Today, I Shall Dust

My eyes popped open at 6:51 A.M. Should I? Or shouldn’t I--get up? It wasn’t all that long ago I relished awakening at five in the morning with a sense of optimism and adventure. I’m heading toward seventy-nine, with the big 8-0 just around the corner. With that hanging around, or perhaps--over my head, I felt I didn’t want to miss out on anything. Time has a different feel at this stage in life than, say, ten years ago when I was in my sixties.

Recently, though, that get-up-and-go feeling has been replaced with a reluctance to meet the day. The days have been stretching out endlessly before me, with no real sense of purpose since I retired, and my partner passed.

I crawled out from under the covers and, as I’ve done for years, made the bed so it was over-and-done-with. I headed for the kitchen, heated my tea water, and began steeping my early morning cup of green tea.

What am I going to do for the rest of the day?

Sadness over loss and death sat at the periphery of my being. Enough! I’m not going to host another pity party. I’m tired of wallowing in my emotions. Today seemed as good as any to take a step forward.

My tea was ready, and I sat in my rocker, perusing social media. Quietly. Very quietly. The thought entered my mind and sat there, awaiting my response: Today, I shall dust. Lord knows how much that task has been neglected. There was the answer to my question. I asked, didn’t I?

Today, I shall dust. And there is every possibility that will lead to another step…and another and another. There are those who say “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” I think He just wants me to get off my patooty and stop feeling sorry for myself. He is practical like that.

If you will please excuse me now. I need to eat some breakfast, get dressed, and drag out my dust cloths, some rags and hot, soapy water. Today, I shall dust. Tomorrow I might even vacuum or wash windows.

This plan of action doesn’t fall into the category of going forth and conquering the world. And it isn’t part of a grand strategy for living out the rest of my days. But the point is: I am being nudged back into living life. Granted, it’s different from the former one I was used to. But it’s starting with a good dusting in my home. God has a way of making things happen.

 

 

 

 

 

Living with Aloneness after Death

 

aloneness: n. The state of being alone.

alone: adj. By oneself, solitary.

 

This, my prayer: What do You have planned for me this day?

I’ve noticed my steps and actions are gentler. I close cupboard doors and drawers with less force. I walk without my usual “thump” and move with a degree of stealth, which is completely out of character. Typically, I’m “the bull in a China shop,” an apt description applied to my childhood self by my Mother. My inner being appears to have undergone a change since the death of my partner over five months ago. Perhaps it’s due to the exposure and baring of my vulnerability. My emotions have surfaced, raw and naked, in a “new-to-me,” foreign manner.

The small needlepoint craft he gave me sits atop my desk, a daily reminder of the hugs.The aloneness is a stark presence, the elephant in the room. I didn’t expect it to be so. After all, I lived as a single person for almost twenty years before connecting with a former high school classmate from The Class of 1962. I lived alone. I worked alone. I was alone. And I didn’t have a single problem with that arrangement. In fact, I was very comfortable. I liked myself and was content with my own company.

Things changed when a six-year-long relationship developed with my partner. Life included someone else. It wasn’t just about me, myself, and I. When he passed after surgery complications, they flip-flopped once again.

These days, morning chit chat isn’t the opener to my days, the kind of small talk that always began with a “Good Morning.” The smell of fresh coffee and early morning TV news to hear the local weather is nowhere on the scene—I’m neither a coffee drinker nor a follower of the weather. My partner was. As the day progresses, the silence is deafening in the presence of absentee companionship and conversation. The television is silent. Old Westerns, ball games, and music from days gone by don't fill the air. Winter days with less daylight haven’t helped any as the hours, ergo the days, seemingly stretch out into oblivion.

I know there is a point and purpose to all that takes place in my life. While my partner was alive, he was the focus of my care and concern. Right here. Right now...with nothing but time on my hands, I wonder what that point and purpose is.

When death takes place, those left behind face a transition of varying degrees and circumstances. Many times couples who have been married for decades are separated by the loss of their partner. There were two. Then only one. I don’t think there’s any simple way to compensate for--or to fully adjust to that—unless the relationship was damaged or fractured.

Many times lifelong friendships or relationships in families have rhythms and routines—a phone call after a sports event, birthday greetings, a regular gathering to catch up on family activities, successes or problems, and to share life’s ebb and flow. Losing a friend, family member, or even a casual acquaintance can be earth-shattering on a very personal level. The absence cannot be erased or forgotten, and the reminders abound.

I’ve been aware a pit appears when the death of a loved one takes place. Care must be taken not to fall into it. That pit is a trap whereupon those left behind die as well. While it isn’t a physical death, the survivor’s life can wither and perish while grieving and mourning loss. It takes keen awareness, observation, and will to continue moving forward—alone.

Aloneness, the result of loss, amplifies the reluctance to want to live. The desire to hole up inside—literally and figuratively--to withdraw emotionally, choosing not to reach out or socialize are signals one is taking steps to opt out of living life.

And yet life goes on. How does one live with aloneness without allowing it to consume and take over? I make no recommendations or suggestions. I only relate my experience—where I am today.  

