Being Silenced

I feel I should try to write, and yet I'm not sure I have much to say today. It's not that I don't have a lot to say, but I'm being asked not to say it. Who would ask you not to express yourself, you ask, and my answer would be 'who wouldn't?' Evidently I am one of those people who expresses themselves 'to a fault,' and evidently this is not an asset to my character. Oh, it's not that I'm always spouting strong opinions, or negativities, or judgments, rather, I am a person who likes to share their feelings, and it appears a good majority of the people in the world either don't want to hear or misconstrue them...

The most immediate concern is figuring out how to no longer share my feelings with the person I've shared them with for the past 15 years. Because, according to our counselor, a business-only partnership is no place for 'feelings' or emotional interactions. And, through no particular fault of his own, my 'partner' can no longer share anything else with me. So, I must learn to 'stop the madness' of sharing...

Somehow I find that sad, and it leaves me feeling very lonely. Yes, the lesson for me may well be that I need to learn to rely on myself and not others, to keep my innermost thoughts, well, inner mostly. This I can strive to do, and yet, I wonder where it will lead. Will it lead to a deeper understanding of myself, a closer connection to Spirit? Or will it lead to being shut down and cut off from others?

I have no idea the answer to this. All I know is right now I am tired, and sad, and wondering where life will lead, and how solitude will suit me in the long run? But it's out of my hands, and so I wait, in silence.

Why People Don't Heal

I'd like to believe I'm not one of what author Caroline Myss calls the 'walking wounded,' but perhaps I am. I know I'm trying to heal, truly I am. I also know that it's almost impossible as I'm constantly thrust against my weapon of mass destruction -- my lost love. He lives three blocks from me in this tiny little town and we own this house/business together until I decide to sell it and move on. Just when I think I have a handle on things and can work with him, he goes into some kind of 'funk' and either isn't available at all, or if so, is in a bad or angry mood. I recently discovered what's probably part of the reason for this, and it's brought back to mind the Myss book and why some people refuse to heal, be it illness or psyche. Besides refusing to do the majority of the work a counselor might suggest, to get any kind of physical activity, the drinking/sleeping issues, he decided not to take his antidepressants either. So while I understand that it's his choice to remain one of the 'walking wounded,' I fail to see what purpose it serves. Is it so that he never has to take a chance and live the life he says he wants to live? Is it an excuse not to be close to anyone? So that he doesn't have to be responsible or committed to the decisions he makes, i.e. marriage, the B&B, etc? I suppose it could be any of these, or all combined.

But where does that leave me? I have this house -- this monstrous, beautiful, warm, peaceful, ancient, Victorian house. I know I bring my own gentle spirit to it, and I know I'm an excellent hostess. I know people come here and find rejuvenation and peace. But it is SO much for one person to handle, not to mention it doesn't make any money, and my freelance work doesn't supplement enough to hire extra help. If I give this up, I will truly be adrift, because I have no idea where I would go or what I would do; not to mention that I don't feel clear guidance about whether I even should give it up. With the terrible market, who knows how long it might actually take to sell it? I keep telling myself maybe I should list it, because I still wouldn't have to sell until I felt ready. It's what he wants, to let it go, take his half, and be done with it--and me. This is a terrible burden to carry, in addition to knowing I must give up the house itself. And yet, staying here among the broken dreams is just as terrible. What to do...


Mostly I am working to find a way to heal, without him, this house, or any worldly thing. I feel I must start taking baby steps toward freedom and somehow saving myself. Perhaps I will find another way or place to serve in this manner, if such is meant to be. I only know that he will never be happy until it -- and I -- are gone, and perhaps not even then. Perhaps he will always continue to walk with his wounds. It breaks my heart -- so many dreams, so many disappointments. I must let it all go, good and bad, and somehow wind my way to peace. Some days the task feels unbearably daunting. Like today...

Sunshine

I'm at an interesting place at the moment. Feeling better, not sure if I'm just on an upslide again, or if it's due to being more 'at peace' lately in relating to the 'ex.' I wasn't a few days ago, and I think it's partly because he's very inconsistent about his interactions with me and the B&B. I try to remember to tell myself he can do what he wants to because he's 'single' now, but sometimes the responsibilities of this house feel overwhelming, and I hate to call him because that would be intruding on his 'space,' but then I start feeling resentful. It's a cycle that comes up again and again, so at least we agreed to go speak with 'our' counselor on Monday and try to get some objective feedback about how to handle things for now. I know eventually I will need to sell the house, but I'm really trying to turn that over to the Universe. One thing I've learned is that I haven't done real well 'steering my own ship.' So, for now, I wait for guidance.

