My parents left for Midway very early this morning; since Lynne and Bill left Wednesday morning, I am now in the house on my own (except for a few moments yesterday when my parents were out taking all those high-nutrition high-calorie foods I had bought for Jerry to a local food bank) for the first time since Jerry came home. Perhaps it's too soon, but I feel like I need to start learning to be on my own again. Before I met Jerry, I was used to living alone, being alone - it was how I lived huge chunks of my life. There were times I was lonely, but solo was just the way life was. Now I have to figure out how to adapt back to that... but in a place where I'm surrounded by memories of a life lived together, a life I loved. When I moved here to be with Jerry, I was a bit concerned about how our life together would work - how I would do with someone else there. That concern was absolutely for naught: I felt comfortable sharing a home with Jerry from the start, I never felt the need for "more space" - we went to work together, we worked together, we came home together, we ate meals together, we went grocery shopping together, hell, we even went and got haircuts together, and it was never too much - it was never enough, I now understand. Before his first hospitalization in February, for the anemia and blood clot, Jerry and I had only spent two nights apart since I moved here in the fall of 1999, the time he went to the Missouri Sacred Harp Convention and I went to Western MA... and I missed him badly that whole weekend, and we didn't split our trips again after that, ever.
No pithy conclusion. I need to go take a shower: I'm going to work today, back to the cabinet shop for the first time since Jerry died, for the first time since he was admitted to St. Alexius the second and final time on 12 May. For now, this is what I think I'll be doing. Lots depends on how long the shop stays around, and what its eventual fate will be. After it's gone... I don't know. This house was our home; it's still the beautiful house Jerry made, but it's not our home anymore - home for me was described in that old saying, "where the heart is," and my heart is with Jerry, and Jerry isn't here. I don't have a home anymore; I have a house. And eventually I think I may find this is too much house for me, a single woman in a three-bedroom house on an acre and a half of land, out in the suburbs in a part of the country where, except for belonging totally with Jerry, wherever he was, I've never felt I really was meant to be. Jerry and I were enough for each other through our whole marriage, and now that he's dead, the huge hole in my life here is not just where my heart was: it's in my life itself, and I'm here without a circle of friends (I worked with Jerry and Seamus; Jerry and I were not churchgoers or "joiners"; and I'm an introverted person who's never made friends easily anyway. I have no one in this area to turn to).
They say not to make any drastic changes during a period of intense grief (and the "intense" is still coming), and I won't. But I'm thinking.
Hi. I got here from your comment on Jane Brody's column. The following may make no sense to you, but if you can see something in it that helps, I hope you use it.
ReplyDeleteSome people when they are very close to each other sort of merge and share energy, and when one leaves, as in death, for example, part of you can go with him. And it's very hard to live here with only part of yourself. So, if you reconnect with his energy and figure out a way for you two to be okay as a separated couple, it may help -- he lives in you, you in him, or maybe you re-exchange the pieces of yourself you shared, I don't think it matters how you do it, whatever works for the two of you. I think some people never let go of each other, but I would recommend that you sort it out enough so you can feel okay in this world.
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ReplyDeleteHello again: I got cold feet posting to my first blog. I only want to send you caring thoughts and let you know that people are thinking of you. I didn't know that my post we be noted as 'this post has been...etc.'
ReplyDeleteSo to start again: Good advice to me: Wait, don't make a drastic change. Try to wait for a year. When the 'anniversary' date passed I found my decisions seemed more rational and real.
You can take or leave any 'advice' you are given but know that it is written with good intentions only.
I am hoping the NY Times keeps their blog open - I think you struck a chord with all of us. There was no outlet like this for some of us and I believe expressing our empathy and compassion helps everyone.
Peace
GH
GH
Karen, I've just read your posts as of 8 p.m. EDT. Chip and I are also a unit. Like you, "you can't have one without the other." Chip has demanded I stay alive for exactly that reason. (When I express concern that I'll be dead long before the medical community comes up with something to strengthen or, god forbid, heal or replace my lungs with working ones I won't reject.) He doesn't like to hear it. I can't imagine how you feel. I'd feel panic. Beyond that I don't know.
ReplyDeleteBut you are here. We and so many others are really happy that you're still around with us. (I've also threatened to burn with Chip if he goes first.) I know what you mean about that weekend when the two of you were apart. I HATE it when Chip's not here. He's going to a nephew's wedding this Saturday. (Of course I'm not going.) I swear I will count the seconds he's not home. Okay the two of us (Karen and Fran) are loonytunes. But that doesn't make it hurt any less. Make it any less confusing. Or any less horrible. I love Jerry, and I miss his presence immensely. And I love you.