Grieving for Christmases Past

I’ve been an emotional wreck these past three days. For three days, I’ve spent the mornings dissolved in tears; my heart ripped open bleeding more tears into my soul, and my head pounding from the stress. 

I’ve struggled with the holidays since my mother’s passing in 2011, but this year it sneaked up on me. I thought I was OK. This is my second holiday season in a house that does not have memories of her (except for her picture which I keep close by where she can watch me working). I have a lot going on and I keep happily busy.

Thanksgiving morning it hit me as I wondered if my sons would call to wish me a happy day. I’m usually the one to call them first, but on holidays, I would like them to call me. My oldest messaged to wish me a happy day and somehow that set me to thinking about past holidays and how, since my mother passed away, I choose to isolate.

Today it dawned on me that my vision of Christmas morning is of our house in Kensington with the tree in front of the picture window and sparkly garland tacked around the main living spaces. Presents (we always went overboard at Christmas) would extend from under the tree, to in front of the TV and fireplace, into corners of the living room. I picture my dad standing tall in his green, black, and white plaid flannel shirt, my brother and his wife, and the aunts and uncles. Mum and I would be in the kitchen getting dinner ready; the aromas of roasting turkey and various vegetables and more wafting through the house. And my sons would show up with wives and grandkids. 

Christmas was basically the same year after year – it was Christmas. It had been that way since I was young and Don and I were the only kids. But changes came as changes do. The older people started leaving one by one. My mum and I tried to carry on, but others wanted their own Christmas celebrations at their own homes on Christmas day. Yes, we were invited, but mum was stubborn and would not leave the house and I guess I’ve picked up that same trait.

So, five years after my mother’s passing, I realize I’m not just grieving losing her (and having her pass on Christmas Day!), I’m grieving for all our Christmases past ... because they can never be the same. I have total respect for other family members making their own choices. I certainly make my choices and stand by them. 

There’s no going back. New Christmas memories need to be made and while I may still choose to be alone Christmas day, today I have a better understanding of the grief encompassing me around the holidays. I’m getting better. 

A Holiday Revelation and Yet Another Issue to Work On

After five years since my mother’s passing, and more, really because there were the years of decline, the holidays are still tough for me. I’ve been blaming it on my mother’s passing, but wait ... it really started when both my sons decided they (and their families) would stay at their own homes for the holidays. They have every right to do so and I allow them their choices. I understand and can see things from their stand point. I know they love us (me, now).

Then when my brother and his wife also decided not to come any more, Mum and I settled into our “alone” holidays. Ma refused to go out, although we might have gone once or twice to Don’s for Thanksgiving, but Christmases were just the two of us. We stopped buying presents. Today I am realizing how much that still hurts; and how MUCH it hurts!

I’ve occasionally talked about this in past – a little. I’ve never told any of them how much it hurt and how much it hurts me still. Ma never talked about it at all. Maybe it hurt her more than she ever let on, and more and more she’d just sit in her rocking chair locked in her own thoughts. After all, Christmas, especially, was her favorite holiday and she so loved buying presents for everyone and having everyone come to the house. She lived to have a house full of family. Suddenly having the holiday day just being the two of us must have been more traumatic for her than I ever realized.

Maybe it’s time to start talking ... except I can’t without tears. Every year the season is full of tears. And I CHOOSE to stay alone.

I’ve been afraid. If I start to talk about how I feel, it will all come down to being my fault. I’m afraid that they will start pointing out all the things that I did wrong and where I was/am lacking as a mother and grandmother. I’m afraid that somewhere along the way I’ve hurt them. How can I ever fix that? How can I ever know that I didn’t do anything wrong? At least I don’t think I did. But I’ve always had to be true to my authentic self.

I have mentioned the poor mother/grandmother aspect before, but not so much about the holiday issue. I just kept telling myself that they all have the right to celebrate holidays as they see fit (and they do). I still love them no matter what. Maybe it’s only in my mind that there are issues.

This is something to work on during this season. I have to be gentle and loving with myself, as I am with others, and work on better understanding why I feel as I do. I thought I had this behind me, but evidently there’s more I need to resolve within myself.

The work goes on. I am Enough! I am getting better! I am a good, loving person!

  

Learning Tough Lessons

Speaking up and speaking out take courage. Too often I bite my tongue and let people walk all over me. Today I take courage to speak out, and while it may not be in the direction where it should go (that would take more courage than I possess at this time), I am saying something about what happened. I cannot let it continue to stew inside me.

I was asked to do a job for a guy in July. I was a little apprehensive because the subject is out of my comfort zone, but I was excited, too, because I would learn a lot. He agreed to my hourly price and at the first meeting, he paid me for two hours. We did the first interview for which I wrote an article. Then there was an event at which I took photos (which I sent to him) and wrote another article. 

I emailed copies for approval. There were multiple phone calls with changes, additions, and more changes after the original article came out. One call was 8:30 p.m. There were calls and emails about ads in the newspapers, more changes, and after working on an ad, he decided against doing it.

I emailed a final bill. He refused to pay! I told him my time is important. I have a lot going on and took time out of my busy schedule to take this project on. All the phone calls and the writing and then making changes take time. He was the one who kept changing his mind about what he wanted to say. As it was, I didn’t even charge him for all my time spent on this project.

A month went by and I got a phone call. He said he’d pay what he owed me if I’d do another article for him. He said he’d call with a time and place. I never heard another word. How low can one get? 

Needless to say, this whole issue has left a sick feeling in my stomach. My dreams have been haunted and his name keeps popping up to remind me. I put a lot of effort into the project. I always try my best to do a good job. My heart and soul goes into what I do and to be taken advantage of is crushing. But, I have to move on from this.

