A Different Future...

When I was a teenager in the mid-1980s, I memorized a poem that was in Dear Abby. Different passages would come to mind when I was in the midst of different life circumstances. I have had the same experience while coping with the death of my husband and that my life now is not what we had planned together. The poem may have had the title "Comes the Dawn", but the author was anonymous. I'll write it here in its entirety.

After a while you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

And company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today

Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn

That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth...

And you learn and learn...

With every good-bye you learn.

While much of this seems to be about the loss of a relationship due to a breakup, one part definitely describes my life now:

And you learn to build all your roads on today

Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

This is exactly how I feel right now, on uncertain ground, falling down in mid-flight. I look around and see Dave everywhere. Even one of my security questions for my credit union was "Where do you plan to retire?" My answer was "With Dave." Crash. (By the way, I have a different security question now.) I feel his loss when I wake up at night and reach toward his side of the bed and his pillow, only to find it empty and cold. Laundry crushed me because I realized I was folding only my clothes. Seeing one toothbrush in the holder can reduce me to tears. I couldn't mow the lawn because the mower wouldn't start and my fixer is gone. The backpack he carried everyday still sits in the floor of our bedroom, ready to go in the morning...I just step around it. I step around a lot of things.

Our son now is using the overlanding trailer. It looks like it was made for his Jeep. I'm so glad that he is loving it, but I hurt that his dad isn't here to help him wire in the solar panel or put in the water tank and hot water heater. Those were our plans, and Dave could do it all. I hurt that those were our plans, but there is no "our" anymore. Now the trailer is part of Jadyn's plans, and he knows the number to Mud Connection.

I find myself reluctant to make any plans for myself. I have no idea what I will do in my free time anymore. Part of the reason is grief, part fear, and part just plain and simple lack of motivation. Weekends are the worst. Weekends were our time together, usually outdoors somewhere and off the grid. We had backpacked, car camped, and now were enjoying our new overlanding trailer. We had so many plans that now have fallen down in mid-flight.

I have found that working one day each weekend helps, but I don't want to be one of those sad people who only have work to live for. But that's who I am now. I just can't plan beyond this right now. Yes, I do have a couple of "look forward to events", but I have too many "look backward memories" and "if only dreams."

Will I make it? Of course. One day at a time, I will make it. My joie de vivre is gone, but I will go on. I'll figure out how to plant my own garden and decorate my own soul, a metaphor that scares me because I never have been good with plants.

I hope that one day my laugh will reach my eyes again...