Over the course of the past 610 days since ‘we’
morphed into a solitary ‘me’, my typical days have taken on a decidedly
untypical pattern.
This afternoon, I am sitting alone, in the
home we bought together had had planned to enjoy a typical joint retirement in.
Instead, I am a solo lobo now; listening to raindrops tap-dance across the roof
... and looking out the livingroom window; watching the ornamental alliums
bloom into purple blossoms. They are looking pretty shabby this year due to the
sogginess of the rainfall – and the combination of strong river winds blowing
through, and strong sunrays shining down on them coupled with life-sucking-humidity
when the sun deems to make an appearance. I think, when the blossoms die back,
I will plant the bulbs among the flowers in the flowerbeds.
I had intended to do that last year; but
last year I was struggling to survive, myself; bravely adjusting to the
untypical rhythms of a new life I am expected to fit myself to: the survival of
plant life was the last thing in my thoughts in 2019:
Looking pretty pitiful: as well as being thoroughly soggied with rainfall, and burnt with strong sunrays; they may also be root bound. Relocation may help.
This year I am doing better. I have managed
to keep myself alive and thriving; and I have started planting my veggie beds
on time – I did not seed trays and then watch them sprout and die from neglect
because I was vegetating with grief. I am still grieving to an extent, and I
will no doubt always grieve the loss of my husband’s presence in my life … but,
nothing so far in 2020, is dying on the vine.
And that is due to typical perseverance; and
a reluctance to give in and give up.
I, as well as my gal pals, are determined to
stick to routine in our untypical typical days during this time of uncertain
pandemic and egotistical demoncrat governor power grabs.
Yesterday, was a busy day as I whirled
through my day like a whirling dervish trying to get everything done before
sundown. And I did it!
First off, I showered; then cut
my bangs back – and noticed the gray streak in my bangs has widened
significantly. I’ve been a grandmother for 29 years – Bob’s 1st
granddaughter was born in 1990, our granddaughter together was born in 1995, Bob’s
3rd granddaughter was born 1997, and our grandson together was born
in 2014: I’ve waited a looooong time to wear gray hair like other grandmothers:
and I’ve earned every single one of them with our children’s recent behaviors
…
The gray streak in my bangs has lightened & widened significantly. I like it. I know ... I'm a weirdo ;-)
The top layers are getting grayer and grayer every day – basically just the long ends are my natural hair color. YIPPIE! Bob would be laughing at my excitement :-D
Bob started going gray in his 40’s, and was
totally gray in his 50’s. At 63, I still have a lot of my natural hair color …
but it is beginning to disappear. And that’s okay with me ;-)
With inslee’s ridiculous and unnecessary state
shutdown, my hair’s baby-fine ends will need to be cut back quite a bit when
the salons reopen; and that may be the end of my natural hair color – the graying
of my hair in the upper layers, which are lengthening with each month that
passes, may be all that is left when my hair is trimmed and reshaped. I’ll
look like a different person ;-)
Yesterday, I also deep cleaned the
spare bath: including doing what I can to lighten the dark tub ring
stained by the previous owner. It lightened up some; and I’ll keep working at
it until I am satisfied with the result. God knows, I have enough time on my
hands now.
I did 6 loads of laundry. Yes;
even though I am a solo lobo now, the laundry still piles up.
I baked bread:
Baked 2 loaves of White Bread; there are still some Shabbat Challah Rolls in the freezer for Shabbat meals.
And played phone tag with
Cheryl and Carla throughout the day until Suppertime. They wanted to touch base
with me and make sure I was okay – and let me know they were thinking of me: I appreciate
their love. We talked about our days. We joked with each other. Love was
flowing with fingertips and bonded hearts.
Yesterday was a good day, as far an untypical
typical day can be.
Today, I learned how to reset the digital camera clock
settings – day/month/year … I could not have learned that if Bob were
still here: my frustration at trying to figure it out would have had
Bob doing it for me.
But Bob is no longer here: so, I forced
myself to figure it out – and I did it.
AND … I managed to get it done
without hunting for the instruction’s manual. I am
feeling pretty pleased with myself ;-)
And all kidding aside – I felt certain Bob
was looking over my shoulder, grinning with pride at this simple
accomplishment.
It’s the little things – the simple routine (rigid,
ordered, routine) things (and doable new learning experiences that
make me think a little harder) that keep me grounded and steady in uncertain
and chancy times.
I am relieved that in my 16th
month/18th day/8th hour of widowhood, I am functioning as
typically as I can in the untypical circumstances I am faced with.
Widowhood combined with inslee’s restrictive covid-19
demands could seriously handicap my healing and growth process if I allowed
it.
But, I don’t allow it.
I answer to Elohim.
I answer to myself.
And I am careful when I am in contact with
others – not so much for myself, because I’m not fearful; but for their peace
of mind. People working in the public are fearful, so I do what I can to ease their
minds when dealing with them … and my friends are all older than I am with health
issues; so, I understand their concerns when I am out and about. They know I won’t
be tethered – and I know they worry I may get infected when I leave the house.
I joked with Cheryl that I hope we 3 (her,
Pam, and me) can get together like before, sometime before 2022: she texted
laughing memes, but we know there is a very real possibility this thing with inslee
could go into 2022. I’m the “baby” of our trio. Cheryl is 67, Pam is 65, and I
am 63: none of us are spring chicks, and time won’t stand still until we can
get together again, mere inches apart instead of houses apart: over coffee
again. I am also the healthiest of we 3. It concerns me that inslee continues
dragging his feet while worshipping at the altar of science; aiming for hamstrung
biden’s VP position.
I can’t wait forever for inslee to break with
science and get real.
Life continues to march forward.
So, I try to make the best of my untypical
typical days.
I am functioning better this year than last
year – thanks to Yeshua’s healing grace.
I eat and sleep well – thanks to Elohim’s
faithfulness.
My house and clothes are clean – thankfully,
I have not sunk into widowing despair like some have; and I refuse to allow
inslee’s nazi tactics to suck me into the whirlpool of hopelessness some are
feeling.
Sometimes, I buck the blue mood edging
widowhood and inslee’s iron-fited restrictions, and get out of the house, and
out of Dodge; to do something interesting & fun …
… like going for a 7-hour-round-trip-drive
just to revisit old haunts Bob & I used to enjoy, and to feel the wind in
my hair with the moon roof wide open.
… like hiking trails and enjoying the nature Yeshua
designed and created.
… like waking up early and watching the moon
go down and the sun come up – something Bob always did; and I am coming to
appreciate.
… like buying a cheeseburger and jo’s at the
local minit-mart and eating it on the beach while watching the sunset break over
the horizon.
But, as freeing and as liberating as these
small pleasures are, it’s ALL a pale comparison of the life I had with my
husband in it. The life where I was sheltered in his loving embrace, and laughing
softly as he whispered in my ear what he wished we were doing at that
particular moment in time. The life where the burden of being responsible for
daily life running smoothly, was shared between 2. The life where the workload
was halved – and the love doubled. The life where enjoyment was spontaneous …
and the routine was less rigid.
The changes forced on my life through the
restrictions of covid-19 is an additional loss I find myself juggling with as I
come to terms with the losses forced on my life centered around the absence of
my husband in my life.
Juggling all the changes in play, on any
given second of any given day –centering around untypical typical days.