But today is a sunny day, inside and out, yet the 'sunshine' in this title actually refers to a movie I watched last night. It's futuristic, the sun is dying, and Earth lives another glacial period. After the failure of the Icarus Mission, a team of eight astronauts are sent to the sun in the Icarus II Mission to explode a weapon generating a supernova within the sun in the last hope of planet Earth. Essentially they plan to 'jump start' the dying Sun into a new star. It's very reminiscent of 2001 and beautifully shot, but I thought the film could have gone deeper into some 'spiritual' issues. Part of it led back to the whole idea of whether or not God should be the only 'creator?' People so often try to take that on themselves, often with disastrous results. (Such as my steering my ship.) I think we need to learn to view ourselves as 'co-creators,' and when we forget to go with the flow of the Universe, God, Source, etc. etc., then it's likely we're going the wrong way.

The end of the film was lovely because even though there was 'death' for the physical, the aspect of dying within the birth of a star was amazing. What is death really, but rejoining your energy with that of the Universe? What would it be like to die -- and be born -- in the midst of the creation of a star? Maybe that's what happens when we die; maybe that's what all the stars in the sky really are, life after death, watching, guiding, protecting. There could be a million answers to the mystery. The one I believe is this -- there really IS eternal life. Somehow leaving 'form' to become a part of everything doesn't seem so bad...

*SideNote: Michael Jackson died yesterday, at 50 years of age, cause yet to be determined. While I wasn't a huge fan, I did respect his music, if not always the choices he made in his life. But as I listened to a song of his on the radio today, I realized none of that matters now. All will be forgiven, and mostly forgotten. He is a legend now. He is at peace, and he IS a part of everything that is. Go with God, Michael. (And you as well, Farrah Fawcett, Texas sister, who died the same day.)

Framing the Past

I had lunch with my 'ex' today, at his invitation. We've agreed to go on Monday to the counselor we saw previously, to discuss some issues regarding how to deal with the B&B. I'm sure it's very similar to having children, but it this case maybe even worse, because it's forced us to work together to keep things going until we decide what to do with it. And I, for one, am still very uncertain about that. I honestly believe I'm supposed to 'let life happen' and not try to force events one way or another. What that tells me is that if a buyer is supposed to appear, that person or persons will appear. Now, whether or not that means I need to do more to make the place available, I don't know; I'm waiting for that 'message' to be revealed. I know that he wants to sell and move on, but when I ask what that means for him, he doesn't know. I also know that he doesn't see moving on being in any direction with me, and while that still hurts, I'm learning to accept it.

But at lunch today, we talked a bit about how people re-frame their past. In his case and my case with our childhoods, we remember most of it in a negative way. While I'm sure there was good, we're more in touch with the pain we experienced. With the relationship, I have pretty much always framed it in a positive way, while he frames it as more negative. I can't change this, and I know the Truth is really somewhere in the middle. What I wish for us, that we could both be healed and find our way back to one another, may not even be possible. When the house is finally sold, more than likely I will 'move on,' and what he does remains to be seen. I know that 'moving on' more than likely means chances are slim I will ever even see him again, with probably little or no communication. I have seen this happen in his past relationships, and I can't see why he would want ours to be any different. But with all my heart I wish this wouldn't be the case. I wish that a dream or a vision or something from Above could come to him and help him to re-frame it all in a more loving light. There's no way to know if that will happen, and I suspect the chances aren't leaning in my favor right now.

But I choose to frame our relationship, still, in a positive light. No matter what he did or will do, I know it comes from his past and his ability or inability choose the path of love. And I'm sincerely hoping I can learn to re-frame the rest of my past in a loving light as well. I'm ready to claim my good in life. I'm open to it and ready for it. I'm willing to sell this house, if that's what it means; or I'm ready to stay, if that's what it means. I'm ready to love, but if need be, I'm prepared to be alone. I'm ready for whatever is to come, but my fervent wish is that it might be good. I'm ready for the Blessing. Now if I can just find the patience to wait.

A Tropic Depression

Lush green damp days.
Skies drown in heavy gray.

Mornings limp with moisture;
Middays laze lassitude;
Evenings clasp the sweaty sighs
of a broken heart.

