Year in Review 2024…and an Ending

 

For a while I have been finding it difficult to get myself to this blog. I will write entire things out in my journal that I think I want to share, but somehow I never get to the blog. I feel an aversion.

On Saturday I had an epiphany. This blog I began in spring of 2017 has run its course. The life I had then and subsequent years is gone. Not just that. 2024, with my commitment to write every day (although not achieved) seemed to cap the entire experience. The trauma, drama, agonies, and difficulties of 2024 lay heavy in this blog.

Time for a fresh start. 

One of the things I've avoided doing is the Year in Review in Photos that usually I'd do on or about January 1st. I decided if I am going to end this blog, I need to do it with the Year in Review.

I will be introducing my new blog, which is already named and set up, very soon. Meanwhile, enjoy my walk through the joyful parts of 2024 that are worth remembering. The tragedies loom so large that it is good to remember it wasn't all doom and gloom. 

YEAR IN REVIEW 2024

Feeling Connected

Kara and I visit the Butterfly House

In January, Kara and I made our first visit to the Peace River Botanical & Sculpture Gardens. On a gorgeous day, we studied sculptures and plants and works of art and butterflies. It included a boardwalk out to the river where there was a gathering of loons migrating through. It is a simply amazing place, and I hope to get back there very soon.

Moments with Loved Ones

The captions under these pictures tell the story. I am grateful for every moment with friends and family.

Iris and I met at Copperhead Books. November

Amy and I dined at Lan Xang. August

With Braydon as he tried black grouper!

With Scott at Salty Papa's Shrimp

Seeing Hamilton with Pam--May

Feeling Hopeful

In early August Jim was moved to a rehab facility, where we believed he would build up strength to come home. There were many setbacks right from the start. But on the day this picture was taken, there was hope in the air. He had asked me to bring his razor, and he trimmed his beard. He looked so good, I took a picture.  A few months later I looked at this picture and saw the intensity of his blue eyes, and how closely he was looking at me.  A day or two later he would get COVID, and his decline would begin in earnest. I see this picture and I think of that last day I held out legitimate hope that he would come home and we'd be together again.

Highlight of the Year

Without a doubt, the day that marked one of my highest moments was the gathering on November 9th to remember Jim. After years of watching him decline, it was absolutely wonderful to hear all the memories over the last 40 years when he was young and vibrant and we interacted on a regular basis with family and friends. I had no idea this celebration of his life would lift me like it did. I have written about it previously and posted the pictures, but I am posting them again so they are part of this record. 

One of the things I will remember most about this day was when Scott said the ceremony made him realize he is more like his dad than he ever thought. 

Susan and Natalie were lighthearted in comments

Stacy provide moving memories

CLMS always shows up for me. GRATEFUL

Makes Me Smile

After Jim passed, I rejoined Iona-Hope Episcopal and made fast friends through various activities. Trish is by far one of my favorites of all my new buddies. We sat together at the Christmas dinner and she taught me how to do the Princess Diana look for the camera to eliminate a double chin. Her advice: head down, roll eyes up. Here we are doing our best Diana.

Meaningful Moment

Christmas morning I took a remembrance of Jim to Bunche Beach and left him in a meaningful place. He is now in one of his favorite places: out in the Gulf with the sky and the birds and the underwater animals. It is so much better than a graveyard!

Feeling Connected, Part Two

Jim and I ended up having several weeks apart. The entire time I was in the hospital and separated from him and just wanted to be with him to hold his hand. I kept thinking we had so little time left together, and honestly, I was afraid I'd never hold his hand again if I didn't get out of there. He was going through so much and no one was there to comfort him. It was heartbreaking for me.

When I got home, the very first thing I did was get to the rehab center, and then I just sat and held his hand. I am so grateful I had the foresight to take this photo. It means the world to me. It represents every day together, how we were always there for each other, even from afar. But, of course, this physical contact was way better. If anything represents 2024 it is this. 

Blackberries

 Today I read this poem by Mary Oliver:

Blueberries

I’m living in a warm place now, where you can purchase fresh blueberries allyear long. Labor free. From variouscountries in South America. They’reas sweet as any, and compared with theberries I used to pick in the fieldsoutside Provincetown, they’reenormous. But berries are berries. Theydon’t speak any language I can’tunderstand. Neither do I find ticks orsmall spiders crawling among them. So,generally speaking, I’m very satisfied.

