Shut Up Little Voices

This morning is bright and clear. The sun is beaming into my writing room, I have moved Chester’s pup cup into the sunshine and he is curled up and snoozing in the warm winter sun. I’m listening to a podcast on economics (I’m a bit of a nerd in this way), drinking my coffee and feeling pretty good about today.

Yes, it’s -19c outside and there’s an extreme weather warning in place, but I look out the window and see the sun bouncing off the snow, and the world looks beautiful.  I am grateful for my little house, my little dog; my happy house.

Still though, I find myself struggling with the idea that I should be doing other things – I have a stack of boxes behind me that really need to go into the basement if I want to make this room a bit cozier.  But I’m starting to realize that these ‘shoulds’ are coming from somewhere else – not organically mine, these ‘shoulds’.

I mean, yes, I want the boxes moved… and I’ve gotten about half of them out of here (it’s a tall order for a fat 55 your old person to carry all these boxes downstairs in one go).  But somehow I feel like I ‘should’ have gotten these boxes out of here already and that enjoying writing in the sun is somehow indulgent when there is work to be done.   Why am I not organized? my little voice shames myself. Why does everything always take me so long to do? Other people would have this done by now. (mom, is that you?)

Here are some facts:  I’ve been in this house for 1.5 months.  December was a busy month at work, and a busy month emotionally. The first Christmas after you lose someone you love is very difficult: it requires a lot of work to attend to these emotions – to honour them, let them work through you.  And that’s pretty exhausting.

I arrive today at the first Saturday in the New Year.  The first day that I feel better, emotionally, and able to enjoy the house that I’ve chosen to live this part of my life in.  So why am I beating myself up about what is NOT perfect yet?  Where on earth did this come from in me?  I have a plan – I have stacked some boxes at the top of my basement stairs.  Every time I go down, I take a box with me.  This is a fair plan. (of course now I avoid going in the basement because I have to take a box with me…lol).  Yet, even though I have thought it through and I have a plan, I find my critical little voice chastising myself because I haven’t just dug in and moved them all.

My life, my choices – so shut up little voice. 

That’s my motto for this year: Shut Up, Little Voice.  I will listen to some voices:  the voice that tells me I should hurry up because I’m late for work. The little voice that tells me that I’m not paying attention to my own needs. That one for sure.  But the little voice that says ‘You aren’t good enough.  You’re not measuring up’…  That voice is being banned from my head.  I had enough happiness taken from me last year, I do not need to voluntarily give my happiness to the voices in my head.

I am feeling hope that today will be a good one.  I won’t try to forecast what tomorrow will be like – I’m happy to live just this day, right now. And I might even take a box downstairs.

Of course, now I’m worrying that I have too many little voices in my head…



Musings on ending 2017 with a healing heart

The New Year is fast approaching, and I greet it, as I have done for years, with a hopeful heart. This year, I am even more hopeful than years gone by. I know that might sound odd – I lost half of my heart in 2017 and that’s not an easy thing to get through. But the half of my heart that remains is starting to realize that Warren, my Bear, would have done anything to have one more day.

So while I still mourn for him, I am starting to feel gratitude for a few things:
Gratitude that I had that time with him.
Gratitude that I am still here.
Gratitude that I had the opportunity to learn from this experience; to feel that incredible joy that comes from being loved unconditionally and exactly as you are.

I learned that I am a pretty neat person. I’m strong; I’m capable of taking on the most difficult thing and still coming out the other side. I’m not going to say I managed to do this unscathed, my heart is still only half a heart. But I am able to look at life and sort of smile again. Despite his death, and honestly maybe because of it, I am grateful for the gift that each and every day is right now.

I like who I am.

I have flaws – we all have flaws. There are people I don’t spend my time with because it doesn’t seem like a good way to spend my precious days. But most people amaze me. We are each a giant ball of imperfections and quirks, but most of us don’t want anything but to be loved for who we are. How can that not be the most heart warming and hopeful thing?

I love my little house. I love my little dog. I wish Warren was here with me, but he is in spirit. And I accept that too. I find myself reaching out in a way I hadn’t before – accepting people as they are, living my life the way I want to live it. Dropping the notion that there is one way and one way only to live.

Do I have goals for 2018?

I do. But I have learned to live in WST (Warren Standard Time) and know that while I have things I want to get accomplished, I do not need to attach them to a timeline. As my Bear used to tell me

‘Things do not have pesky labels in WST – they happen when they happen. It’s  far less stressful’

He is so right about that.

I want to travel more in 2018. I’m talking with my kids about taking a trip somewhere together. We’ve tossed about driving to the maritimes, or going south to Salem to visit the Witch Museum (my people!), and maybe taking a trip at Christmas next year – head somewhere warm!

I am going to go to Cuba in June with my niece and her husband. Warren and I had talked about going to Cuba. So this seems like the right place to go first.

I need to get to Oregon! I have a cousin who is waiting very patiently for me to visit!

And I’m going to write more. I have set up a beautiful little writing space in my house (I’m in it right now!) and the sun streams in through the sliding doors to the deck – makes it seem like it’s not -11c right now.  Chester is curled in his pup-cup at my feet.  It’s a cozy space for both of us. I need a rug and a better chair, but I love it already!

And those are my goals. No burden of weight loss, self improvement, stopping this habit, starting that habit. Gentle self acceptance and an enriching of the life I’ve been granted – That is my goal for 2018.

I would LOVE to hear what you are thinking of doing this year…

‘We’ve got a full tank of gas, sunglasses, and half a pack of cigarettes!’

On to the next adventure!

Still missing you, my Bear.



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.