Cicadas buzz sorrow;
Frogs croak woe;
Trapped beneath oppressive heat
My tune fades into mist.

Days beg for rain,
Nights pray for wind,
I look only for release
Caught in a swirling sea of grief.

Sitting With It

This is NOT easy. This is NOT fun. This is NOT what I want to be doing when I'm unhappy. This is what it takes to get happy.

I'm not saying this because I've completely grasped this concept and swear by it. I'm saying it because when I convince my ego to shut up long enough to do it, it works. Yes, it IS painful. Yes, I usually DO cry. Yes, my ego reminds me every other second I could get up and do something else, something less painful, something more painful -- it doesn't care what, it just wants to be in control. Sometimes I manage to (literally!) sit it out.

I've just come out of a lonely weekend. It wasn't lonely in the sense that I didn't see anyone all weekend, but in the sense that right now I'm trying to learn I don't need someone to dump all my troubles on even though that's exactly what I think I need. I'm really trying to sit with them and see what happens. What I've decided so far is that I really don't like it. ;)

But that's what I'm doing. Right this very moment, before and after I write this, I'll be sitting with my troubles. It won't be forever, just for now. Tonight I have my support group, and then I'll have a chance to share. I'm meeting a friend for dinner, so I'll have companionship. I'm going to explore EMDR with a counselor, so I'll have therapy. Everything I need is right on my path today, so just because I'm a bit down, or alone, or sad, or hurt, right now it's ok to just be with those feelings. Or better yet, open a Dove chocolate and be with that. And sitting with a chocolate isn't so bad after all!

Getting Through the Lonely Days

Ok, I'm not sure I have any real answer to this one...it's tough, no doubt about it. Especially living in a small town with no family nearby and only a handful of friends. Since I work at home, both with the B&B and my freelance, I also spend a LOT of time alone. Some days, I'm really good with this. I actually like being alone, for the most part, but there is such a thing as 'too much aloneness.'

Sundays are the hardest. I normally can't get to church because by the time my guests leave, I'm exhausted. Sometimes I go to a contemporary service in the evening, but sometimes after the weekend, I just need some down time. See, I work 7 days a week, not just the normal 5. Sunday was the day I liked just lounging around the house with my hubby, or if we were in the mood, we'd take a drive somewhere. Now, I mostly lounge, but the conversation is pretty nil with only my cats for company.

Still, I'm working hard to get used to living a solitary life, and I re-found an author who's really helping me accomplish that goal. Her name is May Sarton and she was a poet, novelist, and journaler, who died in the late 90s. I had read many of her books a while back, especially the journals, but now I'm finding them particularly useful in adapting to my new life of solitude. It's not that solitude is a bad thing -- I have plenty to do -- housework, writing, work work, laundry, gardening, the list goes on and one. When I'm at a good place and I just do my work, I actually feel pretty 'content' at the end of the day. Today has been one of those days.

But I do wonder when I'll stop missing the companionship, sharing the things that happened with my husband, laughing, cooking, living together. I still miss all that desperately. He says he doesn't miss it; that his life alone is 'content.' I can't help but wonder how long that will last, or would even be relevant if his life were as solitary as mine? He's with people all day long, so spending evenings alone probably isn't much of a big deal. But at the end of my work day, I find it draining to always be 'going out.' I'm just not that much of an activity person, and while I do push myself not to spend too much time by myself, alone is where I'm at my best. Reading May Sarton's journals has helped me realize alone can also be a good life, if that's the life the Universe is bringing. For now, such seems to be my lot. Funny, even in her book, she says we must learn how not to be the 'driver' but to simply 'let go.' Different words, same message...might as well befriend my solitude yet be open to life bringing a companion back when the time is right. Till then....

Protection

When your (ex) husband lives 3 blocks up the street in a one block town, the odds of running into him are pretty high. For the longest time I didn't even GO downtown, because I couldn't bear to look at the place he was living, and know he was living there without me. I wouldn't have minded him having an apartment of his own, if only somehow we'd been able to share that experience. But sharing isn't what he wants, and I'm trying my best of be respectful of his finding himself... (And yes, it does hurt me sometimes...) As a result, I need protection against reacting negatively when I do run into him out in the world.

Lately I've been working with different types of protection so that when I go to town it doesn't matter whether I happen to encounter him or not. Of course, prayer is a good place to start, but it never hurts to give God a little extra help, or maybe it's just God giving me some 'visuals' to hold on to. I've found several things that really seem to give me some relief.