There are limits, however. What theydon’t have is the field. The field theybelonged to and through the years I began to feel I belonged to. Well,there’s life, and then there’s later. Maybe it’s myself that I miss. Thefield, and the sparrow singing at the edge of the woods. And the doe that one morning came upon me unaware, all tense and gorgeous. She stamped her hoof as you would to any intruder. Then gave me a long look, as if to say, Okay, you stay in your patch, I’ll stay in mine. Which is what we did. Try packing that up, South America.

I will say it was June 1994

When I woke on an overcast morning 

In the mountains

And I pulled on leggings and a floppy sweater

And walked up the road

To an empty lot that hosted a boulder

Perfectly formed for sitting

Perfectly placed for a view of the river

Yet a bit hidden from view

I sat and said my morning prayers

Then I thought “I’m hungry”

I had left the cabin without eating anything

And then I noticed the blackberry bush

Nestled up next to the rock where I sat

And it was full of juicy blackberries

Which I eagerly picked and enjoyed

A true delight on that summer morning

Unexpected, yet not

When a small need was met by nature 

The Light Found Me

 

I read a while back that a good practice to stay calm and focused is to notice where there is light, especially small bits of light that might be overlooked. It’s a reminder of faith and trust and knowing we are never alone.

I haven’t been practicing this. But yesterday it found me.

On the way home from lunch at a friend’s house, I was on Daniel’s Parkway waiting to turn left onto Six Mile Cypress, an inordinately long process. My attention turned to my left and the woods of the Slough. In the midafternoon light, the trees had gentle light filtering around them. A few leaves were brightly lit diamonds in the indirect sun. I couldn’t take my eyes off the scene. I just kept looking and enjoying and feeling centered and blessed.

That evening I had yet to close my blinds when suddenly a brilliantly peach-colored full moon jumped into my vision before some clouds covered it again. It seemed to be playing hide and go seek, or peek-a-boo. I thought again how the light had come to me, and I said hello and goodbye to the moon for the night, as I closed the blinds. 

I will keep seeking the light, as well as allowing it to reach out to me. It’s such an easy practice and has huge payoffs to the heart and soul. Perhaps the easiest way to remember that all will be well.

Disappearing Road

Gloomy day, feeling a bit bluesy, decided to color a picture and write a poem. Creativity should help, right?

The balancing act continues

Between getting things done and self-care.

Last night I dreamt of former students

Saw faces and some talked to me

I woke and for the first time I said

I miss teaching

But I mostly miss the relationships

And watching them grow

And accepting all they had to give.

This picture of the winding road through the trees

Feels appropriate for me right now

I can only see a few days ahead

My mood fluctuates, my grief changes

Cathartic moments erupt and waylay my plans

I know it’s okay

It’s going over the edge where the road disappears.

Off in the distance there are mountains

Something solid and real

For now, I rest on the road of trees

Take with gratitude all I do have

Shelter. Food. Friends. Faith.

Fleeting

 This morning on my way to get a warm-up on my coffee, I noticed the sky.

I took my coffee and granola bar out to the lanai, and sat with the sunrise. It was remarkable. I felt calm and brave. An osprey came and sat on the porch next door, keeping me company.

Then the osprey and the brilliant sky were gone. Another reminder on how fleeting beauty and companionship can be. Best to recognize it when it is here. My total time outside probably wasn’t much more than 5 minutes. This is what was left:

Look at You

 

Look at you

 in Canyon De Chelly, 1986

You liked that tree

And asked me to take this picture

It was a trip of discovery 

We went with an idea in mind

Of the places we would visit

And it became so much more

This canyon and Walnut Creek Canyon

And Oak Creek Canyon

And even Sedona, which wasn’t a “thing” at the time

This was a reverse honeymoon

As we didn’t have plans to marry

But then we did four months later

After Scott barely survived a motorcycle accident

Everything about life takes twists and turns

Accidents and recommendations 

Then encountering a tree

And photographing the moment.

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