Singing you back home.

Rolling in the undertow of a huge grief tsunami.

I was browsing youtube for videos of songs I might want to sing at my recital, trying to ignore that today is December 1st, and the 5th is once again upon me.  And I happened upon a video of Keith Richards performing at the Merle Haggard Tribute Concert that Warren and I went to on April 6th.  I smiled, remembering how much fun we had that night and I pushed play anticipating the good memories the song would bring…

‘Best concert I have ever seen!’ my Bear crowed as we left the Bridgestone Arena that night with 17,000 of our new closest friends.  We stopped to admire the tour buses – recognized Loretta Lynn’s by the coal miner emblem on the front,  parked not far from Willie Nelson’s.  Security wouldn’t let us get close but we took some dark and blurry pictures anyway.  Stopped again half-way up the hill to the parking lot where we had stowed Ursula before the concert to let Warren’s legs rest for a few moments.  He leaned back on a street lamp pulled me to him and we kissed, giggling like kids, our hearts full of happiness. A truck honked, Warren just kissed me more – like a couple of old teenagers.

When we got to the truck, he greeted her as he always did:  ‘Hello Ursula’ but tonight added ‘my, you missed a wonderful concert’  He groaned as he climbed in behind the steering wheel, then grinned at me and took my hand.

‘We did it!  You bought us the tickets, we got in the truck and here we are – we just did it.’  he kissed my knuckles.

‘God I’m tired’ he laughed quietly.

‘Me too Bear…’ I smiled back ‘me too’

He started the truck and we pulled out onto upper broadway, wound our way through the traffic, and slowly rode through Nashville’s downtown core – the lights, the people, the music. I looked over and could see the smile still on his face – it echoed the happiness in my own heart.

When we got to the hotel we shucked off our clothes and crawled into bed, tv on, him with the pillows piled against the headboard, arm out for me to slip under and rest my head on his shoulder.  Our ritual every night.

For 45 nights.

Tonight as I watched the video – Keith Richards singing ‘Sing me back home’- I realized that we are there, right there, in the audience.  I can see us. Our seats were right in front of the lighting pit – centre of the floor.  We were in seats 24 and 25.  When the lights pan the audience, there he is – you wouldn’t know who it was if your broken heart wasn’t looking intently for it – but the tall pale blob, standing beside the short black blob with light hair?  That’s us. Captured there forever.

The shock hits me right in the heart.  I burst into tears and I want nothing more than to be there again.  Every memory of that night comes flooding back – him standing with the camera in his hand, focused intently on the stage. He looked so handsome and I was so proud to be there with him.  And amazed.  Amazed that after all these years we were finally together. My Bear and me.

We didn’t know that we had only 29 days left.

I keep thinking that I’m getting through this.  I have this coach in the back of my head who is encouraging me to keep going, keep living.  I know that it’s Warren who is helping me –  I know that he would have done anything to still be here with me.  And I am trying so hard to carve a life out for myself : Job, House, Singing lessons – I want him to be proud of me. See that I’m carrying on as he would want me to.  He couldn’t bear it when I was sad.

But there are days when this life is just meaningless.  I would give any of these things up to have one more day with him. Trite isn’t it?  Just like all the platitudes in all those sad songs… And I remind myself that Warren would give anything to be here – even for one of my worst days – and so I try to be grateful.  Grateful for each day I wake up and that I have these memories of him. Of us. Of that excellent trip.

I try to be grateful.

But when the grief hits me from out of nowhere – when I think that I might have a handle on the fact that half of my heart is just gone… gratitude is the last thing I can find.

I miss you so much my Bear…

 

A Brand New Day

On the morning of May 5th I did not let myself imagine that there could possibly be a ‘6 months’ from that day.  I could not think about even the next minute, the next hour…  I didn’t believe that the rest of the day just would not happen for Warren.

It still makes no sense.

But, it has indeed been 6 months.  And looking back through those months to that morning, I still can’t really believe that life went on.  I spent the first 2 months crying, shaking my fists at the universe, trying to figure out if there was a way to pull him forward into this future with me. There wasn’t: Dead is, after all, the final thing.