First, during meditation I have a technique I refer to as pinch and twist. (Oddly enough, this works well on the soft flesh inside the upper arm, if you really want to hurt someone!) But this particular pinch and twist isn't nearly as deadly--simply picture the umbilical cord of light that connects your energy with that of another person and work to tighten up that flow of energy. Feel it at your core, then give it a strong twist followed by a pinch. This will keep the other person's energy field from melding with your own, or them from sucking energy from you.

Second, I imagine myself surrounded by an invisible force field. I see it as a field of light, but it glitters like a diamond, so I'm completely encased with the prism-like glitter of diamonds. Not only am I safe, but I'm very happy in my jeweled cocoon! I also take a flower remedy called Pink Yarrow. (Flower remedies work on your emotions, and you can find one for just about anything at the local health food market.) Pink yarrow is especially good for very sensitive people, and again, keeps the negative energy of others at bay.

Finally, I have a beautiful rainbow obsidian necklace that I love to wear when I'm in crowds or around you know who. This stone is used to dissolve shock, fear, or barriers, help expand consciousness, and sharpen the senses. Obsidian helps to protect the very sensitive against depression. It is the stone of the soft hearted and gentle people of the world. Use obsidian to help block negativity of any kind. As a black gemstone, it symbolizes self control and resilience. Black stones have protective energies in the sense that black is the absence of light, and therefore, can be used to create invisibility.

Maybe these things operate on an energetic level -- that's what I believe anyway. I've found they work for me, when I can remember to use even one or all of them before I go somewhere that has the potential to be a negative situation. I find that the more I turn to my inner guidance system and use the messages coming from it, the more protected I feel in the world. If you're grieving, you might give any one of these a try. Not much to lose really, except the pain that comes from an unexpected encounter with the one you love who no longer loves you. Then when you do have that encounter, simply be grateful that you love yourself enough to have worn your battle armor out into the world of loss!

Cemetery Walks

I don't know why I'm so fascinated with cemeteries. I think I've always been, and maybe it ties in with my love of history. I'm especially fond of the cemeteries in the small town where I live now, and one of my favorite 'walkabouts' is through one called Hillcrest. Even though I haven't lived here for a very long time, I feel like I know many of the 'residents' in this place of rest. Recently, a dear friend of mine who died earlier this year was interred there, but beyond her presence, most of my friends at Hillcrest have some distant connection to my house. (Actually, the Jameson family has a cemetery of its own, but that street is much too busy for a peaceful, reflective walk.) I probably do as much of my reflecting and meditating during my walks as I do when sitting still; in fact, I believe some of my deepest insights come to me during these solitary jaunts about town.

Ironically, cemeteries have never made me sad. I don't feel grief there, even for my friend. My friend is with me more now than she ever was when she was alive. I feel her spirit all around me, any time she comes to my mind, just like I feel all the spirits who came before in this house, even though I never knew them personally. They've become my family, which is wonderful since the rest of my 'living' family is so far away now. (Except for my cats, of course!) Over the past couple of years, those spirits taught me a lot about family, and love, and mourning, after I 'inherited' some old letters and photos that belonged to the family. But this is another story...today I wanted to talk about why I like to walk in cemeteries.

I think it's because I see them as a place where everything has stopped, and yet somehow it all goes on. The birds sing, flowers grow, trees watch over, caretakers take care, and I walk. Everything has come to 'rest' and someday I will have that rest as well. The physical part of me will rest, but the divine part of me will live with everything that's still living, maybe even some other woman who, like me, comes to take her walks there.

In my grief, I've often longed for that rest to come sooner rather than later... But then, there are days when I recognize it isn't yet my time to stop. I have to keep going, but I also have to go with Grace, which to me means letting something greater than myself steer the course. I have planned, and plotted, and struggled to build a future I wanted for pretty much all my life. And even though I still have some wonderful aspects of the life I've worked so hard for -- my cats, my beautiful home, singing, writing, friends, family -- a big part of the love that once made my life feel complete is now gone. Nothing I did could stop that from happening, and now I realize that I actually have no real control over anything that happens. What is meant to be, will be. Que sera, sera. I must now slip into the flow, and let life carry me. I have to believe and trust this process, knowing the Universe wants only what is in my best interest, if I will just let all that good come. In the end, when the time is right, I will stop, and rest...and just like going with the flow will bring untold and magnificent blessings, so, too, will the end.

