Posts Tagged ‘surrender’

IMG_1501 I’ve found some things I wrote but never posted. Here’s one.

September 21, 2014  I was in a meditation circle today and the last thing that came to me were the words, “discarding widow’s weeds”. The message was so clear I had to pay attention to it. I wondered, what ARE widow’s weeds? When I got home, I googled widows weeds and found a book titled, Widows Weeds and Weeping Veils, and ordered it.

I discovered that weeds (waed) is Old English for garment. In Victorian times, a widow would wear mourning dress for 2 to 4 years. Queen Victoria led the example for what would be the Victorian style of mourning the dead when her husband, Albert, died in 1861. She wore black for the rest of her life. When she died in 1901 the style of mourning slowly changed. Another reason they were called widows weeds is that the lightweight black crepe fabric most often used to make the garments would start to fade after a lot of wear and look rather worn. Of course, there were many elaborate garments made in the style of the day in all black that were quite beautiful with lots of detail.

The Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art had an exhibit that opened in October 2014 called, Death Becomes Her, A Century of Mourning Attire, exhibiting clothes and accessories from 1815 to 1915. Something’s up with all this – at least for me!

There was etiquette and prescribed manners to mourning during that time. First of all, death was a common occurrence in the culture and was discussed openly. Death occurred most often in the home, not in a hospital. It was present in daily life. We have gotten so far away from this in today’s world. There were signs that let everyone know a death had occurred – from putting black crepe on the front door, to the family dressed in black. There were specific rules to follow and even funeral foods served at home following the burial. Since the time for mourning was observed for years, the stages of mourning were expressed in the style and color of dress – from black to shades of grey and sometimes mauve. The recommended time for mourning differed for men, women and children and whether it was a spouse, child or relative that had died. Women had the primary responsibility for expressing the grief of the family through what they wore. Widows, especially, had to mourn longer and limit their social activities.

When I found out my husband had died, I thought . . . widow, I’ve never done that before. Even the word sounds strange. In our society today, there are mostly not customs in place to acknowledge that grieving takes time. The Jewish faith has 7 days, 30 days and 1 year rituals that I think are good and so helpful with the process of grieving. It’s not something one gets over and moves on in a speedy manner.

I discovered that when the third anniversary of my husband’s death came around, I was ready to move away from so much remembrance and let go of the grief that would arise every so often. Another woman friend I talked to told me the same thing, that at year three after her husband’s death she was ready to move on.  A friend told me it took her mother 5 years before she could make major changes to the house after her husband died. For myself, that didn’t happen, as my sister died a few weeks after the third anniversary of my husband’s death – which put me in a place of mourning and change all over again.

Who knew this process took so long. Now more than 5 years along, I am ready to move on and am open to a new relationship.  At the same time, I find myself diving deeper into the past and learning more about the culture of mourning we had a hundred years ago. Moving forward and going back. There is something for me to bring forward. It has yet to be revealed. Stay tuned.



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I took one of Mike’s sarongs with me on my trip to Bali.  We stayed for two nights at a resort on the ocean near the island of Manganyan, known for the best  snorkeling – amazing fish in wild colors and beautiful coral.  We spent a day on the water riding out to the island and snorkeling in two different areas.  We got soaked in a rainstorm mid-day.  Back at the resort, I hung my sarong up to dry . . . and left it behind by mistake when we left the next morning.  Although it turned out it really wasn’t a mistake.  In fact, I had a bit of premonition that it might happen when I packed the sarong.  I obviously needed to leave a bit of Mike in Bali.  It felt right.  Mike and I had talked about living there part-time while he worked on a project in Australia. It was to be his last time working at a project site.

I’ve been back from Balifor two months.  It seems shorter than that.  I went with the intention to give myself a gift of a break from all that has occurred the past 2 plus years.  Unplugging and going to the flip side of the world is a real break from the day to day.  And such a beautiful place to do it – with an incredibly wonderful group of girlfriends.

Since coming back from Bali, I discovered that I have been in a fog since Mike split this earth scene.  A friend said it is a healing fog – cushioning the shock.  It’s been a year and 8 months.  The fog is lifting, and I am grieving again.  Since all emotions are good, this must be the next step in accepting the change that has occurred with Mike being gone.  I find myself weepy at odd times.  I know to just let it out.  I don’t spend time figuring out why.  More diving to the depths to release the grief and allow greater healing to occur.  What I learned in Bali with my girlfriends when one would start getting teary . . . blubbering is good.

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It’s been quite a while since I added a post.  In mid-September, I attended my annual WomanSpirit retreat – 5 wonderful days among the redwoods with girlfriends and 100 other women.  Last year, Mike helped us load up the car and then he stayed home and relaxed.  This year, I took Mike with me – bringing his drum to play, and thinking about him a lot.  A psychic friend at the retreat told me Mike was standing right next to me, so I guess he did tag along.  I thought I would write about this after our retreat but I wasn’t ready to do so.

October 21st was the anniversary of Mike making his sudden transition – exiting his earth suit.  I didn’t realize what a hard day that would be.  I was grateful I had a dinner scheduled with friends that evening.  I thought I would write something that day, however, I discovered there was still much to be processed before I could write again. At this point, a year had passed – beyond the “remembering what Mike was doing last year at this time”.  So much for it being easier, it just seems more final.  I think a part of me has been in shock all year.  Now the reality and more grieving are present.  

