A couple of nights ago I took a long hard look at my apartment. It is furnished with many items that L and I chose together along with some antiques from my parents’ home and one or two items I have added over the last three years. In short it feels like home. But what I realized as I wandered the space is that I continue to arrange and use the rooms as if I am still living the life I lived before L died. The truth is that my life has changed in significant ways–I am alone for starters. There is no one to please with how things look or are stored but myself. There is (rarely) no one else who might need space for his or her things. Oh, there may come a time when I have an overnight guest, but that is unlikely in a one bed/one bath place that has to count the closet to hit a thousand square feet.
No, this is no longer a place I share, and that realization hit me hard on a number of levels–some painful, but some more hopeful. On the hopeful side of things, I guess I felt as if coming to this understanding of the living situation was progress. Last night I spent 2-3 hours moving things around–not furniture so much as the stuff I had stored away. Out of sight, out of mind is remarkably accurate. As I went through drawers and boxes placed high on closet shelves, I came across things that are important to me–the tools for hobbies I looked forward to pursuing “some day;” mementos that had special meaning for me if not L because they are from the life I led before I met him; papers and documents in need of shredding or attending or filing….
Today the apartment feels more like home than ever. L never lived here and so I do not suffer the potential ‘guilt’ of displacing him or the stuff of his life. The truth is that it feels as if he’s up there somewhere releasing a sigh of sheer relief and whispering…”Finally.”
It’s been nearly two months since my last post–a good deal has happened in that time including the coming and going of the third anniversary of L’s death. I spent that day here in Wisconsin doing much of what I have done on the other anniversaries–driving around and past all the places we lived, taking a long walk along the lakefront, looking through pictures and most of all playing back the awesome audio tapes he left for me so that once again his voice filled my world.
Once again I have turned my living situation on its ear–in Florida I found that I was unsettled and restless. The place I bought two years ago has never felt like ‘home’ for me even after I surrounded myself with items from the life we shared. One night I decided to make a change and so I went looking for another place to call home down there–found it–bought it–moved in and put the old place on the market. Now I wait for that to sell. L never would have done things in that order and I can only imagine that he is up there shaking his head and trying to figure out how to help me get back on a solid trail. And yet I can feel his approval–feel him saying, “Yes. This is good. This is what you need to keep moving forward.”
For that was his hope for me–that I would step by step find my way to a life I could enjoy and find peace in. He understood there would be stumbles along the way–although he clearly thought there would be bigger stumbles than there have been. This new place feels as right as my apartment in Wisconsin–it feels like me–like us–like ‘home.’
But a dwelling does not make an entire life–for that we need family and friends and human connections. I continue to work on that as well–a harder task for this introverted loner, but one that has been successful enough that I see the power of having those connections. And there is activity or work–meaningful, fulfilling. For me that is, of course, my writing. It gets me through many a tough time. Sometimes I am able to escape into the stories I am writing, but sometimes–like now–just writing down my feelings about what’s been going on in my life is therapeutic in its own way.
I know there are many of you who follow this blog who may be struggling with loneliness and the sheer agony of having to make the effort to find your way. I believe that making that effort–excruciating as it sometimes may be–is worth it. I hope you will open your hearts and minds to the possibilities around you–the hidden messages your loved one is sending your way to say, “I am here. I know it is hard, but know that I am walking with you as you make this journey.”