I’ve done a lot of soul-searching about how to handle the issue. Some say I should take him to court… but I can’t go through that. If I’m not willing to go that route, I have to let it go. It’s hard with so much going on that keeps reminding me of what happened. It’s a constant effort to force myself to not think about it. I’m angry and hurt and all I think is sleaze, scumbag, and creep. I don’t like to think this way about anyone.

One way to get it out of me IS to get it out of me and to do that means I have to talk about it. As you can see, I’m not naming names, although with all the political bashing that goes on, this would just be one more. Am I angry about it? Of course, I am. How can I not be? I’m out $200 and time I could have put into other projects. Plus, it’s the ethics of it. This incident just supports what I believe about big business and politics.

There is a lesson in this although I haven’t quite figured it out… yet. Maybe I have to get it out of me before I can see clearly the lesson.

Sink Holes

My apologies for not writing lately, May has proved to be a tough month, and just as I thought I was through it, I was hit with a double whammy. Arrghhhh! Such as it is, and part of it is my own fault for letting myself get so overwhelmed that I don’t think straight. 

I feel I’m pussy-footing around; afraid that something else will go wrong. That’s not a good place. I’m feeling good at the moment, but the way things have been lately, I don’t trust the good feeling.

It’s a bit of a set-back after all the work I’ve been doing with manifesting and all. “Bit” is too kind; it’s more like being slammed to the ground then stomped on. The road lately has had big sink holes and I don’t see them until I’ve fallen in. I thought I was beyond that.

I want to believe in Wayne Dyer. I want to believe in the ability to manifest. I wanted to prove my past wrong.

But the universe likes to throw curve balls with a “let’s see how you’ve learned all those lessons you’ve bragged about.” Yep, I got caught in the trap. I didn’t pay attention and fell on my face again.

I’ve never been the type to visualize goals and have them come true. I’ve always found goal-setting to be a disappointment; it just doesn’t work for me. There have been many times when I’ve put an intent out there, but if I dwell on it, it never comes true. It seems I just have to throw the wishes out there and whatever one come true, is a welcome, joyful surprise.

Am I giving up on Dyer and manifesting? I don’t want to. Some of what he preached is true and I totally believe. Maybe I just haven’t worked everything out yet. Everyone says to take baby steps and I do, but like a baby, I am easily distracted by a pretty bauble and I wander off the path, and as usual, I got distracted by work, home renovation, and other things.

Maybe it IS just because Mercury is in retrograde that this has been a crappy month. And not that all has been crappy, just the bad happens to overshadow the good at the moment and leaves me feeling like an old, wet, dirty dish rag wrung out and left to rot. Hey, May is supposed to be a pretty, happy month.

The extra work during the month of May, the Summer Guide, is done and I managed to clean up stragglers in work and straighten out things. Now I can get back to normal… if ever I can be normal. I look forward to June with hope. 

I bought lots of bright, colorful flowers the other day to reward myself for getting through May. Of course, now I have to figure out what to do with them. They bring such joy. I have to decide which to put in containers and which will line my yet-to-be-built walkway to the front door. 

Crawling out of the latest sink hole, I pause to brush myself off. Perhaps in time, I will understand what I went through. I’m already getting clues. I let the focus of work overshadow joy and I got so overwhelmed that I forgot how much I love my work. I forgot that everything does work out and I tried to force things to move faster. I didn’t take meditative breaks and my mind short circuited.

Now, I remember to breathe. I realize that I made the work a lot harder than it needed to be. I took lots of notes for next year. I will do it better! 

And yes, I will also get back to the self-work and the exploration of my wandering mind.

A Brief Exploration of Grief

I start my morning pages and the subject of grief permeates my thoughts. Yes, it’s Mother’s Day, and I miss my mum so much, but that’s not what today’s subject is about – not totally.

This is also a continuation of yesterday’s “Chasing the High.” Questions arise. What is the opposite of that high? Is it grief? Grief over what? I let my mind sink into the topic. What makes people unhappy? And when they are unhappy most of the time and the deep-down unhappiness outweighs the good times, what then? Does it turn into grief and the grief turns into frustration and anger and then people need to medicate to feel good?

It does seem like this is a trend and what makes it harder, and the worst, is that most people can’t talk about it. Oh, they might gripe and groan over a situation, but they seldom let themselves admit fully how they feel. They let off steam, but bottle up the true turmoil until there is an explosion or they break down and turn to other ways to numb the pain.

 They can’t talk about it because they can’t really identify what it is. And that’s because it’s emotional; it’s that stuff we bury inside, we hide, and while there are similarities in us, emotions can be very individual.  

Where does the grief come from? Fear is the major base of negativity. What do we fear? That we won’t get chosen for the team? That others won’t like us? That the thing we want most, we can never have? The list can go on and on, some items could turn up on everyone’s list, however, the disappointments pile up. Disappointment on disappointment and we strive harder after that proverbial carrot.

Even those who seem popular suffer the same fears. Celebrities will occasionally talk about stage fright, but for the most part, everyone will try to put on a “public face” for the outside world. They bottle up their fears and frustrations and after time, those feeling will either erupt in an angry outburst or they will fester, turn sour, and become grief for all the things they could never have, never accomplish, never become. Inside becomes one big pit of despair with occasional moments or a high depending on each person’s life.

Again, I feel I am just touching the outside edges of the situation. Emotions are so interwoven with the fabric of life. It’s what makes us human and it’s what makes it so hard to understand. We, as humans, are also interwoven and yet, we are individuals. We are not cookie cutter (to use the popular term).  

So what does this mean? The challenge can seem insurmountable. I know I am developing my own way of dealing with issues. I listen to people’s stories. I tell my own stories. There is a connectedness within this fabric of life and I believe the answers lie there. Not one single answer, but perhaps more the tools we need to help us be whole and balanced. 

I truly believe that the more we can talk, the more we heal, and in the talking and healing, we are not only healing ourselves, but we are helping others heal, too. This doesn’t mean we can go and talk to just anyone. We need to find those we feel safe with to talk about issues. 

