"The plot and the purpose..."

It is late afternoon on New Year's Eve, and I meant to get this out sooner. It is mostly my journal entry from this morning. I had a wonderful day seeing A Complete Unknown and having lunch with a friend. Then I visited with my neighbor. Life is busy.

I have not shed many tears since Thanksgiving, although I did this morning when I realized I won't have Jim here at midnight to wish Happy New Year and a kiss. But, that's okay. I had a little cry and now I'm fine.

For many months of 2024 I prayed for this year to end more times than I can count. And now we are here, the waning hours. Finally.

What a year it has been.

Yesterday, I listened to my 2024 playlist, the one I started and continued to add on to throughout the year. I started with three songs, and continued to add (and sometimes subtract) as the year went on. The songs tell the story of my year; every up and down is represented.

It helped me know I definitely need a new playlist for 2025. I already know it will start with "Here Comes the Sun." I need a new collection to motivate, inspire, and calm me.

This year my word was EMERGE. For a long time I did not know how it was manifesting. But now I can see I had to emerge out of a life that was unsustainable. I couldn't teach forever. Jim couldn't keep getting ill without it catching up to him.

It was not the way I had imagined the word "emerge" when I chose it. I thought I'd have more agency, more choice. Instead, it felt thrust upon me. Emerge, dammit!

I can't argue with the God that chose this for me. I am grateful for everything good that has come my way because of the repeated challenges. 

A shift is happening now with the new year. My wound is close to healed. The holiday respite is over, and January will demand attention on things I've easily let slide. I have been wondering if I am ready.

The answer is yes.

I just pray 2025 lands gently. I have mighty helpers on my side, no matter what. That will never change.

*

The third song on my playlist was Jimmy Buffett's "Bubbles Up." I wrote about it earlier this year, but it deserves more attention. Apple Music says it is the song I listened to the most this year, and I know it is true. It was my constant go-to because of the message and Jimmy's voice. Neither can be beat.

Bubbles up

They will point you toward home

No matter how deep or how far you roam

They will show you the surface

The plot and the purpose

So when the journey gets long

Just know that you are loved

There is light up above

And the joy is always enough

Bubbles up

Linda Lavin and Jimmy, too

Yesterday was a double whammy for those of us who were adults in the 1970s.  Two American institutions have left the planet. Although they circled in different spheres, somehow they have been ever present in my life for fifty years.

Jimmy Carter was the first president I ever voted for in the Bicentennial year of 1976. His legacy is well-known, so no need to go into it here. Suffice to say I always admired the heck out of him and his wife.

Linda Lavin became popular in a show called Alice based on a movie called Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, one of the first movies that saw women as whole human beings. I remember seeing it at the theater and it was different than anything else I’d ever seen. She had a never-ending career, even as she aged. It says a lot about her as an actor and a person.

When I heard Jimmy had died, well, no surprise. He was 100-years-old and had been in hospice care for over two years.

When I heard Linda died, I wasn’t surprised because I knew she had to be up there in years. (She was 87.) 

But my first thought was that I won’t get to see her in season 2 of the Netflix show No Good Deed. The show itself is a mini-masterpiece, and Linda had a small part as a nosy neighbor. Even though the part isn’t regular, she gave the character strong presence and purpose when she did show up. She held the secrets of the neighborhood. The fact that I thought of this immediately gives testament to two things: the utter brilliance of the show, and the fact that Linda Lavin was the perfect choice to play Phyllis Adelman. 

RIP to two American legends. We are grateful for your contributions to our lives.

Rest Easy

When I received the touchstone with some of Jim’s ashes in it, I was also given a vial of leftover ashes in case I wanted more things made. Instead, I wanted to to figure out a place to sprinkle those ashes. I decided on Bunche Beach.

It is tradition for me to walk Bunche on Christmas. I’ve done it for years. Last year, I felt strongly it was our last Christmas together, and I asked Jim to join me, even though he was too ill to walk. At the time he was just starting to show signs of what was to come.

