Just East of Eden : 01/16/22

Sunday, January 16, 2022

PHOTOGRAPH ON THE MANTLE

When Bob was still here, in the flesh with me, there was no picture of him/us on the fireplace mantle – there was a small, rectangular fish aquarium that we had bought for our 5-year-old grandson. The fish in the aquarium was his responsibility. We were home educating him, and he was in the “F” Study; the fish was his ‘hands on’ activity.

Before the “F” Study was completed, Bob was in the hospital … and the fish, that had been ignored while I stayed with Bob, died; and our little grandson went home with his mother and older sister. We never saw him again.

After Bob’s spirit left his body, in the winter of 2018, I flushed the dead fish down the toilet, and threw the useless aquarium into the trash can.

Then I dug out the old photographs of Bob and I; and placed those pictures on the mantle. I wanted to be able to see Bob’s face from every angle of the house layout – kitchen, dining room, livingrooom, bedroom hallway … I wanted to see our Wedding Night snapshot, also (tucked into the corner of Bob’s picture frame). Those photographs represented a tangible link to a life that no longer exists.

I wanted it in plain view.

Our Senior Pics - 7 years apart. Bob's taken in 1968; mine taken 1 month after I married Bob, in 1974.

Bob’s spirit has been living in another place now, for 37 months. For 18 months I painfully navigated between the two realities of before and after. For the other 19 months, I have been trying to restructure my present life; and figure out where I belong in it. There is no place left for me in my old life – and the new life is still a work in progress.

Restructuring requires a lot of reshifting – like jigsaw puzzle pieces: some pieces look like they should slip right into place … but the piece doesn’t really belong there, no matter what it looks like, or feels like.

So, you have to put that piece back and sort through the other pieces until you find the right piece – that piece will slide right into place. No forcing. No frustration.

In my past life with Bob, there were a lot of upheavals with unknown outcomes. Constant chaos from family members; both sides of the family tree – Bob was the only constant and stabilizing factor in my life, then.

Bob was my love; my life.

Bob was my home.

And I know I was that for him, too. He told me – he told others, in my presence. I knew I was loved wholly.

And then … Bob was gone.

And I was cast adrift on the sea of life.

All that remained were photographs.

Mainly, the photograph on the mantle.

In my new life, there are new people in it, who care enough to want me to stay around and enjoy it with them. That is a new experience. And I find that I am liking it 😊

In my new life. I recently celebrated my 65^th year of life on Earth.

And I’ve decided to purge my new life of last life’s lingering and unnecessary trip-ups. There is very little of Bob’s life left in my current life: clothing, shoes, manly tool shed stuff, ect., was immediately passed on to others could make better use of them than I could (95% of it went to family members). But there are memories of that past life that I must let go of if I am to move fully into my new life. The memories of Bob are all good – these I will keep; not to drown myself in, but to wrap myself in when I need comfort and confidence. The other memories have been nullified and voided by the children, who have changed their names to suit their alternate lives that have absolutely nothing to do with me anymore: I simply no longer exist for them … and they have so totally altered their lives that the life I remember of them, has been politically and socially murdered. They are now societies children, with politically correct social lives and new names. It’s time to box those memories, and place them in the recessed attic of my thoughts pattern: there is no more need to compromise myself to please them, anymore.

I have mourned my old life long enough.

It’s time to step fully into the present.

I can anticipate a future … but I need to fully live in the present.

Minute by minute, day by day.

All of 2021 was a preparation period for this decision.

The final preparation step of 2021, was the realization that I would not be selling the house and moving to the country. God knows I tried! But covid restrictions on realtors was the final break check – moving is never going to happen. So now, finally, after living in Longview since the Fall of 1995, I am setting roots here and making Longview my home as long as I am alive and kicking.

And I’m not doing it “for Bob’s sake”. While it is true that I really have no other option, I have made peace with the situation, and am actually learning to like it here. I do have several local friends … and country friends frequently come to Longview, too 😊

Stepping into 2022; I am shrugging past trip-up weights off my shoulders, and walking forward without a clear sense of direction (I still don’t know how this new life will unfold). But it feels ‘right’. My feet aren’t dragging, and I don’t feel like something has been left undone.

I still get T-boned now and then, with missingness; but the depth and frequency with which I get knocked sideways is a rarity nowadays, instead of an unremitting incidence.

I suppose that is because for the past 19 months I’ve been forced to make major decisions without Bob’s input – and that has made it easier to make smaller decisions, too, without mentally asking myself, “What would Bob do? How would Bob deal with this situation? Where would Bob go to get that done? Why on Earth would Bob do that?” Bob is no longer here – the questions are aimless, and actually irrelevant. I’ve learned to “do” on my own … and when in doubt, ask for advice from friends – or hire help. I did that all the time when Bob would work away from home, and I had to fend on my own until he came home again (although for major decisions, I always waited for his telephoned input). I just lost myself in grief, and couldn’t think for a while after Bob permanently left.

I done as much as I can “in his memory” – and I will always keep love for him in my heart: Bob is my man. But, I’ve got to live for me, too. I do not want to be a walking-talking-billboard for grief. Yes, I am a widow; but I do not want to have my life overshadowed by a cloud of 24/7/365 grieving. I want to be ME.

So, I’m also, limiting time spent with other widows: locally, or online. I can identify with them to a point. But I am not bitter about Bob’s passing. I am not angry with God. And I do not want to immerse myself in the dark depths of despair. Bob and I talked openly about death since 1981 – we always knew the Grim Reaper was hanging around; we knew that at some point, the visit would be made and the ticket punched. Elohim returned Bob to me after his second death in 1981; Bob and I enjoyed 37 more years together, thanks to Elohei’s faithful mercy towards us – neither of us were angry when death came knocking: staggered, but not angry. And I know where Bob lives now … I wasn’t expecting the constant missingness, but I don’t allow despondency to make a touch-down in my life: I boost my spirit by knowing where Bob is, and knowing that someday I, too, will be there. That makes place for joy in my life sans Bob.

And that is why, walking into 2022, I am ready to totally relinquish my past life and fully embrace my new life. I’ve slowly let go over these past 3 years; but any remnants of that life went up in a wisp of smoke from the smoldering embers of a fading 2021, when the last vestiges of my old life were touched with the flame of Change that 2020 ended on.

I’m on my own – on every level.

I know I’m not the only one who is alone: but here, in my small space which has been carved out for MY life, I am standing alone.

There are no sureties anymore, save those Elohim can provide for my life.

And If I am to live fully, as He intends, I must let everything else go.

America is going to Hell in a handbasket with the obama-biden cartel ramrodding their hellish agendas through without proper votes being considered.

The family is in shreds; and the kids seem perfectly content to sit among the tatters and play with match sticks.

Bob is irrevocably gone. He isn’t coming back – and I wouldn’t ask him to, if it were possible. He’s better off where he is, given the way things have turned out since he stepped off Earth.

All I have that represents the life I lived with Bob, is those two photographs on the fireplace mantel. It is not enough: yet, it has to be enough.

As I move into 2022, I have to quiet the memories we shared together, and let the present be louder. I have to consciously step forward without considering how he may – or may not have – matched his step with mine. I have to diligently make new memories that do not dovetail memories of past husband and children/grandchildren. I have to make peace with the possibility that I may not always walk a solo lobo walk the remaining years of my life on Earth; I am placing my life’s unfolding, 100% at the mercy of Elohim’s Plan for me – and preparing myself to roll with the unexpected twists and turns.