Done, and Doing~

How I’ve survived/lived since Chuck’s death on April 21, 2013…

And, yes, I do keep track of how long it’s been. In days and moments and months and years.

Yes, every moment of this life is defined by his death because the only reason I’m living this life as I am is because he died.

Yes, every moment of this life of mine is defined, equally, by the enormous quantity of Love that he left behind for me.

I strive, each day, to sift all that is this grief, which is much more than sadness, through the filter of Love.

In the beginning time of widowhood, by which I mean the first 5 years, this wasn’t possible for me to do. I knew the Love we’d shared was there, but it didn’t matter, because he was dead and it wasn’t enough.

It still isn’t enough, but I take all that is unbearable and impossible and sift it into that Love that he left behind for me.

The only thing I know to be true in this life without Chuck is that, if it is at all possible, he left all that Love behind for me when he died. untitledl

So.

Chuck died.

We were in a rental in southern CA. I had no physical home to return to; Chuck was my home, as I was his.

We’d spent our last 4 years together living full time on the road, staying at inexpensive hotels and at military base lodgings.

The idea of settling down without him, anywhere, freaked me out in the extreme. I didn’t want to be where he wasn’t. Maybe I’d find a connection to and with him out on the road somewhere, was my thinking.

I bought a trailer to go with the new car I’d bought with his life insurance money. No, I didn’t feel guilty or sad about that. I used the money exactly what it was intended for; creating a life for myself after his death.

Before he died, having told him that my plan was to continue traveling, I told him, too, that I would paint my car pink so that he could find me out on the open road. I’ll forever remember the small smile on his lips as he looked right into my eyes and responded I’ll be looking for you. 920592_10152805925115441_611082349_o

I was terrified to set out on my own. Grief is isolating. I knew nobody out on the road. If I did as I’d promised him…paint my car and trailer pink…that would draw people to me and keep me from isolating myself.

If I started writing about navigating widowhood and the open road, in the midst of devastation, if I posted something everyday on our Happily Homeless fb page, then maybe, if I didn’t post on a particular day, someone would notice and reach out to me, asking if I was okay.

All I wanted to do was drive into the desert and disappear. It took everything in me not to do that. On some days, especially now in the midst of the trauma and chaos of our world, I still fight that urge.

My wardrobe, already pink in most ways, became almost entirely pink. Chuck said to me, in his last week don’t mourn for me in black. It isn’t your color. Wear pink.

I wear something pink everyday since he died. My goal is to wear pink everyday, ultimately. And I’m proud to say that I’ve gained a rep as that lady in pink.

I haven’t allowed myself to disappear, no matter what.

As I drove around the country, I discovered workamping as a method to support myself, and I worked at an opera camp where I drove a tractor and learned the New Orleans strut from our sous chef, and a renaissance faire, where I learned about theater and spoke to a Prince and my personality began to shine again.

My voice strengthened as I projected it, as my job required to interact with thousands of guests each day. I started repurposing clothing, even though I don’t sew. A bit of trim here, an old button there, taken from an old piece of clothing, and added to another piece of clothing. IMG_3262I grew comfortable wearing what most people consider costuming, especially while out on the road.

A beautiful pink top hat that I decorated with feathers and trim.  A bright yellow bodice made for my faire days, but worn as a top over a bright pink blouse. Lace leggings with a jangly scarf tied around my hips. Knee high boots with sparkly necklaces wrapped around the instep.

It doesn’t bother me in the least that people stare at me. And they do. Honestly, I assume they’re staring in admiration, wishing they had half the nerve to dress how they please, but don’t dare, for fear of judgement.

Also, people staring at me is a bit of the point.

Too often, widows hide themselves from the world, for too many reasons.

Too often, the words we wish to speak choke us before leaving our throats.

Our words, our hearts, freeze in place, because we fear that judgement from others.

And yes, that judgement is there. For me, too.

Here’s the trick to that.

Don’t give a fuck. Not with anger, but with Love for self and survival.

The knee high boots I wear, draped with jewelry, are perfectly capable of kicking in doors, figuratively speaking. Kicking in and kicking down the doors of judgement and silence as our culture shuts down the unpleasantness of grief that we represent.