This year has been one of turmoil and health issues, and I really am not sure if I’ve been there since last Christmas. There were a lot of changes. I was greeted by this message:

I knew where I wanted to send the ashes, and so made a short walk down the beach. There were more people there than usual—some years I have been the only one there. I wanted to have private space for what I was going to do, and thankfully that worked out.

My idea was to visit a tree I’ve been visiting for over a decade. It has been a place I went to reinforce visions I’ve had for what I want to do and be. It was not a living tree, but one that had a hole where I would drop shells I had spoken my wishes into. 

No surprise that after this hurricane season, the tree was just a leftover stump. But there, in that container, were the shells I left over the years. I sprinkled some ashes into it.

I then turned to the water. If Jim wanted to be anywhere, it would be on the water. I sprinkled the rest of the ashes into a waterway that will carry them into San Carlos Bay and eventually into the Gulf of Mexico.

This is the overview of where I left the ashes.

On the way back, rays came down from the heavens, completing the ritual. 

I didn’t feel the need to shed a tear.

It was perfect. 

Rest easy, My Love.

That Part of Me

While reading a novel yesterday,

the book The Year of Magical Thinking

by Joan Didion was mentioned.

I knew that she wrote it about the year after her husband died,

and even though it was published in 2005,

and I had avoided it until 2022, when I faced my fear

and read it.

There was a singular part

that stood out to me

when I read the memoir,

and I needed it yesterday.

See, I’ve been feeling off balance and unable to determine why.

But now I know.

The part of me reflected in Jim’s eyes

is gone.

It can’t be otherwise.

It’s what we lose and have to repair when someone dies.

I’m finding it difficult to lose the anxiety on this.

I looked up the review I wrote on Good Reads,

and just as I suspected

I had documented the part that mattered most.

That spoke the loudest.

As it does today.

I have to allow the mourning is not just for Jim,

but for who I was in his presence.

My anxiety is that I am not sure who I am without him. 

I am hoping that knowing this will help me move forward

without looking for something that is no longer there.

What a Busy Week

It’s late Friday afternoon, and I’m just getting to this blog. It’s been quite a week, but I seem to be coming to the end of the long road of financial and legal matters. I’ve had several ideas on where to take this, but will keep it short and sweet.

I picked up Jim’s touchstone today.

This is a flat stone in a display I can take out and hold in my hand. It contains some of his ashes.

When I die, there will be one made in purple for me. Well, not for me…I guess for whoever wants it. It’s already paid for.

Which, by the way, I highly recommend making your arrangements and getting them paid for in advance. It saved me a lot of angst and trouble when Jim passed. I was able to pull out a card with his account number and phone number to call. Quick and easy. I have a friend whose husband died in June and she said going to the funeral home to make the arrangements was the worst. It was traumatizing to her.

Here is where the stone will sit when not in my hand. 

Now I’m working on building in a lot of “me” time as Thanksgiving week approaches. I am grateful my friend Pam has invited me to share dinner at Lexington Country Club on Thursday. My friend Iris will be in Siesta Key, so we will meet in Punta Gorda for lunch on Tuesday. Otherwise, I have books to read and shows to watch and I really need to get a walk in at Lakes Park during this cooler weather. I am doing my best to take small steps forward and enjoy life just as it is. 

Thank you, friends, for listening and sharing your thoughts. It motivates me to keep expressing here, which I truly believe is something I need.

Like a Rainbow in the Desert

 Journal entry

Even when the loss of a loved one comes after a long illness…we must step over into a new country. The colors are different, the air has a different feel, and the sounds have a different echo than they did before…And we learn the colors and sounds of this new world, and after a while it becomes our world.

From Healing After Loss

I am feeling this. For a while, I kept seeing this place as “our home,“ but slowly that has changed. It is now feeling like “my home.” My first step in this was putting away the toaster that only Jim used, and then I changed up the sideboard. There is more to do.

My morning pace is much the same, but my days are quite different.

Kara sent me a card and wrote a gorgeous message in it. She said:

Jim is always with you and your heart, cheering you on from up above. I know he’s proud of you and still loving you with the essence of his being.

