Friday, June 14, 2019

TGIF

I had my birthday on Monday this week.  I got a few sweet birthday cards, and many Facebook posts wishing me good things.  I planned on not making a big deal about the day -- I was happy, content to let the day unfold quietly, perhaps a dinner out with my husband.

Now, however, it is a day that will live in infamy, and will color a few birthdays to come, for as implausible as it seems, I was informed by my husband that he thought we should "split." 

What?!  

He was dead serious, and the conversation he started came in fits and starts, him try to find the right words.  He was clearly agonizing about it.  I was asking questions to draw out of him what he wanted to say -- slow, careful questions to probe what could be going on.  I told him to be brave and say what he obviously very much needed to say.

Need I say I saw stars before my eyes from the virtual bomb that was dropped in my living room, on the white sofa, surrounded by houseplants and my beloved dogs?  My chest was feeling crushed, and I could not think straight.  What do you do when something catastrophic is unceremoniously dropped into your lap on a day that you expected to celebrate your 62nd birthday? 

I have two surgeries coming up (thyroid and stomach) in the next two months, so I asked him for time and he agreed.  We are living amicably.  We have dedicated ourselves not to fight.  I will get through this.  After my initial grave upset, I am remarkably calm now.  I'm focused on my medical procedures, staying healthy as I can, and talking with friends.  It's a strange in-between state....

He may change his mind when reality reaches him.  Will I?

A definite WTF moment in my life.  I thought I'd seen it all.  I'm planting a flag on June 10, 2019.  Could be a big turning point.

It's awkward to say out loud, to post on my blog.  You may feel awkward reading it.  There is no need to comment, really.  This is the place I write about my life, so I decided to write about even this painful piece of it.

I am supported by friends and it has been a great consolation.  I am surrounded by people who love me and care about me.  I always look for the opportunities that crises can bring.  I've got a therapist and a wealth of inner resources.  This ain't my first rodeo.

A Spark, a flare,
A fire rises in the air.
The heat. the smoke,
Our eyes water and We choke.
The flames spread,
And Our houses, Our memories,
Burn, burn to the ground.
Trees dead,
Our home wreathed in flame.
Burns till there is naught but ash.
We cry and cry,
And curse Our gods.
Our tears put out the flames.
When all is quiet,
And stillness takes hold,
A new fire is kindled.
A fire of grace,
And of love.
A fire We all share.
And from the ashes We rise.
To rebuild Our memories and Our home,
A fire inside ignites.
From the ashes We rise.
To not search for hope for Ourselves,
But create it for all those We love and cherish.
From destruction,
We find mercy.
From despair,
We find strength.
From grief,
We build happiness
From guilt,
We build love.
From all that was lost,
We Find all there is to gain.
From the ashes of the flames,
From the ashes of the fear,
From the ashes of the past,
From the ashes We rise.

Author unknown.

14 comments:

  1. I have no words. But you will be in my thoughts as I send positive energy to help you find your way out of this duhkha and emerge healthy and happy. You will rise.

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    1. BTW: I think you made a type on your birthday age.

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    2. hey, I'm now old enough to qualify for "affordable senior housing!"

      Thank you for your words -- duhkha is the perfect one. Must retrieve my Pema Chodron books on coping with crisis.

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  2. "... From the ashes We rise." Sending love, as always.

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  3. I hope you and S find a way forward that keeps your hearts intact, your minds at ease, your futures calm. Together or apart. We are thinking of you and hoping all goes well in all ways over the next few months. Deep breath and lots of love. Thinking of you.

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    Replies
    1. thank you, Robin. I'm looking for an amicable exit. All the signs are pointing in that direction.

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  4. Wow, this came as a shock to read. You two seemed so simpatico. I hope this works out as is best for you both :(

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    1. I always put my best food forward, and in large part we were simpatico. Guess some things bothered him more than he had previously revealed. You just never know what is going on in someone else's head.

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  5. Tara, only this morning did I read this and it stunned and surprised me. I hope, whatever happens in the days and weeks and months to come, you find peace. I send you virtual hugs and heartfelt wishes for tranquility.

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    1. thank you John. Your post on FB the other day really cheered me up. I will find tranquility again, I know this. Right now, however, it's out of reach. Doing what I can to take care of myself.

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  6. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

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  7. Follow up: My planned exit date is the first week in October. I'm headed to Colorado to be near my daughter and her family. I am no longer crushed, just weary of my aches and pains (surgery on the 30th) and wishing I could get out of here sooner. All the work, oh boy, all the work. The world has tipped upside down, and I'm not up to blogging at present.

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    1. a further update: Steve and I remained in touch after my move, and mostly our interactions were positive. Steve died on January 11, 2020, from Parkinson's. I spent his last week with him and it was good. I am now officially a 'widow.' A strange concept.

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Yellow Cottage, Part 2

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