Endings = Beginnings

I don't like this at all. I don't like endings, even if they DO equal beginnings. I do two readings every day -- one is Unity's Daily Word and the other is Wayne Dyer's translation of the Tao de Ching. Both of today's readings said the only constant is change; the only thing we can truly believe is 'this too shall pass.' A friend of mine who died of cancer this past February had a ring engraved for me in Hebrew with this sentiment. I know it well -- but I don't want to believe it. I want the good things to last. I want the love, the happy times, the peacefulness I might feel in one moment...I want all those things to last. Do I want grief to last, or pain, or loss -- hell NO!

Lest you think every day is a sad and meaningless today, I want to let you know that today was a good day. I spoke with friends, I got things accomplished, I have guests, I feel contentment, if not happiness. I even had an interesting interaction with my husband (ex but I can't say that yet...) when he came down to help me get a tree out of the yard that had fallen during last night's storm. I was determined NOT to say anything too personal, not to dump feelings on him, just to be thankful for his assistance and leave it at that. But then he asked me if he could leave an article he'd found about why relationships end, and he made mention of a particular issue called 'flooding.' I couldn't believe it, because of course flooding means dumping more feelings on a person than they can handle. (See yesterday's post!!) So, I told him briefly how I, too, felt this was something that had contributed to the problems in our marriage... But in my defense, I really didn't know any better. I thought he LIKED listening to me talk. So much for assumptions... He agreed, however, that if he wasn't able to verbalize that he DIDN'T like listening to me talk, that was a problem too!

Anyway, while I know this doesn't change or fix a thing, or make the outcome of any of this any different, I will try to do better in this regard. I will do my best to learn this lesson about dumping and flooding and not being a good listener. I will do my best to take my deepest feelings with me into prayer and meditation, and I will ask God to help me deal with them, rather than anyone else. I am enough. I am enough. I am enough. With God's mercy, I am enough.

Dark Nights of the Soul

I spoke previously of the spiritual journey that grief brought upon me. Some might call it growth or transformation or simply change--I see it as all that, but more. I've come to believe that it's the losses in our life that draw us closer to Spirit or God or whatever else you chose to call the Infinite. As I mentioned, I don't know why certain losses open the door to this journey; perhaps it's becoming a 'certain age,' having enough life wisdom to know that it's time to realize there's 'more.'

At first it starts with wanting God to fix everything, then it quickly turns to the realization that's not going to happen. Then you start trying to figure out 'why' God won't fix it. Then bit by bit, you begin to ask yourself if the reason it's not being 'fixed' is because there's something you're supposed to learn from the situation. From there you're on you're way--well, you are if you choose to tap in and figure out what exactly you're supposed to be learning. What exactly does God want you to 'get' out of this loss?

The answer comes in bits and pieces and takes way too long than we 'instant gratification' humans think it should. It comes in many 'dark nights of the soul' where you don't think you can go on, that life isn't worth living, that you'd rather be dead than have one more day of such terrible pain. But somehow, some way, you manage to get up the next day and if you're lucky, that day is a bit better.

Then comes the dark night that begins to show you the light. This is what happened to me, just recently. Of all the 'reasons' my husband had given me for 'why' we divorced, many were about him, but some were about me. 'You're negative, critical, judgmental,' he would say, and yet, try as I could, I didn't see myself as any of those things. Then suddenly, after an upset, I heard myself talking to him. I heard myself crying, yet telling him he wasn't doing enough for his own growth, to help me, to help 'us' heal. Suddenly I realized that while maybe I didn't mean any of these things to sound critical or judgmental, there was a certain 'tone' in my voice that belied my intention. 'Oh, God,' I thought, 'he's right. He's been right all along, and yet, it was never my intention to be any of those things. I only meant to share my feelings.'

Shortly after this conversation, I received several important 'messages,' which each came to me in different ways. First, when I turned to God in silent meditation, beyond my thoughts I saw a sliver of light through a doorway. I know this light wants to reach me, but my pain makes it difficult. I realized the most important thing right now is healing my heart, and I must turn to the silence and the light again and again for that to happen. Second, I was reading a book about 'emotions' which addressed the very issue of 'sharing feelings.' Not all feelings are meant to be shared with another person; sometimes we must take the deeper, more troublesome feelings to God. For 14 years I have dumped 'feelings' on my husband, and he wasn't capable of dealing with them. Eventually, carrying them, and his own, became to much. This book also suggested that one must learn to speak with compassion, to keep judgment and 'tone' out of one's voice -- the very problem I had earlier recognized in my own. Third, I woke early from a bad dream about my husband and I, a dream that we'd fought at the tax office. I saw my worst fears -- his anger and abandonment and loss of my security. I felt sure I would not sleep again, but I prayed to grant myself sleep and compassion. I also prayed that my counselor would have a cancellation, so I might see her the next day. I slept, I woke, I got a call, and I saw my counselor. The 'Force' was with me.