To this, I say yes yes yes!

Much of what I feel now is what I felt when I got divorced – – feeling my way through, figuring things out, making the evening mine and in a way that feeds me. And at that time, I had a solid grip on who I was becoming, and had entered the adventure willingly.

Although I didn’t enter this part of my life willingly, I knew it was coming, so all I can do is embrace it. The alternative is just too glum to think about. I can pace things out in a way that works for me.

So I set small goals for the week, and I break those up into the days. Little by little everything that needs to get done gets done. I really have nothing but time at this point.

Today I came across the coloring page that I posted above, and that motivated the title of this blog post. I recognize this place as Monument Valley, a place Jim and I visited in 1986. What we saw there was a dust storm, but also a lot of beauty. I have entered a new country, but there is always a rainbow above me and as I’ve said before, I have mighty helpers surrounding me. I don’t take any of this for granted. And I know that my strength comes from everything that Jim gave me starting over 40 years ago. I couldn’t be more thankful.

Jim in Monument Valley with dust devils in distance 

Many movies made here. Wagon is from a John Wayne film.

Welcome Back

 

I had a lot of pent-up nervous energy this morning

And the temperature outside was a beautiful 73°

So I thought it was a perfect time to go out and walk in the park

Which I haven’t done since last spring

So I drove down to Waka-hatchee, which is the closest park to me

There was barely anybody there

I felt the park welcoming me back

I took a stroll around the lake

Took this picture of the sun shining through the Spanish moss

Saw a big old gator

My nervous energy had come from a week with a lot of emotional happenings

Yesterday was a case in point

I went to the funeral home to get the death certificates

And I asked about Jim’s ashes

They were ready for me, so I got them

But I was not prepared for what was going to occur

I burst out crying right there

Seeing the last physical manifestation of my husband

Was a bit overwhelming

I didn’t expect that to happen at all

I managed to get a grip and do the other things I had to do

Which included stopping in the HR department at the School District

Yesterday being my first official day of retirement

When I pulled my car into the garage

I told Jim “You’re finally home”

Then I cried and cried and cried

It’s been nearly 17 weeks since he left here

I had no idea his ashes would feel this important to me

I’ve ordered rosewood box to keep them in

I always thought maybe I’d scatter them 

but now I know I won’t

They belong here

Welcome home, my Love

This Part of the Journey (and Journal) is Done

Today I wrote the final pages of a journal I started June 12th.

This represents the toughest part of my entire life to date. I can’t imagine things will ever be this challenging again, but I’m not tempting the universe to prove me wrong. Really.

Here are some of the final words I wrote:

I’m glad many things are getting settled. Im glad Jim is not struggling and suffering anymore. I’m glad I 100% supported him and have no regrets at all.

I was with him every step of the way.

And now it’s a new life. So far, so good.

Jim—I love you forever and ever

And you will always be with me.

Then I put on “Helen Sadler’s Station” on my Apple Music and the first song that came up was Rodney Crowell’s “Making Memories of Us.”

I cried and cried…a pure combination of sadness at the loss and the happiness of the memories.

Tomorrow begins a new journey to record. 🌻

(Keith Urban’s live version of the song is perfect!)

What Might Go Right

I had written in my journal and was thinking about what I might want to write about here today when I saw this on my Facebook feed:

It seems every day I have some level of anxiety about the things I need to do. I pretty much hate that.

But when I look back over these past weeks and months, I realize a lot of things went right. I made decisions that worked well for the most part. I’m still trying to figure out the terrain of my life with a spouse who is no longer here, and I have plenty of people to help me.

Yesterday when in one of these moments of feeling my weakness, I remembered my promise to Jim. On October 4th I told him it was okay to let go, that I would be alright. I see that as a promise I made to him. So falling into anxiety or seeing myself as incapable of handling this life is dissing that promise. 

I have everything I need, as Adam Grant has illustrated above. I need to turn my attention to the things that will go right. It’s a promise I made to Jim, and now one I make to myself.