I don’t know why I know what I do, but these concepts have been building in me for a long time. Maybe it’s because I’ve been studying life for a long time. I’m just going about it in an untraditional method – because I no longer trust the commercialized, conventional ways (which is another entirely different subject).

And again, I’m just touching on topics. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around the entire issue. Perhaps this is stuff that can only be taken in bits and pieces. I’m learning. I remember a conversation, read something, or see something and my mind mulls on it and I have to interpret it into my language. This might be a key. Something is said and I don’t have to do it exactly as the next person, but I can take the concept and make it fit who I am.

Think about it. What do you grieve and what have you done to heal it?

Mining the Inner Artifacts

This morning I’m continuing yesterday’s thread on self-archeology. Yesterday saw me digging up ancient carvings in my inner well; those old aspects and labels of myself that I buried for many years. Those issues occasionally rear an ugly head to stir my emotions and remind me of my insecurities. Is there any truth to them? 

I pulled a couple relics from the muck. As I line them up on the shelf, I consider what names they have; what labels I have/had. I start to clean off the dirt. Does this label fit me now? Did it ever really work for me or was it something that I got stuck with and is something that never felt true (I only felt it was true because that’s what others said or I believed). 

I thought about the physical downsizing I did these past couple of years and especially last year when I bought a much smaller house. Going through items I’ve had in my possession for a long time was not easy (yes, there’s still more to go through). Do I hang onto something just because I’ve had it for years? Do I keep it because it’s been in the family or it was given to me by someone special to me? How many things can I save if they are not usable for me now?

As I work with the relic analogy this morning, I am reminded how digging these old half-carved images out of my inner well is similar to the physical downsizing of my house. What image-label am I holding onto like a family heirloom because a family member gave me that label when I was young? What purpose is it serving if that label is not who I am? What about the relic-label that I buried because I was ashamed of it? What purpose does that serve? 

Think about all those relics I’ve been burying for years. They sink in the mud and are further hidden by more half-carved stones. Some rot, some fall apart, and some distort with age. Do they serve a purpose for me now or do they just clutter up my being and hinder my growth?

These recent years were creating who I am/want to be. But maybe I’m not creating something new or maybe I don’t need to create something new. What if all I need to do is to clean out the old relics and get rid of ones that do not suit me and are not me? What if, in digging these out and seeing actually what they are, I can let them go if they are not who I am? What if, in the cleaning out of all the junk and clutter, I am freed up to be truly me – the person I’ve always been on the inside, but couldn’t access because of all the crap I’ve buried?

I feel much freer living in a physical house that is less cluttered. Imagine how I could mentally feel if my inner me is less cluttered?

It’s time to get the cleaning rags out to see which relics are still good and which ones I can put to the curb.

Below is a poem I wrote many years ago. It goes to show, there was a part of me already working on this… but I stopped for awhile. Time to get out those cleaning tools again.

Cleaning Day in the Well

On the inside of my soul lies a darkened place

and stuck in an unused corner like burnt cheese

 is … something… possibly sinister…

I can’t tell for sure

It’s been covered over so many times 

that I’ve forgotten much of what I buried 

and I don’t know what has oozed 

into the hidden recesses of my being

 to rot and grow hard

But I have this handy dandy scraper now, 

a plastic little thing that won’t scar the sides 

(came with a George Foreman grill 

my ex gave me years ago and I no longer use)

So down there I go 

with my handy dandy scraper and cleaning rags 

I pick and scrub with care 

wipe away the grime and the dust and the char

to reveal… a mirror!

With gentle strokes, I wipe the surface clean then, 

with a silent bang

 light reflects in the shine and I am no longer in the dark

I am bathed in glorious sunlight and all is revealed

Yea-yah

--Sasha Wolfe

To Be ME, I Can’t Live Up To Others’ Expectations

I am continuing my self-work on shame. I have just barely scratched the surface. Shame is the skeleton-in-the-closet, the thing no one wants to discuss. It can be embarrassing for the person talking about it and for the one listening. But if it isn’t talked about and brought to the light, it remains shame. I intend to change that. After all, what do I really have to be ashamed about?

Brene Brown’s book “I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Wasn’t)” is helping me access and understand some of the issues. I realize that most of my life has been a battle to live up to what was expected, wanted, and perceived of me. There is the constant inner battle because many those beliefs were not who I felt I was inside. And, for some reason, I believed that everyone else knew better – which meant, I was wrong, am wrong.

This morning I am contemplating my shame triggers; the things said to me, what I have read, what I’ve been taught, what the media has pounded into me, what I learned to believe – everything that has ever made me feel not worthy. If I can list these things, then I can look at them and let them go.

(Here is my analogy of the inner well where stuff has been buried for years. Sometimes it’s necessary to stir around in the muck. Bringing issues to the light will allow them to release.)

How have I felt shame because I think I don’t live up to what others think of me? That’s what a lot of it is about. What others think of me. That wanting to be accepted and thinking I’ve failed because I’ve not been the person I THINK they want me to be. 

Think about what this statement says: I feel shame because I THINK I don’t live up to what I think others THINK I should be. Is that a true statement? 

The biggest issue about this subject is because people are afraid to talk about it. Oh, we might make a comment in passing, but it’s quickly brushed off. I’m determined to wend my way through this maze of the journey of my self. So often I find when I do take the courage to admit to a so-believed failure, I discover that others also feel the same. We are not alone. We have all experienced some kind of not being good enough.

So, will I start my list? Maybe not today, but just talking about it has me thinking. It’ll come. This is already making a huge step in helping me be OK and satisfied with who I am. And, as always, I hope that my discussions will help others, too.

Thank you.

A Year of Letting Go

I wanted to wait until year’s end before thinking about what 2015 meant and set goals for 2016 and now that it is New Year’s Eve, my mind is relatively blank. This is unusual after the gush of words this past week. Am I all worded out?