The pink clothes I wear are the armor that I don every morning. I refuse to fade into the shadows. The sparkle and glitter I wear ensure that light casts itself on what is real. Shadows and light. I wear armor because I know…have known…since I learned, one month before Chuck died, that I would soon be a widow, that I was in for the fight of my life and it would, and does, require every ounce of strength and courage that resides in my bones. I am a warrior.

I promised Chuck before he died that I’d spend the rest of my life ensuring that every person I met would know his name and who he was, not only to me but to the world at large. I’d get out there and kick ass and take names.

All in the name of Love.

My pink car and my pink trailer, with the color named in Chuck’s honor. It’s my chariot.

My chariot, not only painted pink but covered in hundreds of names and Love notes from chance met people on the road, takes me where I need to go on this Odyssey of Love. It is covered with Love. A traveling tribute to Love.

My two selves battle each other every morning when I swing my feet to the floor.  One self doesn’t want to live this life without Chuck.

The other self hopes that I have enough time left on this earth to accomplish all that I want to accomplish, with my Odyssey of Love. This self wins out every day, if only begrudgingly.

I know who I am, even as I create myself. I know my why, even though I have no end game. I’m completely comfortable living with one foot in the past, with Chuck, and living this life as a fucking warrior goddess. I preferred that life, but this is the life I have and I will, by god, make it as grand and passionate as the life I lived with Chuck.  And, since this life pales in comparison, in my mind, I’m also completely comfortable with the fantasy life I live in my head. A life that is filled with romance and Highland warriors and passion and intimacy and, well, all that I had with a man named Chuck D.

I know I was loved more than any woman was ever loved, by a man who touched my life deeply.

I know that I’m a fucking warrior goddess, and I have much to do in order to complete the mission that Chuck set me on in that last conversation before he sank into oblivion and took his last breath.

And though I am, of course, vulnerable as a human, I am fucking invincible in spirit.

And that, my dears, is how I survived, and how I live.

I am armored in Love.

Curious people along the way have admired my rig and said oh, it’s like a Barbie house!

I’ve hidden my disdain well, but I very pointedly respond that no, this is most definitely not Barbie pink.

It’s FUCKING WARRIOR GODDESS PINK, and it’s my color only, not some pale ass Barbie color.

Said, of course, with all the Love in the world, because I have no room for any other emotion.

Don’t mess with this pink.

Don’t mess with this FWG.

Ultimately, I will draw you into the weave of all this Love, and you will feel strengthened and braver than you ever thought you’d feel, and I’ll tell you about Chuck and we’ll speak of Love and how it is the most powerful force in the Universe, which is how we live on, no matter what.

I promise this to you.

As I promised it to Chuck.

All because of Love~

 

Just…This~

I hope, someday, if it hasn’t already happened for you,

that life allows you to experience

the beautiful intimacy of fully

entrusting your body,

your heart,

your soul,

your very being,

into the hands of a man

who will hold it tenderly, and with care.

Who will cherish the gift of all you are, and call you beautiful.

I hope, someday, if it hasn’t already happened for you,

that you take into your own heart and soul

the deep down truth of his pledge,

as he kneels at your feet,

As knights knelt in days gone by,

and promises to protect you with his life,

as he offers his own heart’s troth to you.

I hope, someday, if it hasn’t already happened for you,

that he takes your hand in his,

and presses his forehead against it,

as he swears his fealty to you,

then raises his head and stares hard into your eyes

as

you are mesmerized by his steadfast gaze, and the truth of his promise,

as he lightly kisses your hand with warm lips, half smiling,

then rises, hands entwined.

I hope, someday, if it hasn’t already happened for you,

that life gifts you with a man to stand with you,

beside you, 

his arm around you,

Strong. Sure. True.

Together.

I hope, someday, if it hasn’t already happened for you,

that life gifts you with the surety of such Love,

as it so splendidly gifted me.

Even as my heart cries out for him in his absence.

Even as my soul whispers his name into the Universe.

Even as I stand alone, facing into the wind,

Alone but emboldened with his strength, his Love, his protection,

Enfolding me in shimmery armor crafted from who we were,

Together.