There is every reason to believe I will be fine. I want to allow an opening for a new life and unexpected adventures. But I can’t do it if I focus on the wrong things.

Monday Gratitudes

 

Jim with high school friend Russ Fernlund (2012)

It’s been one week since Jim left this plane of existence.

Today I am grateful that I got through this first week.

I’m grateful I got to talk to his oldest friend on Saturday.

I’m grateful Annmarie and I had a delicious lunch together.

I am grateful to all who checked in on me and helped during the hurricane.

I’m grateful I’m slowly chipping away at things that need to be done here.

It feels good.

I’m grateful I decided to return to a church home. I felt incredibly welcome.

I’m grateful I will have a prayer group and a grief group.

I’m grateful for the books I’m reading. 

I’m grateful for the shows I’m watching. They keep me entertained.

I’m grateful for good food and good neighbors.

I’m grateful for those who follow this blog!

Brighter and Lighter

 Journal entry

I saw this meme from Adam Grant and I realize that’s exactly where I am.

 I've worked really hard to stay in the present moment because it was too difficult to envision a bright future knowing Jim was terminally ill. Which reminds me of what I heard earlier this year – – that all love affairs come to a bad end. The couple either breaks up or one of them dies. 

Now that I know Jim is out of pain, I can look to the future in a new way. I will keep working on my healing, make new connections, do some things I have not been able to do.

I’m not a caretaker anymore. Wow – – first time I’ve said those words.

I have a gazillion things ahead of me to do, and it will take a long time.

I still have burdens – – but I know they will lighten.

I take everything Jim gave me and carry it into a brighter future.

2024 has been beyond challenging. Yet, I saw such goodness and generosity and care coming our way every day. We were given exactly what we needed in each moment, even those weeks we were separated. The world is full of amazing human beings, who are capable of caring, listening, reaching out, going the extra mile for us. It’s really astounding to look back and realize all those wonderful people who helped us. I’m talking about nurses and hospital staff and chaplains and social workers and hospice. 

I enter this phase with new vision and understanding. I carry with me the inspiration of all those people who helped us. I want to be one of those people for others.

I will find my place. And it will be exactly where I need to be.

Signs of a Life

 I didn’t even notice them anymore, the things Jim always had in certain places. Over these past months, they were just part of the landscape of my home.

Then yesterday, these items jumped out. After years and years of them being staged in the same place, it felt weird to suddenly “notice them.” 

I realize that there are many things I can dispose of—like his large supply of prescription drugs. Adios!

But these items are going to remain where they are. They were his daily items, the mark of his life, and I’m not willing to let go yet.

His coffee mug next to the brewer

His pill cases in his sink

His slippers at the foot of our bed

You and Me

 

When Jim and I met, we were like two wildflowers.

Neither one of us was exactly where we wanted to be in life. We just knew we weren’t planted in the right spots.

In one of our early meetings right before we parted, Jim went to his car and pulled out a cassette tape that was called Neil Diamond’s Love Songs. He gave it to me.

I listened to that thing nearly nonstop.

It had some of my favorite songs on it: Joni Mitchell’s “Chelsea Morning.”  Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne.” Randy Newman’s “I Think It’s Going to Rain Today.”

And the song by Neil Diamond called “Stones.”

Yesterday I moved Jim to hospice care.

Today I went onto Apple Music looking for the Love Songs album. What I discovered is it’s really just the Stones album, perhaps with the songs in a slightly different order.

So I listened to Stones wondering if it would make me fall apart.

But it was the exact opposite.

It took me back to the beginning of our relationship when I felt that he was seeing things in me that no one else had ever seen. It took me back to that time when I started to gain a lot of strength in who I was and into understanding what my life could be. It’s amazing when this happens. I don’t know if it happens with everybody this way, but it sure was a great thing for me. 

I’d listen to that tape he gave me and I think, even if this doesn’t last, even if this relationship ends, I am now somebody new and I am going to be fine no matter what happens.

(Honestly, I felt the relationship would last, but I was ready either way.)