My plan this morning was to list my goals for the coming year, but I realize that I should close out 2015 first. What has 2015 meant for and to me? It certainly has been a highly emotional year.

The major highlights included the trip to Florida in late January-early February, the selling of the Bradford house in June, and the finding, purchase, and move to the house in Hillsboro in late August. The settling into the home the latter four months of the year have left me feeling shaken up, turned inside-out, and thrown down. My head is still spinning. The pieces haven’t settled (picture a snow globe). I struggle to get back on my feet.

2015 has certainly been a year of letting go. That letting go started on the trip south when plans changed. I had to let go of the preconceived goals and get into my usual ability to be spontaneous. Then on Mother’s Day, an unexpected turn of events led a buyer to the Bradford house. I wanted to move, but there was always the question of whether I’d pull it off. With a buyer showing up at my door out of the blue, I let the signs fall and grabbed the opportunity.

Then came the huge task of downsizing. Talk about letting go! There were years of accumulation – of mine, plus some of my mother’s stuff. What do I get rid of? How do I let it go? Thankfully, I had help, lots of help. I could never have done it on my own. Much was given away and thrown away. It was heartbreaking, but I had to do it. I had to close down and not allow myself to feel to get it done.

Finding a new home came down to the wire. I had to be out of Bradford by the end of August and I managed to pull it off (again with lots of help and support). It wasn’t my dream house. It wasn’t where I wanted to be. And again, I had to let go. I had let go of that dream of what my perfect house would be and change the plan to what I could live with.

I moved in with boxes packed just about floor to ceiling and spread out into the yard – far too many possessions which meant more stuff had to go. It was hard. Some things tore my heart strings to put out to the curb free for the taking. I watched possessions walk away or get thrown away. I could not keep everything. I had to let them go.

It took a few months, but I began feeling better about the entire experience. I started feeling settled in my smaller home. Then came Christmas; a time of year especially difficult for me. As I sat alone on Christmas Day, there came even more letting go as I realized that situations and beliefs that I’d held onto these past years were really not valid anymore and it was time to let those go. 

Wow! It feels like a lot of the old has washed away. I’m standing on the precipice of a new year and I’m not even sure where it will take me. This letting go process of 2015 has left me feeling more open and free. I face 2016 with excitement and butterflies in my stomach. After all this letting go, what will the coming year fill me with?

Cannot Move Forward Holding Too Much onto the Past

I spent yesterday, Christmas Day, exactly as I planned… but something shifted within me as the day went on.

I wrote the morning journal pages and blogged. I posted a Merry Christmas to all on Facebook. Then I cleaned of the table and got out the game of yap. This was my mom’s favorite and after her passing on Christmas Day 2011, the ensuing Christmas Days were spent playing as three people – as if she, my aunt, and I were playing the game just like we used to. It was my way of honoring their memory, especially my mom’s. She would like that.

However, within half an hour, or less, of playing yesterday, I was bored. I’ve never been bored playing yap before. I even talked with them about “their” plays, but for some reason, my heart wasn’t in it. This year, it felt meaningless. It didn’t feel like they were with me.

What did that mean? Does it mean that it really is time for me to let go? Ma certainly wouldn’t want me pining myself away over her memory. I certainly miss her every day of my life, but perhaps I no longer need to honor her by playing a game. The honor is in always loving her. She was my mum and there’s something special, so very special about mothers.

Maybe it’s about layers. Yes, there was a letting go a couple years ago when we scattered their ashes in the Merrimac River at Salisbury Beach Reservation, but I still held onto her. There has been the getting rid of possessions; a little each year, but I still held on to her. This year was a big letting go when I sold the house where she and I last lived together; a place where my heart wrenched every time I looked out the window at the flower garden I’d made for her.

This new home is another phase of the letting go process. I’ve spent the past few months getting rid of excess possessions. But mum and I ourselves have to move on and how can I do so if I am not willing to let her go? I will always honor my mother and will always love her and miss her forever. I will keep her picture nearby, but I no longer need to let the grief of her loss cripple me. I have to let her go. She needs to move on, too. 

I’m still processing this. Yesterday, another Christmas of letting her go. And yet, there is more of a release and understanding. I’ve run out of words to explain this. I’m sure I’ll come up with more the next few days.

I tried to write a poem:

Holding on to Her

Her consciousness slipped away

I clung to her hand

patted her arm 

wept, and held onto her 

Next morning phone call

she was gone

peacefully, the voice said

broken, I held onto her

Time passed

I got rid of her possessions 

I did not need

in memories, I held on to her 

A couple years went by

she asked to go home

ashes spread

I still held on to her

The house we shared sold

I moved away from sights

that brought tearful memories

struggling, I still held onto her

Downsizing more

possessions all mine

another Christmas arrived

I fought to hold onto her

A difference sparks:

she is not here

I cling, I cry

and desperately hold on

A subtle time-space shift 

a moment of release

she will always be part of me

but I no longer have to hold on

She is my mother

I will always love her

and I will miss her forever 

I set her free

I love you, Mum.

    ---Sasha Wolfe 2015

I’m not totally happy with this poem…

Decorating for the Holidays

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and a time when many start putting up Christmas decorations. Years ago, I waited until the first of December, but I have to admit, it is nice to have pretty lights shining when the days darken early. The few times I am out after dark, those lights bring joy during the cold, dark winter.

Christmas changed throughout the years once the kids grew up and moved out. I used to go all out decorating, but when people stopped visiting, I lost interest. It didn’t seem worth the effort for Mum and me and by that time, she no longer cared either. Then her passing away on a Christmas Day totally destroyed any joy I had around the holiday. (Tears are falling even in the writing of these few lines. For me, my mother WAS Christmas! Four years later and the thought of Christmas without my mother is still unbearable.)