My counselor says that little by little, as you 'tune in' to God, Spirit, Intuition, the Flow, it becomes easier and easier to go with it instead of fighting it. I believe this is true, and I plan to do my best to stay on this path. I will find the 'tone' of love instead of judgment, not just for him, but for all people. I will seek to grant compassion, not just to others, but to myself. Marianne Williamson's Oprah podcast reminded me today that God's mercy is more infinite than anything we can imagine. I will see a portion of that mercy coming to me, and I will say a prayer of gratitude for Grace and 'dark nights of the soul.'

The Faces of Loss

Before my divorce, I had no idea what loss really looked like. Grief was something my family varnished over, so even though I'd lost people I loved, and ended prior relationships, I realize now they were never fully grieved. I have no idea why some losses can be stuffed down for years and years and then finally one day, you lose something that breaks you open and every loss you've ever experienced rears its painful head and demands attention. Not only that, but the one terrible loss that's broken you is like a diamond with more facets than you even realized existed, and you must face each one of them as its own individual piece of your grief. I didn't know this before, and sometimes I wish I didn't know it now! Could I ever go back to being the person I was before, blind to the deeper sorrows a heart can hold? I wonder...

The most immediate losses came in all shapes and sizes, and you might think the most difficult to face was losing the marriage itself. Granted, this was a tough one, and it wasn't until two weeks before my divorce was final that I finally wrote my marriage a letter telling it goodbye. But most days it's the smaller ones that sneak up and break my heart. I miss making dinner together, talking about books, going to karaoke, working on my own book projects with him, seeing movies, cleaning the rooms, taking trips, dressing up, dressing down, long walks, wine on the back porch, laughing at our cats, listening to him play the piano, having someone to take out the trash, his creativity around the house, his sense of humor, making love, cuddling when its cold outside, holding hands, kissing...I could go on and on but you get the idea. So many little pieces that make up a life, and suddenly, almost in an instant, they're all gone. And the biggest missing pieces for me are the love I believed would see us through forever and our friendship. I thought he was my best friend, and now he says he's not sure if he ever was. Those losses have been the hardest to bear, with the most terrible of all being the loss of the 'illusion.' That maybe, just possibly, nothing I believed to be true was ever really true at all. And yet, what is life except illusion anyway? Probably when I believed it to be real, it was real. I wonder why it isn't real now. I never quit believing...only he did.

And so I have grieved those losses, as well as other more distant. They are too many and too complex to continue on with here...perhaps another time. But for now, know that if you grieve, and your grief seems deeper and more difficult than one relationship might warrant, that is never the case. Loss wears many faces, and each will demand acknowledgment. To be truly healed, you must cry for them all. I know, because I'm still crying...

In the Beginning, Part III

Coming out of the weekend low hasn't been easy, but I suppose it's fortunate life goes on. Guests come and go, the house must be cleaned, work has to be finished. So in spite of some very bad days, once again I'm climbing my way out of the pit.

Before I digressed, I was writing about how grief had opened a spiritual realm I'd only thought I knew previously; and, I suspect, I only think I know now. I think what's been most evident to me since my husband left is the channel for love that opened in my heart. Not just love for him, because even though I sometimes feel angry and disillusioned, I know I truly do love him on a deeper level, a level that will carry me through everything, even divorce. But what has surprised me most is the other love, the love I feel for everything and everyone, the connection with people I never had before, the part of me that would never want to put any kind of pain out into the world again...

Yet while I work daily to develop this compassion and love for others, the place where I've had the most trouble is with him. Early on when my moments of anger arose and I felt I had no where else to turn, I often unleashed it on him. Such was not a loving thing to do, especially to someone who had lived with an alcoholic mother, and already equated me with her anyway. I'm not proud of those moments, but there's no taking them back, so I've apologized and try to find other outlets for those feelings now. I think it's just that some days I miss/ed him so much, I look for any way I can to connect. Most of the time he's been there for me, but what hurts in the end is that it's not the same. Nothing hurts more than someone you've been married to for 12 years saying, 'I love you as a person.'