I honestly thought I’d be doing a better job at this point in time than I am, though there really is no way to measure nor a grade to be earned.

Walking forces me to go out the door as I put forth an effort to get out for a walk at least every other day. Sometimes an inner fight takes place as I try to talk myself out of it, but I am always filled with gratitude when I “just do it!” The fresh air invigorates and encourages me, and I try to stay open to “the still small voice” as I trudge along.

Recently, I’ve returned to the days of my youth when I was an avid reader. A small library is within walking distance down the street. I got a library card and have been spending time with my nose in a book. I discovered I enjoy historical novels and found a couple of authors I genuinely like.

Occasionally, I experience bursts of organizing and purging. Once in a while I have a random spur-of-the-moment idea to create something in my sewing room or the kitchen. Making Christmas ornaments for the upcoming year is always an ongoing project. I try to reach out to friends and family instead of digging a hole in the aloneness that surrounds me. Writing is more difficult as it requires focus and thought, which is more stop-and-go than functioning smoothly and consistently.

All of life and the living of it is a process filled with adjustments—from the first day of life to the last. Some are harder than others. This stage of aloneness is just another facet, and I am learning there are no rules or requirements, to have no expectations, and to give myself some grace along the way.

Perhaps that is one reason I’m not so intense and am taking things easier, rolling with the flow. I do believe I have softened some. I hope so. I hope I’m not so sharp or brusque. I hope the way I am physically behaving is an indication of that.

Right here. Right now...I am living out a paradox. I am in a state of aloneness. Yet, I am not alone.

Step by step. One step at a time.

What do You have planned for me this day?

 

God has said, “I will never leave you or let you be alone.”

Hebrews 13:5 NKJV

On Living with Aloneness after Death

 

aloneness: n. The state of being alone.

alone: adj. By oneself, solitary.

 

This, my prayer: What do You have planned for me this day?

I’ve noticed my steps and actions are gentler. I close cupboard doors and drawers with less force. I walk without my usual “thump” and move with a degree of stealth, which is completely out of character. Typically, I’m “the bull in a China shop,” an apt description applied to my childhood self by my Mother. My inner being appears to have undergone a change since the death of my partner over five months ago. Perhaps it’s due to the exposure and baring of my vulnerability. My emotions have surfaced, raw and naked, in a “new-to-me,” foreign manner.

The small needlepoint craft he gave me sits atop my desk, a daily reminder of the hugs.The aloneness is a stark presence, the elephant in the room. I didn’t expect it to be so. After all, I lived as a single person for almost twenty years before connecting with a former high school classmate from The Class of 1962. I lived alone. I worked alone. I was alone. And I didn’t have a single problem with that arrangement. In fact, I was very comfortable. I liked myself and was content with my own company.

Things changed when a six-year-long relationship developed with my partner. Life included someone else. It wasn’t just about me, myself, and I. When he passed after surgery complications, they flip-flopped once again.

These days, morning chit chat isn’t the opener to my days, the kind of small talk that always began with a “Good Morning.” The smell of fresh coffee and early morning TV news to hear the local weather is nowhere on the scene—I’m neither a coffee drinker nor a follower of the weather. My partner was. As the day progresses, the silence is deafening in the presence of absentee companionship and conversation. The television is silent. Old Westerns, ball games, and music from days gone by don't fill the air. Winter days with less daylight haven’t helped any as the hours, ergo the days, seemingly stretch out into oblivion.

I know there is a point and purpose to all that takes place in my life. While my partner was alive, he was the focus of my care and concern. Right here. Right now...with nothing but time on my hands, I wonder what that point and purpose is.

When death takes place, those left behind face a transition of varying degrees and circumstances. Many times couples who have been married for decades are separated by the loss of their partner. There were two. Then only one. I don’t think there’s any simple way to compensate for--or to fully adjust to that—unless the relationship was damaged or fractured.

Many times lifelong friendships or relationships in families have rhythms and routines—a phone call after a sports event, birthday greetings, a regular gathering to catch up on family activities, successes or problems, and to share life’s ebb and flow. Losing a friend, family member, or even a casual acquaintance can be earth-shattering on a very personal level. The absence cannot be erased or forgotten, and the reminders abound.

I’ve been aware a pit appears when the death of a loved one takes place. Care must be taken not to fall into it. That pit is a trap whereupon those left behind die as well. While it isn’t a physical death, the survivor’s life can wither and perish while grieving and mourning loss. It takes keen awareness, observation, and will to continue moving forward—alone.

Aloneness, the result of loss, amplifies the reluctance to want to live. The desire to hole up inside—literally and figuratively--to withdraw emotionally, choosing not to reach out or socialize are signals one is taking steps to opt out of living life.

And yet life goes on. How does one live with aloneness without allowing it to consume and take over? I make no recommendations or suggestions. I only relate my experience—where I am today.  

I honestly thought I’d be doing a better job at this point in time than I am, though there really is no way to measure nor a grade to be earned.

Walking forces me to go out the door as I put forth an effort to get out for a walk at least every other day. Sometimes an inner fight takes place as I try to talk myself out of it, but I am always filled with gratitude when I “just do it!” The fresh air invigorates and encourages me, and I try to stay open to “the still small voice” as I trudge along.

Recently, I’ve returned to the days of my youth when I was an avid reader. A small library is within walking distance down the street. I got a library card and have been spending time with my nose in a book. I discovered I enjoy historical novels and found a couple of authors I genuinely like.

Occasionally, I experience bursts of organizing and purging. Once in a while I have a random spur-of-the-moment idea to create something in my sewing room or the kitchen. Putting together Christmas ornaments for the upcoming year is always an ongoing project. I try to reach out to friends and family instead of digging a hole in the aloneness that surrounds me. Writing is more difficult as it requires focus and thought, which is more stop-and-go than functioning smoothly and consistently.

All of life and the living of it is a process filled with adjustments—from the first day of life to the last. Some are harder than others. This stage of aloneness is just another facet, and I am learning there are no rules or requirements, to have no expectations, and to give myself some grace along the way.

Perhaps that is one reason I’m not so intense and am taking things easier, rolling with the flow. I do believe I have softened some. I hope so. I hope I’m not so sharp or brusque. I hope the way I am physically behaving is an indication of that.

Right here. Right now...I am living out a paradox. I am in a state of aloneness. Yet, I am not alone.

Step by step. One step at a time.

What do You have planned for me this day?

 

God has said, “I will never leave you or let you be alone.”

Hebrews 13:5 NKJV

The Empty Chair--Living with Loss

 

loss: n. The result of no longer possessing an object, a function, or a characteristic due to external causes or misplacement. The death of a person or animal. The destruction or ruin of an object.

 

The reminders of the life I shared with my partner and friend are like the little hummingbird flitting back and forth outside my dining room window. Darting in and out of my mind while I go through the process of establishing a new, changed routine, the memories simultaneously sober me and bring joy. I am living with loss.

Prior to his passing, my partner and friend spent most of his hours and days sitting in a recliner. His own personal loss was immense as mobility and energy were drained from his once virile, active body. I learned a great deal from him during that time--unspoken, personal preparation for what I was to face. He never complained; he never felt sorry for himself. Daily, he faced and lived with the hand he was dealt.

The resident hummer was visible from his stationary vantage point--perching on the clothesline, eating from the feeder, or protecting its territory by dive-bombing any intruder that might even think about coming near. My partner always spotted its activity and pointed it out to me.

The little bird has been gone for several months. When he recently showed up again at the feeder, the fact of my loss was reinforced. My friend wasn’t sitting in his chair; I had no one with whom to share the headliner news.

The calendar reveals my partner and friend passed over four months ago. The deep mourning and grieving have subsided--those times when I couldn’t stop crying--and given way to unannounced pinpricks of sadness and loss.

Loss surrounds me. My home is silent. The television no longer broadcasts old Western movies or favorite relic series. Baseball, basketball, and football games aren’t part of the TV schedule. The volume isn’t ramped up due to a malfunctioning hearing aid. I am the one in charge of the remote control.

The absence of companionship and conversation colors everyday life. I profoundly miss a touch, a smile, an eye roll…and a hug. A paradox has presented itself: I have no problem being alone with myself, but the “aloneness” has the potential of crippling if I allow it.

Let me be very clear. Death does not possess the exclusive rights as the sole human experience that constitutes living with loss.

Each person born into this world lives with loss, whether or not there is a conscious realization. Loss of innocence is inevitable as is loss of youth. For many, the loss of health and its accompanying restrictions dominate as that translates into a loss of freedom and independence.

Who hasn’t experienced the loss of a friendship or relationship that turned out to be one-sided? Is there any amongst the citizens of the world who haven’t experienced the loss of a hope or dream?

Entering retirement has created a double whammy with another type of loss. My work was my social contact. I now have no work schedule or clientele list to fill my days. Work gave me a sense of purpose and fulfillment, a feeling of accomplishment. How do I fill that void?

Then there is physical loss with its aftermath. Almost sixty years ago, my husband and I lost most of our physical possessions when a historic flood swept through. Just yesterday, I was remembering the loss of a scrapbook that chronicled my stay as an exchange student when I was sixteen. Water and paper result in paper mache. That took place almost sixty years ago and yet the memory remains.

How does one recover after experiencing the loss of a home due to fire, a rift that tears a family asunder, an infant born too soon, an employment transfer that requires leaving behind a "dream home"?

How does one live with the loss of trust, faith, and hope—not only in fellow mankind but God as well? How does one live with loss?

I have no real answers, easy or otherwise. And I certainly do not purport to being an oracle of great wisdom. What I do have is personal experience. I knew I had a choice. I could either curl up in the fetal position, coming up occasionally for food and water. Or I could choose to live life, including living with the loss of my partner and friend.

I made the choice to live. The loss is still there--and will always be, because it is a part of me. But I am living my life.

For me, the driving force behind my choice and decision are words of wisdom from my Heavenly Father: “Just keep going.”

I am of the conviction there is a point and purpose to everything. And just because something is hard does not mean it is bad. That, I feel, is how to live with loss.