But I am healing. Last year I got back into sending cards. Christmas cards are time consuming because it is important to me to handwrite a personal message in almost every one and the bonus was that these were Christmas cards that I made from photographs I had taken. This is my gift, my giving.

The year 2015 brought more major life-change with the big move and downsize. Boxes of Christmas ornaments, fake trees, and decorations went in the dumpster or were put curbside, free for the taking. And there were boxes! At one time, I had almost an entire corner of the basement in Bradford full of Christmas supplies; some still in individual boxes, only used once. All are gone now except for a dozen small pieces.

And so, I sit in this new home, this home where I did not live with Ma (except I have her picture placed so she is looking at me most of the day). Yesterday, I pulled out the decorations that are left and last night I plugged in the little lighted purple Christmas tree and today I hung a wreath on the front door.

The few decorations I saved are two stuffed Christmas unicorns, three ceramic rocking horses (I’ve always loved horses), and a few purple and pink ornaments. Did I get rid of too much? I’ll have to see how December proceeds and how I feel.

My emotions, at the moment, are all over the place. Part of me wants a new beginning. Part of me still feels empty and lost. I think I need to find a new meaning for Christmas… new for me because the Christmases of the past are no longer, nor can they be. And for this year, I still choose to be alone.

Feeling Overwhelmed Again

The immensity of a huge downsizing project is horribly difficult to describe unless you are actually in it and can see it. You may look and think, wow, that’s a lot of stuff, but until you actually get into sorting it, packing it, moving it, unpacking packing it, organizing it, getting rid of a lot of it… it’s impossible to fathom. 

And it’s not like entire boxes could be thrown out. Each box needed to be gone through. Then it’s deciding to throw it out completely, put it curbside for freebies for the taking, or keep it. If I keep it, then it’s finding a proper space for it.

I don’t know what I would have done without Nan McCarthy. (I know, I say this over and over.) She has been coming, first to Bradford once a week, then to the new home in Hillsborough sometimes twice a week. So much has been accomplished, but it feels like every time the end seems near, I find there is still much to do. If it hadn’t been for Nan, I probably would have just left stuff packed as I had in the past… and then added to it, ha ha.

A few others helped when they could and got to see some of what I needed to deal with. The overall stacks of boxes seemed overwhelming, but when Nan and I got into the actual going through those boxes – I can’t even fully describe it. The project seems never ending, and yet, we have made tremendous progress. I am more organized than I have ever been in my entire life! And I am so thankful.

The master bedroom was close to being completed with the painting of the walls. Things were unpacked (things Nan calls “frou-frou”) and arranged on dressers and bureaus. One room would be finished – then I decided to purchase new bedroom furniture. I haven’t had a matched bedroom for thirty years. I deserve it. Plus, I want a particular color for my new room.

I spent a few weeks off and on perusing various furniture websites and on Veterans Day (to try to catch a sale), I found a set that called to me. I spent the day thinking about it and in the late afternoon, placed the order for home delivery. How exciting!

Today, panic set in. I have to pack up and put out of the way everything recently unpacked in the bedroom. Bureau drawers need to be emptied, photos taken of the old furniture to be posted for sale on Craigs List, and the room ready to move the furniture out. Good think I have empty tote bins to put the clothes in. Those will be stacked in the studio to get them out of the way for the furniture move. I have to get rid of the old before the new can fit.

The end result will be amazing, but for now, I am in turmoil again. And this is on top of learning a new program (InDesign) to further my work with the InterTown Record Newspaper and with book designing and publishing. Life certainly isn’t boring.

Minimalizing a Life after 60-Plus Years

I am again thinking about this whole aspect of downsizing; what it means, what you have to go through, the difficulties, etc. Sometimes stories need to be repeated. Sometimes you need to talk things over and over before it sinks in. That is definitely true with me. 

And so, even though I’ve talked about some of this before, I need to mention it again as I traverse the maze in my mind sorting through the situation. There are important tidbits to be gleaned about downsizing. We often talk about the need to do it, but when it comes down to the actuality of letting things go… there are excuses not to do so or reasons why such and such needs to be kept. You have to keep asking, “Why? Why do I need to keep this?”

There are many reasons. It’s been in the family for years. I might use it/fix it someday. So and so gave that to me. It’s pretty. It’s worth a lot of money or I paid a lot for it. There are memories. It’s mine. I like it. Think of reasons why you are hanging on to things. Do these items serve a purpose or are they just taking up space?

What happens when you get too much stuff? 

I couldn’t imagine going through all the accumulation of, not only physical personal possessions, but books, files, photo albums, things to work on later, and more, without help. I tried. I really did. 

I knew the move to Bradford was temporary and that when I was alone (except for kitty), I would have to move to a smaller home. I had the years before and after my mother’s passing to get rid of things. It didn’t happen. I’m terrible about this kind of thing. A part of me wanted to do it, but when I’d make an attempt, my brain would shut down. 

People advised to start with a corner, to set aside specific areas of keep, give away, and throw away. I still couldn’t do it on my own. The little girl hiding inside threw temper tantrums. “I don’t wanna doooo iiittt!” she’d scream, and I could see/feel her stamping her little feet. I’d go back to doing the more artsy things I preferred and nothing would get done.

The universe provided an opportunity I couldn’t refuse and once papers were signed on the Bradford property, I could no longer put off getting rid of things. And it needed to be done right away. But I still couldn’t start. One part of me knew what to do, but the other part of me would just wail, “I don’t know what to do!”

I had to take help when it was offered, which in itself was hard because I felt it was my responsibility. Nan McCarthy has proved priceless. While many others helped here and there and gave good advice, support, and sometimes carried things away, Nan would (and still does) come once a week and sometimes twice to help me go through things. She has been phenomenal! (She says it’s fun going through someone else’s stuff.) She is a minimalist and doesn’t keep anything she is not using.