At 26 years old, this was quite a revelation for me

Now I’m 69 years old. And I know that I was right about my relationship with Jim from day one.

I’m about to retire from a career I would’ve never had without him.

I am about to embark on a new life without him here physically. 

He will always be with me in my heart and soul.

We’ve had a great life together.

We planted and we harvested.

We were wild flowers who grew together, supported each other, and never wavered in our love.

When he leaves this physical plane, I know once again I will be fine.

The depth of what occurred over these past 40+ years will carry me forward into an unknown future.

Once again, because of Jim, I’m ready.

Jim and I  Fall 1982

I loved this video for the song because it reflects what I’ve written here. 

Purple Nature

My mind is full of a lot of things today, based on several readings and thinking time. It’s a bit much and I’m not ready to mold it, so decided to take an easier approach.

I came home thoroughly exhausted from work on Thursday, and was confronted with a box that was like a Chinese puzzle to open. I knew there was a live plant inside, because the box told me so, but I had no idea who would have sent it. Once I broke the code and pulled this luscious orchid out, I discovered it was from my teacher union (TALC), presumably because of our loss of Wayne on March 2.

I have the orchid on a table on our lanai, where I can easily see it from inside. It has quickly become a companion, a messenger of peace that can be found if I choose to look. To honor this, I have written an acrostic poem for my new orchid.

One with the purple nature

Rising sun makes it shimmer

Calling me to meditate and relate

Helping me find my way

In the time I find myself now

Deepening the peace within.

High Alert

 

High alert

That’s the way I have felt now for over a month.

My body always ready to handle

The next emergency

The next emotional jarring

Gratefully,

 I am off high alert this morning.

Gratefully,

 I was able to just do self-care yesterday,

 after the loss of our son.

Gratefully, 

Last night the weather was perfect for an 

open air restaurant meal 

with gentle guitar music and a good friend.

Today, my body feels like it’s mine.

Like I’m not moving through deep water.

Like when I stretch, it won’t be tight rubber bands.

For now, I’m off high alert. 

                                                       And I am grateful.

Dear Danny…

 Dear Danny,

The day you passed away I pulled out my vinyl record of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Damn the Torpedoes. In 1983, when I was first getting to know you, this music was a connecting piece. I still recall our conversation, mostly because it was the first time I really had an opportunity to get to know you.

Over the years there have been many happy and sad times. Although we haven't seen you in many years, our conversations over the past decade or so have been focused on health and housing issues you've faced. But there were light moments and connecting moments that mattered.

I heard many conversations your dad had with you, so I know that he was doing his best to point you in the right directions, as good dads do. I know your brothers talked straight to you as well. It has always been distressing to us that you couldn't help yourself, or let others help you.

Water under the bridge now.

***

You visited us a couple times in Florida, and I recall fondly how you and your dad spent most days hanging out by the lake fishing. We always laughed a lot during your visits because, face it, you were always doing something crazy to make us laugh. Dan the Man could be Dan the Clown.

The last time I spoke with you was after you recovered from another serious situation. We had received a call with the expectation you would not live. Yet, a few weeks later we were on the phone with you, laughing about your nine lives. It was good to be joyful with you that day, and I'm glad we had that conversation, even if it was a harbinger that the number nine was on the horizon.

The day after you passed, I pulled out my vinyl On the Border by the Eagles. I see a note I put on the record that I received in on my birthday, August 6, 1975. That was the year my brother had died in April, and I was still in the midst of grief.

There is a song on this album that always meant a lot to me: "My Man" by Bernie Leadon. The song was written for Gram Parsons, a forward-thinking musician who died of an overdose at 27-years-old. The words to the song often made me cry, thinking of my brother Richie, and the impact death has on the living. On this day it was not lost to me that my tears were for you this time: you, coincidentally born the same year as my brother (1965); you who struggled with addiction like Gram Parsons; you who liked to be "Dan the Man." The words that get me, and I will leave you with, are from the chorus.

Now my man's got it made

He's gone far beyond the pain

And we who must remain

Go on living just the same

We who must remain

Go on laughing just the same