So I learned to pray. I pray every day: to release him, to forgive him, to find my way again, to want to live again, to say the right things to him, for him to find peace for his own life, for me to find peace for mine. I seek small comforts: a glass of wine on the back porch in the evening, playing my guitar, hugging my cats, reading a good book, listening to the birds, notes from supportive friends. I work very hard to stay 'present,' and more often than not I fail. I ask myself - and God - if I'll ever feel happy again, and I don't get an answer. And yet, maybe the answer is the peace that lives in my house, a miracle I'll write more about another time...

And so it goes. From the time he left until now, this is my life. Is it better than it was in the beginning? Maybe there are more good days, but somehow, the bad days feel worse. So I continue to pray and wait, because in the end, there's really nothing else I can do.

Mourning the Now

I'm going to diverge for a bit from my own 'history' and tell you what it feels like to be in the 'now.' In the Victorian era, mourning was primarily about death. A woman may have been abandoned, or she may even have been divorced, but both were rare and scandalous, whereas mourning was respected and traditions honored. Women didn't leave their house, except for attending church services, for the first year. When they did go out, they dressed in full mourning garb (see Bettie's photo to the left). Veils often covered their faces, and large sleeves allowed tears to fall and absorb when they wept. Grief was an accepted way of life after the death of a loved one.

Today, however, while grieving over the death of a loved one is excepted, no mourning regalia is necessary, and the duration is expected to be brief. And with divorce, well, those partings are rarely allowed mourning at all. The tragedy of all this is that losing a loved one through divorce can be just as painful as a death, if not more. I experienced more of this pain yesterday while working at a local art festival.

In a town of 13,000, and still running a business together, it's impossible not to have to deal with my husband. Especially since he's quite the 'figure about town,' very involved in community activities while seemingly oblivious to how his visibility might be affecting me. I stay home a lot, try to make new friends of my own, and look for activities in nearby cities, to avoid the pain of our crossing paths. But yesterday, he somehow involved himself in working the art festival, so while I sat alone in my booth, he sat just across the way in one of the volunteers stations, not so alone. I did my best to shrug it off, sell my wares, be open to the comings and goings of passersby. He helped me set up, came over several times to see if I needed anything, took the tent down when the event was over, but by the end of the day, the band aid was off and my wound was freshly torn. Where are those mourning sleeves when you need them--however, I did find the hem of my dress a handy handkerchief!

It's the times like this when my heart breaks open. I ask myself again and again what did I do to lose the person I believed was my best friend? Where did he go? Will he come back or is he gone forever, truly 'dead' to me? It hurts like it happened yesterday, but while the 'year' of his leaving is up, the 'year' of the divorce has only begun. It is one month today. I still miss him. I still love him. I still mourn his 'passing' out of my life. When will it end? Will I ever be free if I stay here and continue to allow the wound to be re-opened? And how do I stop that, when the pain is ever present? He often tells me he can't be 'friends' with me, because it will take time to re-establish trust. Yet, I wonder, what doesn't he trust? I'm the one who was left, betrayed, wounded--why is my heart still open and trusting, and his not?

This is how mourning feels now, today....

In the Beginning, Part II

My first instinct is to tell you it does no good to scream and cry, but I know that on some level it does. After reading more books on divorce and grief than I can count, I now realize that transitioning from a marriage to being single again is a complicated process. In hindsight, I believe I could have done it better by keeping the crying and screaming more to myself, rather than dumping it on my husband as often as I did. He was certainly in no emotional shape to be able to deal with both his own and my feelings, but to his credit, he understood how alone I was in this little town with no family nearby and few friends, and he tried his best. The problem is, there were so many things he hadn't told me about his feelings, that by the time he left, while he was done, I was still in shock over the loss of not just my marriage, but my best friend and much, much more.

During those first months, I wavered between the most intense anger and the most intense heartache I have ever experienced in my life. I'm not especially proud of my behavior. In my own defense, however, I certainly had plenty of reasons to be upset. I was left not only with a bed and breakfast to run, but also my own freelance work to do, and a 140-year-old house to maintain. To say it was overwhelming is an understatement. Not that he didn't try to help - he had only moved 4 blocks up the street; but unfortunately, having to call on him didn't make things any easier. My emotions pretty much ran my life on a daily basis. So yes, I cried and I raged and I often spewed those feelings on him. It wasn't pretty.

