Well! It has certainly been a journey! Since I last posted my husband made his transition. Since then I’ve been doing that thing called grieving. Grieving is an interesting thing. It must be done. Actually I think a better way of putting it is that it must be allowed. If one doesn’t fully allow the grieving process, icky things happen. I am a firm believer in living a life of joy rather that a life of ICK, so I took a deep dive into the grieving process.
I let myself cry, willy nilly. Except when I had to go to work. Then I had to shelve those tears for a while.
I let myself nap, almost every day.
I let myself isolate.
And all the while I was allowing these things, I was doing some things too.
Moving my husband’s stuff from the house to the garage to the travel trailer. Somehow, when he first went, it seemed important to me to get his stuff out of the house. Sort of a cleansing ritual I guess. Then I had to move the stuff out of the garage to make room to organize things in there, and to make room for the sale of his boot shop. Yes, my husband had a boot shop. He was quite talented and made beautiful boots.
Along with mountains of paperwork, and moving and selling and donating my husband’s stuff, there was stuff going in my life as well. While Floyd was still in home hospice, and on a day when a nurse was here as well as someone delivering the hospital bed, as well as me trying to clean up the latest mess in Floyd’s bathroom, I get a call from my publisher. I did not take the call that day. But in a process that had begun way before Floyd entered hospice, they had called to tell me my book was ready for review, the last step before publication. In addition, I had begun doing a podcast. Plus my little wedding business wasn’t so little. I specialize in elopements. And because of COVID forcing cancellation of a zillion big weddings, all of a sudden my phone is ringing off the hook with couples wanting to elope. They just wanted to get married. In October I officiated 21 weddings. That’s a lot of weddings for a grieving widow. In addition, retirement choices were presented. I had already retired from my photography business but now I was faced with additional choices. I’m still deciding about some of those but the short story is that I’m letting go a quite a few things to leave room for quiet time and ministry.
In recovery there is a saying: “don’t make any major decisions in your first year of recovery.” I’ve taken that and adopted it to: “don’t make any major decisions in your first year of widowhood.” So many of my choices are up in the air but I’ve noticed a few things.
In the stillness I’ve deepened my love affair with myself. And become more willing than ever to honor decisions based on my values. Thanksgiving is coming up. And COVID is still with us. And the Nevada governor has asked us to voluntarily stay home and not do social gatherings. I am honoring that. Even though Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year, because it coincides with my recovery birthday. This year, the day after Thanksgiving, I will celebrate 34 years of good, solid, happy joyous and free recovery from alcoholism and drug addiction. I’ll be sharing my birthday, via Zoom, at a 12 step meeting that morning. That will be the extent of my socializing for both thanksgiving and my recovery birthday. Quite a change from previous years but I’m welcoming it. I plan to cook a turkey, just like I always do. It will just be a smaller one, with fewer fixings. I plan to, as is my tradition, get my Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving, along with making turkey soup and eating turkey sandwiches.
Soon I will resume podcasting my Fearlessly Feral podcast. I’m almost there, I can feel it. Soon I will take on another Interim Ministry assignment. I’m excited about that. Soon I may even start another book. In the meantime I’m just going to sit back and enjoy another stretch of quiet time.
I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Oh, if you wish to purchase my latest book, it is currently available in print version only (e-version coming soon) from: