Monday, June 22, 2015

Wonderful Man of Mine

Celebrate your spirit so rare
Hold your love in my heart
Manly, quiet strength
You were always there
You loved me from the start
Even as an old fart
You loved me for the length

Because of you I shine
You wonderful man of mine

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Widowed Twenty-three Months

On Sunday June 14th Kirt will have been gone twenty-three months. Making peace with his loss little by little. I try to push start the process every chance I get, but it doesn’t work like that.
After a year and a half of steady crying, oppressive sadness came as a welcome relief; until that time at twenty months when I got sick and tired of hating life without Kirt, of wondering if I would be anyone without my husband.
Occasionally in this procession my heart strings would zing for some silly old thing, mostly for the dogs in play or full moon over the lake, a rainbow.
Long talks with my creator have replaced time listening to the flotsam of life, aka the news. I’m getting to peace with my loss, but this detent comes with temper tantrums the likes of which I’ve never, no seldom experienced. There’s a dark facet of me that wants to hold on to the anger, the hate this loss has opened me to. The first year I was absolutely pissed that God would take him from me. One of my life lessons is to learn how to let go; imagine that.
I’m learning to do some little something for myself and the dogs. We play ball as the sun goes down. Even my older hunters, who are no longer thrilled by the ball, mill around and chase each other. It’s our family time.
Going to the gym makes a big difference; after years of sitting around, pushing my muscles, getting them to hurt feels alive. I’m still a fatty, but not as much. I don’t care; the important thing is I can carry a fifty pound sack of dog food. The vote on that item’s importance in this house was unanimous.
Until today I’ve worn mostly black, not so much as a symbol of mourning, which it was, but the one color I’ve avoided most of my life became my color, as dark as my mood.
Today, when I met my friend for sushi lunch, my shorts were red, green, white, and blue plaid with a white tee shirt. I haven’t been able to stand wearing white, since Kirt died.
I wore white shorts on my birthday, which morning from hell describes the start of the day. Once calmed, the day blossomed into a nice lunch at the San Juan Harbor before dropping my friend on the big ferry.
It’s weird how the color of my clothes reflects my interior color. All my oranges, pinks, aquas have languished on the rack. They never looked or felt right. I wish to be ready to reclaim them and the hues of feeling they represent.
Pushing only gives me a rebound backslide, so I’m learning to be gentle with my expectations for myself. This sounds so f’ing bullshit, but I swear it’s not.
I’m seriously committed to having a happy, pleased with myself, contented life again. Who I am didn’t disappear; the context of my life has changed. Alone is the new game. Now, that it’s no longer strange, I can do this.
The emotional backslide I had on my birthday took me by surprise. I rushed through my morning chores, missed my leisurely coffee, didn’t play with the dogs, just fed them and threw them back in the house to hurry to my friend’s house, so we could make it to San Juan between twelve thirty and one to have lunch with another friend.
When I arrived at my friend’s house, my adrenaline flowed; I could not calm down. I rushed around her house huffing because she was so unhurried, while I felt all giddy-yap. I had to give myself a timeout in private to settle. I could see I bugged her and we were basically on time we were not going to be late unless something else happened, so I was too tightly wound up and I knew it; it was ugly.
My usual reaction to stress is I can do nothing; I’m useless. I hate that I can’t maintain focus; that was always a strength. Now, I just go brain dead, duh. Before Kirt died I was taking some classes on Coursera, which kept my mind healthy when his amputation challenges came along. I stayed up late in the night with my Coursera classes and now I just can’t get into them as much as I want to. It’s stuff like this that was never part of my life. The discipline I always brought fails me.
What keeps hitting me is that I need to be gentle with myself, patient, and God, don’t forbid kind. I am enjoying life again.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Happy Birthday

Time to embrace less
Refuse to stress
Find my core
Walk through the door
Strong, confident, alone
Life in the end zone
Cherish or perish

Happy Birthday
Walk my way
Holding all near
Closer to You
           Love most sincere

Thank You
Every step, every fall
Reveals You, but not all
Humbled to know You
But not humble
Blessed with Your gifts
Standing with too much pride
Small, not significant
But just damn happy to be here!

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Almost Older and Wiser

Every morning for twenty-three months I’ve awaken depressed and on edge. I try to psyche myself into a good day; that’s who I am. Not wanting to live really blows your day.
Tomorrow is my birthday; it’s my annual take stock of my life day. It’s the day I say to myself, “Are you happy?”
“What will make it better?”
No, he’s not coming back; move on or die.
“Moving on, just what would that look like?”
Little things in a day to please myself, to help others, to give love because I have love, thanks to my Honey.
Been doing that for at least a year, faithfully, but no respite; until recently, when I noticed that I was playing with the dogs in the bed, as we woke up. This change reminds me of how I awoke, when Kirt was alive.
This could be a reason to celebrate. I want to come back to my life. I like who I am.
Gratitude, to be grateful describes how I feel for the lifetime my husband gave me.
Blessed to be at peace with my God, and working on the harmony.
Happy Birthday to all those who share 6/5!!!!