November 24th was Mike’s birthday.  Last year, I had bought a Kindle a few months before his birthday and was looking forward to give it to him as he loved to read. The Kindle sat in the drawer for a year.  I didn’t know who to give it to.  In November, I had to file some papers with the county clerk.  The gal behind the counter was telling me about a drawing they were having in the office and the prize was a Kindle.  She really wanted it – she loved to read.  It seemed like the signal to me, and a week later I went back to see her and gave her the Kindle.  I was surprised that I cried afterwards. 

We celebrated Christmas out of town this year.  I didn’t want to repeat our usual traditions at home that had included Mike.  My daughter and I went to Santa Fe for the week which was very relaxing, with help from the massages at the hotel spa.  I rarely stop and rest – something Mike was really good at.  We visited with family and friends, walked around the square, checked out shops and museums, and enjoyed local restaurants.  I thought I would write this blog while I was there – but no, it was time to just stop.  Mike would have been proud of me.

I’ve spent some time going through photos of the past few years.  Mike didn’t like to get his photo taken but I did manage to have some taken.  I even had photos taken that I thought I would send as a Christmas or New Year’s card.  That never happened, although now I can show them all with no complaints from Mike, just lots of memories.


Christmas 2006 Family Picture

Mike's Curry Dinner - Yum. May 2008

Mike's favorite spot on the deck. May 2008


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I’ve been pondering the question of whether I should continue to wear my wedding band, or . . . why do I continue to wear my wedding band?  When I got divorced from my first husband, I willingly took off my ring.   It’s not like that this time.  When Mike and I arranged our wedding in a week, he insisted on getting wedding bands for both of us.  I thought it would take too long to get them ordered, etc.   We both found rings at the first store we shopped.  Mike’s band fit perfectly.  I had mine resized after the ceremony.  Is there a time limit on how long to wear my ring?  It goes so perfectly with the solitaire that was his mum’s.

It’s weird.  I wear my wedding rings and think of Mike.  I see Mike all around me – his furniture in every room, in some rooms it’s all his furniture.  Our furniture melded together when we merged our lives. So did our kitchen pots & pans, knives and dishes. A good friend said to Mike, “Didn’t you know you were meant to be together, since your furniture goes so well together?”  Now I am left with the furniture – and no Mike.  Don’t get me wrong; I love the furniture and everything in the kitchen.  I just wish I had Mike instead.  (Here’s that magical thinking Joan Didion wrote about.)  It feels like I have the leftovers, no matter how wonderful those things are.

Speaking of Joan Didion, I read her book, The Year of Magical Thinking, two years ago and last year, I read Christopher Buckley’s, Losing Mum and Pup. Reading these books turned out to be preparation for where I am now.  Both books have provided me with references and ways to think about my experience of loss – and the process – of time and thoughts and questions that arise.

When I write these posts, I mull over the ideas and the words to use.  Weeks have gone by thinking, writing, adding, deleting, rewriting.  For now, I’m letting go of the question about wearing my rings.  I’m done focusing on this –  time to move on. The answer will be revealed in its right way and right time.  When I take my wedding rings off, there’s an indentation that remains on my finger. . . just like Mike has left an impression on my heart that will always be there.

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This last week has been transforming, cathartic, sad, grieving, digging up soil that hadn’t been turned yet . . . turning up items of Mike’s that I’d stuffed in drawers – till later.  I had shelves and rods installed in the master closet a week ago.  Which meant I had to empty the closet.  This also meant that I had to go through everything in the closet.  No more waiting.  As I put things away, I cried, wishing Mike were here.  I’m washing lots of clothes as I sort through it all – what to keep, what to pass on.  Cleaning.  Clearing.  Working in my closet.  Seems like inner work to me.  Feels like it, too.  Lots of greiving.  Changing the inside as I change the outside.  

After a week plus of closet work, I found myself drawn to clean out my email in and out boxes.  My inbox messages had been filed a couple months ago, but I had not cleared the outbox since before Mike passed on.  I found emails I had sent to him and a few from him – more dipping into the depths of what was. . . that is no longer.  I cried and pushed the delete button on the emails.  There’s no deleting him from my heart.

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In the Goo

When I was first reeling from the news of Mike’s death, the image that came to mind was of turning into goo – just like a caterpillar does.  It deconstructs in the cocoon and melts into goo.  The imaginal cells then move into action to reform the goo into a butterfly.  I was pushed into the goo.  I feel like I am still in the goo now.  Sometimes I feel like I have an inkling of what’s next, that my imagination, my imaginal cells are creating something new.  It’s not yet clear, it’s still mostly goo.

A few weeks later, a second image came to mind . . . I was flattened like Bozo the Clown.  When I was a child, we had a blow-up punching bag of Bozo the Clown.  You could punch it to the ground, and it would right itself because of the weighted bottom.  I feel like I was punched to the ground.  There are times when it seems I am righting myself, and other times when I am flattened again.  Bozo always came back to standing up and I know I will, too.

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Erasing the Blackboard

All the plans – such as gatherings with friends, the dreams – retiring to Hawaii, the trips we were planning – to visit Mike’s sister and husband in the UK and at their house in France, to visit NYC which Mike had never been to – even though he’d lived or traveled in over 49 countries.  All these and many more desires that we had talked about . . . I now am erasing from the blackboard.  Those plans don’t apply now.  Well, some do – I will still go visit friends in NYC, and visit his sister & husband in the UK and France – just not with Mike.  We talked about going to Esalen Institute in Big Sur – he had been and said it was so wonderful.  Maybe I will go . . . and, it will be different without him.

In the book, Spiritual Liberation, by Michael Beckwith, he says:  “Surrender is a bold spiritual stance, the stance of a spiritual warrior, because what we are surrendering to is the next stage of our evolution.”  I am surrendering to a new next stage of my evolution, wiping the blackboard clean to start again.

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