Terraphilia letter, BTW. I’m hoping to get a template from Art Ranch so I don’t have to invent the whole thing!
Wishing us all restorative time in the waning seasons to come, in preparation for future growth. There’s been a lot going on. . . . It’s nice to think of the shortening days as bringing time for rest and restoration.
Deb, Here’s to that wish! Are you home again? I imagine you sometimes wake up and wonder where you are right then, and have to stop and review the particulars of the journey in order to orient yourself. Sending many blessings and much love–and wishes for restoration and time to just breathe–your way!
Fall and winter are great times for contemplation here, especially winter when it’s (usually, but not last year) so hard to get out and do things, and being busy usually involves something in the kitchen. Like many North Dakotans, I bake when I have something on my mind. And then find neighbors to give whatever I baked to, since there’s only the one of me! But it is a quiet time, with fewer birds and animals, out, fewer children playing outside (sadly; I loved being outside in winter when I was a child; Saturday skating with my father was wonderful). Quiet time for seasoning whatever you’re feeling. I hope that the time will help you.
Blessings to you.
Lori, I remember many wonderfully stormy winter days spent baking in my wood cookstove when I lived in Wyoming. Sweet times…. (And some great sweet eats too!) I hope that you have a real winter again this winter so you can enjoy baking and thinking, and quiet time for, as you say, “seasoning whatever you are feeling.” As for here in the high desert where winters are more clement and sunny, I just hope we get moisture, unlike last winter’s stubborn drought, which continues still…. I think better when the landscape I love isn’t hurting. Blessings back to you….
You are a TREASURE to people around you!
PJ, Thank you. I have been so cranky around the edges lately it’s hard for me to see myself as any kind of treasure, but I’ll take the compliment anyway….
you’re not, “cranky around the edges,”
you’re “crispy” :~)
Eduardo, You’re funny! I could be crispy just from this drought, but I think there’s more to it than that. But I did a good job of appreciating my dad for the past few days–more on that in a blog post tomorrow if my energy returns–so I’m proud of myself for that.