Yes, I could have, should have on my own, but there is something about having another presence to help me make decisions, to push me to let go when I hang on too tight, to just be here as I look things over. What helps, too, is that she will physically take things out to the curb for free or to the dumpster. It’s one thing for me to say I don’t need it anymore; it’s another thing to actually take it out. Plus, if I don’t see it go away, it’s not so bad.

And so, we had another afternoon of unpacking, organizing, finding a home for keepers, and getting rid of things no longer needed. I am so pleased to say it’s finally coming together. I now have space to set up the floor easel which means I can finish the big drawings. (In unpacking drawing boards, we found six drawings in various stages and all in-process). 

I am happy to be getting rid of things. I love the idea of being less cluttered. I am ready to get back to doing art. (Of course, that is still on hold awhile longer as the painters will be here three or four days doing the walls. Oh happy day!)

  

Transforming another Old Writing

Here is another piece I came across while going through old files. It was written after my last boyfriend left. I like it. The words speak volumes and transcend many kinds of loss.

Twenty Hours into the Grief

The moon shines through my window like a huge street lamp. Full, the rays spread out over the land, and if it were warmer, it would be a good night to dance naked.

I can’t, though. Not tonight. Not when my heart is aching and I am feeling such a loss. Not when my soul suffers the fresh scars of emptiness and abandonment. The lure of the moonlight is only a tease of what could have been.

She reaches for me. She wants to hold me, envelop me until I am well. She wants to tell me that I am finally free; free to be me, free to do what I want. 

But for now, the grief is too heavy. Her arms are not real arms; warm arms, human arms. Her arms are not the solid arms that once held me tight and made me feel safe and loved.

How can I possibly think of freedom when I am feeling terribly alone? I want to be held, but there is no one to “snuggy” me. I am alone in this big king-size bed feeling the loss. I can still smell his scent on the other pillow. Part of me feels numb, empty. Grief feels frozen on my skin.

There were things I loved about him besides the “snugginess.” He’d pat me like a cat until I practically purred. He played with my hair with a comforting touch.

He had his own special names for me. I don’t think he ever called me by my real name. When we were first together, he called me, “Girly,” until the other guys at work did so, too. When we were alone, he called me, “Tit-kit-pussy” and “Woofie.” Most of the time, he called me, “Poffie” (his spelling for it although he pronounced it “Poofie”). It was kind of endearing the way he’d say these names. Sometimes he called me “Piglet” or “Pig-head.” He didn’t use his demeaning voice, but I wasn’t too fond of these latter two names. 

I wonder what he calls his new love. I hope he uses new names for her.

Later tonight, the moon will pass over the house as I lie in bed. I’ll be able to see Her light through the skylight. She will remind me of things I am when I cannot sleep during these long dark hours. And although I will not fully listen, I am glad She is here.

I don’t want to think because to think is to feel and be lonely. Instead, I just might float on endless moonbeams hoping to get lost – but knowing I won’t. Perhaps, for now, floating in oblivion would be a good thing.

For over 20 years, my weekends and vacations were devoted to him. It feels strange not to have that to look forward to any more. What will weekends mean to me now? What will I do for vacations? It feels strange. What do I have to look forward to?

I have always wanted to hike, but he never wanted to. This could be my year for hiking.

There are all the art projects sitting in various stages of work in progress and ideas never put into reality. Maybe I can be the artist I always wanted to be.

I will let myself dream on the moonbeams and forget this loss. I am glad he moved on. Now I can, too.

Looking back on that night; that night over15 years ago, that night – I still remember how it felt as if it was yesterday, and yet, it almost feels like it happened to someone else. That me back then, that isn’t quite me, and yet, is me and the same me of today. I still feel the emotion because feelings of loss and abandonment are always recognizable and transcend time. I can change a few words and a bit of the situation and it is another loss with the same type of feelings. 

Giving Up the Paints… But…

“I think I’ll give up painting,” I announced to Nan yesterday. 

“That would be wise,” she replied. “I see you first as a writer and photographer then the charcoal drawings. You don’t have time to paint.” Nan tried to push me into getting rid of all the painting supplies before I left Bradford. I hung on.

But I have to be realistic… don’t I? 

When was the last time I picked up a brush? I did take a few acrylic painting classes and one in watercolor a couple years ago to inspire me to get back into painting, but as with many things, I didn’t follow through. I spent a lot of money on new supplies and they just sat. Yes, I did start a few canvasses, but after the initial work, they just collected dust.

But I think about painting!

I feel in my mind and remember how the paint glides smoothly onto the canvas. I see colors and patterns. Every time I see a painting or talk with other artists, I think, I could do that (in my own style, of course). When I see artists on TV, I want to paint, too. I don’t do it, though. 

But I feel it in my heart. 

How can I turn my back on it, throw it all away? How can I watch the supplies go out the door? 

But… if I really feel it in my heart, wouldn’t I be doing it? Writing takes preference over everything and photography is a big part. And I think about the drawings, too, before painting. So, I have to admit, painting is far down the list. I can’t do it all and with the books I’m lining up to write, I will never have/find time to paint.

Oh, this is hard, this letting go. These are my canvases, my paints, my supplies. I can visualize pictures in my mind – my pictures. But they don’t get done.

Then there’s this: If my focus is divided, how am I to do a great job? Writing is my main focus. There’s already the division with photography and charcoal drawing added. Why would I want to add another medium when I find it hard to finish projects higher on the list? 

This house doesn’t have the extra space for storage anymore either. Getting rid of all the painting supplies would allow more room for the drawing easels and table space for matting and framing photographs. There would be less clutter and maybe the supplies would go to someone who would actually use them.

Can I do this? Can I let it all go? Words have run out. I’m stuck between should, being smart and realistic, and giving up a piece of what I thought was part of me.

But, was it part of me if I never did it?

Missing a View

I’ve been mentioning how the inside of this house is so dark and that I need lights on all day. That’s a huge annoyance which has made me decide to put in skylights.