I found a place to live. I had been staying with my sister who graciously opened her house to me, but mourning needs space.  Not physical space, but emotional space – the emotional equivalent of a rock stadium.  It has to be a space where you can be with people, but also not ‘with’ people, you know?  It is hard to get that distance with family: they want to help, they want to make you feel better. But as painful as it is for them to see my grief, I really needed to be able to be in that grief without worry that I was hurting them. No one likes to see someone you love in such emotional distress.  So I relocated, one more time, to my friend Eileen’s house.  I had the whole upstairs – a bedroom, a washroom, a living room with a tv.  I could separate myself without having her worry, and when I needed people time, I just parked myself on her couch downstairs and she would go about her business, chatting away and bringing me tea and treats.  I could put my grief down for a few moments, then when I needed to, I would pick it up and take it back upstairs again.

As I healed I needed to bring more normal things back into my life – I needed routine. My motto has always been: When in chaos, impose your own structure.  So I needed structure.  I started looking for a job.  Oddly, while I had not had any luck trying to find work before my trip with Warren, this time it was easy – the universe had clearly decided I needed a break.  So I started working for an insurance company in Kitchener. The drive from Guelph was therapeutic – lots of time to transition from home to work.  I had lots of time to sing with the radio and re-live the trip, but not enough time to get completely lost in the past. Working again made me feel useful and happy.  I met new friends.  I was able to pull all my knowledge out of mothballs and start being Insurance Sandy again.  

I no longer worry about office politics or what should/shouldn’t be said. Nope, I voice my opinion, fight for what is right, accept when I am wrong, move on. Then I go home at the end of the day and focus on the rest of my life.  I find that I’m no longer afraid of, well, anything. Nothing can hurt me more than losing half of my heart did.  Nothing.  And the full happy heart that May 5th broke is starting to allow a little bit of room for a hope to emerge.  Life really does go on for those of us who did not die.

I bought a house.  I take possession of it 10 days from today.  While I was viewing houses and trying to decide where to live and what I needed, I could hear my Bear’s voice ‘Sweetie, that one needs too many repairs. That yard is horrible!  The bedroom, my girl, needs to be much bigger…’  I finally found a house where we both said ‘Yes.  This is the one’.  I fell in love with the lime green kitchen, the robin’s egg blue bathroom, the purple master bedroom. All the colours are exactly what I need.  My Bear grumbled – he likes a colour coordinated house, you see – But we will be happy.  He loved me with all the colours of his heart.

So 410 days since my son and I drove out of the driveway on my farm, setting out into what we thought would be our biggest adventure, I will be using my new key to open the door on my own little home. I know better than to imagine what this adventure will be like – I’ve learned that trying to see too far into the future is futile. Warren taught me this. When we were travelling, and I inevitably started to fret about something – the move, what the kids were doing, what was happening in Guelph – Warren always reminded me to stay in the present: 

‘Where are we?’ he’d ask.

‘In (Nashville, Memphis, Phoenix, Yuma…)’ I’d answer. 

‘Then why are you worrying about anything else than what’s right here?’

He’d wrap me in those strong arms. ‘Where ever we are is the only place we             need to worry about’.  I can still feel my cheek against his shirt, the rumble of           his voice through his chest, his lips softly kissing my hair.

Warren was a very wise man and I am committed to living the rest of my life one day at a time: What if tomorrow never comes?

I miss you my Bear.

Where’s Sandy?

This is just a quick post to let you know I haven’t disappeared. The last few months have been busy trying to carve out this new life of mine.

The biggest change has been the purchase of a house. Exciting? Absolutely – I need an anchor again. Sad? Immeasurably – I didn’t (and don’t!!!) want to go into this part of my life without my Bear. I miss him. And every time I get excited about the move, new furniture, the garden, I am acutely aware of that 6’4″ hole in my heart.

So I’ll post more soon. And have pictures of my home.

Still miss you my Bear.

Sailing with McGyver – shared from Liveaboard.

I wasn’t the first person to call him MacGyver. It was Neville, a single-hander we met just after we made landfall in the Azores. He limped into harbour a couple of days after us, having gone through the same gale we did but having fared much worse. His engine was seized, his boom was broken, […]

via Sailing with MacGyver — Liveaboard