At the same time I also understood why he had left. He just wanted to find himself and be in charge of his own life. I understood, because I'd been there. I, too, had left a marriage rather suddenly, and for many of the same reasons. It felt like I was dying in that relationship, and I desperately needed to know if there was life on the other side. Maybe he did too, and I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the dishonesty and betrayal of love still sent me into a deep grief.

It was from this grief that my heart broke wide open, and I began my spiritual journey. Now, I've always been a deeply spiritual personal, and I work very hard to live my life at a level of true authenticity. But suddenly I knew there was much much more to living a spiritual life than I'd previously understood. It was here that my real journey through grief and mourning truly began...

To Be Continued...

In the Beginning, Part I

So, how did I get to get this state called mourning? I'll give you the short version, in three parts.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I still believed in happily ever after. Several marriages and one major broken heart later, I'm not so sure I do. I haven't even found my way back to 'happy' yet, much less 'ever after.' To make a long story short, I thought I had a pretty perfect marriage. After all, NO marriage is perfect, but my husband was my best friend and, to me, nothing could have been better than that! We'd had our ups and downs throughout our 14 years together, but after having made a couple of major moves across the country, finally buying a wonderful Victorian bed and breakfast in a charming little town, I really did believe we'd finally worked out all the kinks and come as close to 'happily' as anybody ever did. I'd have bet my life on it.... Good thing I didn't.

Having said all that, I should probably add that I certainly had warning signs along the way that everything wasn't as great as I thought it was. Like the psychic in Sedona who told me she saw dragonflies all around me, and dragonflies stand for 'illusion.' Or his saying stuff like, 'I feel like we're best friends instead of husband and wife.' But I thought that just meant he didn't realize how great it was to be married to your best friend. I told myself he'd figure it out eventually, and in the meantime, he didn't seem to be complaining about anything else. So, for me, love was deepening and growing while for him, it was fading away. How can two people be on such opposite sides of the same relationship? Well, what I realize now is that some people are very good at hiding their discomfort, and would do anything not to upset the status quo, until something inside of them breaks and they have no other choice but to deal with it head on. This, I think, is what happened to my husband...

When he first told me he didn't want to be married anymore, I did what I'd done before when he'd expressed dissatisfaction with our relationship: I asked if he was depressed (he'd been on and off medication for years...); I asked what I/we could do to make him feel better; I told him I loved him and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. None of this made any impression on him. He'd made up his mind, I suspect, long before he shared the finality with me and that was that. He wanted out, he wanted a divorce, and nothing I said was going to change how his decision. That's when I started crying and screaming...

To be continued.... ;)

A Time to Mourn

If you've happened upon this blog and are wondering why anyone would want to write - or read! - about mourning, here's an invitation to stay tuned and find out. You may even wonder what kind of loss - or losses - I'll be writing about. Who or what did I lose; how long ago did it happen; am I just a person who refuses to let go of the past and move on, or is there really something relevant about understanding and taking the time to mourn?

My personal feeling is that grief and mourning have been relegated to a 'let's not talk about it' place in our society, especially with regard to situations such as divorce or broken relationships, where everyone expects you to simply 'get over it' and 'move on.' When my own husband left me rather suddenly a little over a year ago and I realized I was slipping into deep grief, I searched and searched for books and web sites dealing with the loss of a relationship through separation or divorce. I found lots of information on these topics, but nothing that clearly explained the process of grieving that would simply go on and on and on. Little by little I did find material, so over the next few weeks, I'll be posting links and titles of books that hopefully might help someone else on their own journey.

I've also become quite interested in the process of 'mourning' itself, and the differences between grief and mourning. I'll be writing about this with some helpful input from some of my favorite source material.

If you'll notice the picture posted with the blog, you can see just how different mourning was - especially for women - in the 19th century than it is today. Elizabeth 'Bettie' Jameson Reid was the sister of the gentleman who originally owned my Victorian home. She lost two husbands, and this photo of her in full mourning regalia was taken after the death of her second, in 1884. She was only in her mid-forties, never remarried, and perhaps never again wore any color other than black, which was typical for some widows of that period. I hope to explore these old customs as well relate how these dead Victorian 'friends' of my home have helped me in my own healing.

I invite you to join with me in this 'Mourning Song,' to share what Kahlil Gibran refers to as the deep sorrow carved into us so we may hold deeper joy. Though still in the midst of my own journey, I eagerly await that deeper joy.