However, in the settling in and the organizing, I didn’t put much focus on the outside view – except to note that I have the wooded-area brook in the back and neighbors across the street and diagonal. Directly across is an empty lot with storage pod. The owners are keeping it nicely mowed and clean. Unless I go outside, I do not have a view to either side of the house. There’s a window in the door facing north, but no windows facing south (just as well as an admitted hoarder lives on that side). 

The trees are tall with evergreens of pine and hemlock and deciduous of oak, maple, and, oh dear, I can’t remember these others. The green of the deciduous have faded a little, but the leaves are still very much green with a little yellowing. I only have spotty glances of the sky looking out the back and a little open sky over the front lawn, road, and the vacant lot across the street. Basically, three sides of the house are surrounded by trees which keeps the inside of the house dark.

So, it wasn’t until I was away from the area and out of this “hollow,” that I realized just how much autumn has descended. The drive to Concord was beautiful with the yellows, reds, and orange showing up vibrantly against the cloudless, bright blue sky. It was hard to keep my eyes on the road and I wanted to stop a couple times to take photographs. (Unfortunately, it always seems the places I want to stop are not safe spots to pull over along the highway.) 

It dawned on me as I drove how much I miss the view from the Bradford home. That home allowed such a gorgeous view down across the field and up the mountainside. I bet the maple and oak trees along Pleasant View Road are vibrant with color and the field grasses a beautiful shade of deep yellow-gold. But I cannot allow myself to think of that.

(People have asked if I’ve ridden by the old house. No. Right now it would make me cry. Thinking about it causes my eyes to fill. No, I can’t go back now; not for quite awhile. I so loved the views from that house!)

Concord errands done, I returned to my dark house. I put up the bird feeders – at least I have my little birdies to enjoy; six cardinals, titmice, chickadees, nuthatches, hairy and downy woodpeckers and three red bellied woodpeckers. (The latter are special.) The brook is loud with its waters babbling over rocks on the way to Gould Pond. 

Inside I settle in waiting until the day when I can get the walls painted and bring happy colors inside.

Too Much Stuff

“You have TOO much STUFF!” Nan wails, but she also said she enjoys going through things and getting rid of them. She loves hauling stuff out to the trash or putting free boxes curbside. Her favorite motto is: Less is better.

After all the downsizing and getting rid of things before the move, it was shocking to see that I still had way too much stuff. There were boxes that I never went through in two previous moves; items still packed for the past 20 years. What does that say about what I need? I keep hearing the line that John Fogarty sings, “And someday-ee-ayyy, never comes.” Perhaps holding onto this stuff for “someday” really is foolish.

One thing I am noticing is that I can look at items once and not be willing to get rid of them, but I can look through that same box in another week and agree to get rid of some things. Checking that box later will find me getting rid of even more… maybe even the entire box. Perhaps I just have to have a certain readiness to let go. That first, almost a command of, I HAVE to, has me slightly rebelling. This is my stuff. I’ve had it for a long time.

Okay, that’s a clue right there. “I’ve had it for a long time” and if I still have it and it’s just sitting in a box, it’s not very useful, is it. Still, that initial, “Get rid of it,” has me saying no. Another time has me realizing that I really do not need it; it does not serve a purpose any longer.

Then there’s the fact that I am trying to better utilize the smaller living space and my goal is to be organized with everything having a proper “home.” I can’t do that if there is too much stuff. And why should I be moving the same box over and over? If it’s not being unpacked and the items used, what is the use of that stuff? It has no use. And now I don’t have the space to store unusable items. Things have to go, sometimes good things. But if they are no use to me, hopefully someone else can use them.

Waiting for Trades’ Jobs to Get Done

This is Day 37 at Ellen Brook in Hillsborough. Thirty-seven days and there is still not one room that is complete, not totally settled. I just want one room done, just one...  to start. This chaos is weighing on me. One full month plus doesn’t sound like a lot, but I feel I have been in on-hold mode forever. I have been here long enough that some things should be finished.

Progress has been made; little bits here and there. One of the problems is the busyness of the tradesmen. My jobs are small (to them) and they fit me in when they can. While I understand that, it’s also frustrating. I’ll even settle for the tiny bathroom. I did get the new walk-in shower installed, which is wonderful, but because the vanity faucets are still on backorder, the bathroom job could not be finished. I cannot get the new over-the-toilet storage unit until the vanity is installed because I have to make sure it will all fit. The wall painting has to be done, too, and I’m holding off installing the toilet paper holder and towel racks for that (which means wet towels and such are draped on other things). New trim is also needed around the new shower.

Bathroom items are spread throughout the bedroom which makes that space awkward to move around. Again, until walls are painted, I’m holding off adding some special Sasha touches with décor and pictures. 

Unused and unwanted items are slowly being weeded out… a very slow process, mostly my fault in trying to hold onto My Stuff. I’m getting better at it. Sometimes I need to go through the stuff more than once to decide to let it go. I am totally amazed, shocked, appalled at all I own. 

The king size bed finally sold allowing room in the shed – which I immediately filled. However, that needs to be better organized and there are items still on the deck, and more, that need to be under cover before winter. The garage and mud room won’t be built until next spring so the work in the shed needs to be done soon.

Yesterday I made a foray to Concord. A new printer and keyboard were needed along with a second set of bed sheets. Hiking around the two box stores always sets my back, knees, hips, and feet to aching and there was still one more store to go. Lowes took care of those needs and by then I was exhausted. Headway was made and I was able to scratch a lot off my lists. It did feel good to be out and about.

Today is another day at home; another day of looking at the ugly walls, ugly floors, and the messy rooms. I’m trying to remain upbeat, but as the days drag on between real progress, I can’t help but feel a little down. However, in the concentrating on the day’s editing and community calendar work, time will go by fast.

The waiting is hard, though. I can’t do this until that is done. It seems that everything there is to do requires something else to be completed first. It also means that some things are moved a dozen times before the permanent home is found and a main goal to this house is that everything will have its place and be organized. At the moment, too little has found its home.

That said, there really has been progress. I am getting there. I just want this all to be done so I can get back to writing and art.

Letting Go of That Which Once Meant a Lot

Movement out the window catches my attention. The brook runs high and fast from the earlier rain. The water’s fierceness draws me, for a brief moment, from the chaos swirling inside me. My mind is in turmoil.

My mother looks down on me from the perch where I keep her photo. Would she approve? Perhaps not for herself had she still been alive; she loved to hold onto stuff. But I have to believe that she would understand I have to do this. She would definitely like to see me get rid of music she didn’t like or approve of. Yeah, she would understand. She would support me. She smiles at me from her photo.

Today I went through my couple hundred CDs and half… or almost half went into a box to go out to the curb. I don’t know why I hang onto some of this. I can’t even really say it’s for the memories. Maybe the real reason is because it is MINE; my stuff, stuff that once meant a lot to me.

The key here is: once meant a lot. So, just because it meant a lot at one time, does that mean I have to keep it forever? For what purpose do I even care anymore? Many things have been stored in boxes for over 10 years. All it does is take up space – of which I have precious little now. What’s the problem in letting it go?

Letting Go of Stuff

The past is stacked

into a box

with care

soon to be carried

to the curb

free for the taking

Do it!

Don’t think!

Don’t remember!

Don’t feel!

I wrap my heart

in numbness

lest it starts to break

lest I refuse to let go

The past is 

the past 

and not needed

today or tomorrow

I hold myself tight

lock down feelings

so I won’t miss

what was once dear

I have to do this

Too late

my throat closes

my eyes leak

already I feel the loss.

---SW 09/2015

A Walk in the Past

Today in looking through that old notebook to record poems written there onto the computer, I reach the year 2007 and 2008. Here are writings of doctors’ appointments and long waits in waiting rooms. Here is some of the anguish as we dealt with my mother’s declining health (mental and physical) and my own declining mental well-being. I could not be the daughter she wanted me to be and that cut a hole in my heart.

Feeling Lost

Asking questions

I cannot answer

searching for truths

only she can find

I soothe the energies

reach invisible arms

of comfort

of listening

of understanding

I know the pain

I once walked

these very shores

crying my heart out

to the wind.

--SW

Nightmare

Tunnels and rock

square, hard, and dusty

the narrowing chokes

breath and mind

saps all strength

Nothing to feel

but fear and terror

filling my entire soul

I can’t go on

What was this

that happened

the other night?

What was this fear 

that had me trapped

in my own mind?

I fought my way

out of the dream

missing the message.

--SW

And, of course, there are words of past relationships:

But

I thought I was

but I was wrong

I thought he was

but he wasn’t

Was I wrong to trust?

I wonder

but I cannot be

anything else

but what I am. 

--SW

Betrayal

Words cut deep

a cold jagged knife

shreading my soul, 

leaving me questioning

my very being

Hurtful words ripped

through my heart

creating a bleeding gaping hole

filled with tears

my eyes cannot shed

I have become

an empty wasteland

in a body lost of joy

sorrow grows like mold

its seeping ugliness

spreads through my mind 

screaming obscenities

to the wind

What did I do wrong?

My cries echo

through the barren canyons

of my mind

until my tongue lies still

and eyes leak the pain

I cannot hide

For now

I am dead

there’s no hiding

from the grief

of shattered friendship

(From two poems originally written 09/12/08; edited 09/22/15 – SW)

Healing

To heal

I must let

time and nature

melt the pain

My soul

I must sink 

into the earth

where the womb

of the Great Mother

will bring me

back to life.

--SW 09/12/08

Settling-in Goes So Slow

Sometimes I feel it will take me forever to get settled in. Do I like this house? Not yet, not really. Right now it’s just a place I live. I come here because Pele is here and I have to come home to my fluff-ball kitty. I have met a couple of neighbors and that’s good. However, this doesn’t feel like home. It hasn’t been Sasha-fied, and it isn’t what I want…yet.

What I want is taking time. Yes, everyone warned me. Yes, I need to be more patient. I can’t have it all now. It will come, it will… it will… but until then, I can’t help but feel… uninspired.

People ask, “How do you like your new home?” I can’t lie. “It’s just okay.”

A lot of it is a waiting game. I still need to get rid of a lot. I can’t do this until I get that done and I can’t do that until tradesmen can fit me into their schedules to do their part and they are all so busy. I’m living in limbo with messes all over the place and although I have all kinds of tote boxes, some are not quite the right size or exact shape for what I need. (sigh)

One good note this week was that my electrician friend came to change the old bug-filled range hood for the new one. The new one is on a circulator and does not require venting to the outside. And that means when I do my kitchen renovation this winter, I can have the stove moved out of its squished-in corner to the other side of the kitchen where there will be more prep and cook space. That will be so awesome! I don’t like having the stove in a cramped corner and that spot will be much better for the refrigerator. 

Mike also put in a dimmer for the lamp over the table. Now it is a much better work space. We also made plans for the generator which I hope to have installed before winter.

Another happy note for the week was selling a couple of items on Craig’s List. I was extremely pleased that my favorite old writing desk with file cabinet and printer stand found a good home. More things are ready to go out to the curb for free pickings while others were photographed and listed for sale on Craig’s List. 

Some things have to stay packed until the kitchen reno is done and others until next spring when the garage and mudroom are built. With such cramped space in the spare room, having to keep those things in storage takes up space I could use for art. Such as it is – as I said above – patience.

There’s still so much to go through, so much that cannot be kept. I have to get rid of lots more. It’s hard, but I am getting better at it. I want to feel happy here. I don’t, yet, but I will.