I hope, someday, that such Love,

finds  you~

Life Through Found Objects~

Where was it, and what was my hair doing when I met Chuck? I do remember the ugly brown, military issue, glasses I was wearing the first time he knocked at the door and I opened it to find a man dressed…and well-dressed, I might add…in his uniform camos. Continue reading

Softly Spoken~

Stay with me, my beloved husband.
Don’t leave me.
I don’t want to be without you in this life.
Words uttered only in my heart as my hand gently touched your forehead.
As my hand glided over your cheekbones, sharpened by cancer.
As my two hands wrapped around your fingers, stroking your knuckles. 733925_10152250642650400_2024366887_n
Remembering the strength of your hand wrapped around mine in our lifetime together.
As your spirit slowly faded away from me.
Rest easy, my Love.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for showing me how to love.
I will always remember you.
I will make sure that every person I ever meet from here on
Will hear your name from my lips.
Hear who you were to me.
Who I was to you,
And who we were to each other.
I will always remember you.
I’ll always be okay.
I promise.
Just let yourself rest, my beloved.
You are loved.
Slip away when it’s time for you to go.
It’s okay for you to go.
You are loved.
Eyes filled with Love as lips spoke these words aloud.
How could I wish for you to linger on when you were so spent?
So I spoke words that I hoped you would hear even as you traveled on without me.
Words to reassure you,
Words that shattered my heart, 12932923_1006554602732807_3717615266670319827_n
As the very air around us changed and Time ticked minutes and then seconds,
And sacred beauty filled the room,
Even as tears fell.
Where are you, my beloved?
Where did you go?
I don’t know where you are.
You know where I am.
Come find me.
I will wish you into being, as I travel on without you.
Perhaps if I yearn desperately enough for you,
You will return…
Stay with me, my beloved husband.
Don’t ever leave me.
I can’t bear to be without you.
Place your hands upon my shoulders.
Wrap your left behind Love around me.
Let your spirit shine within me. IMG_1745
Let your Love beat strongly in my own heart
Add it to the Love I had for you,
And let our combined Love shimmer and shine so extravagantly
That the world must stop in wonder and awe.
Be with me, my beloved husband,
As I live on, for both of us.
I love you.
I was loved by you.
I carry you with me and within me.
Your Love, my Love, our Love, is my armor. 33384992_1687491431305784_6535730087411580928_n
Chuck Dearing
April 21, 2013
11:21 pm

Our Corona~

Life will never be the same again, in most ways.
Shit around the world, and in our country, is changing so fast that my head is spinning around like Linda Blair’s in the freakiest movie to ever happen to our world, back in the 70’s.
photo-1572113394679-f98d243df693-200x300The Exorcist.
Facebook is flooded daily with everything about our new favorite virus.
Fortunately, it’s also flooded with information about free classes, concerts, workouts, counseling one on one, yoga breathing and relaxation, singalongs…pretty much whatever your quarantined heart might desire.
Financially, shit is already hitting the fan for so many individuals and families.
There’s a great deal of really, really, good, dark, humor available too. Recently, memes are spot on in every topic.
People post on fb about how stressed they are, how sad they are, how emotional this is for them, how it feels being in isolation, how tough it is going to the store to shop.
And they’re getting supportive and encouraging responses from everyone around them…family, friends, strangers…people near and far.
All of which is lovely and wonderful and beautiful and necessary and good and how great it is, right?
And I’m over here thinking, not in a bitter way but in a wry, sardonic manner, tinged with cynicism, though I try to keep that at bay, that hey, world, guess what?
Welcome to the head spinning shock, disbelief, financial hurricane, numbness while feeling all the feels, terror, anxiety, fear, disorientation, discombobulation, loneliness, and generalized 100% uncertainty about the future, and every other emotion that we who are widowed experienced upon the death of our person and have lived in whatever time since their death.
Many, if not most of us, without support and with broken and shredded hearts.
My sense of humor is seeing me through all of this.
Life, right?
I want to start up a new business for all the non-widowed folks in the world now who find all of this so overwhelming.
Understandably overwhelmed.
Who wouldn’t be?
A business where I’d consult and help them understand what the hell is going on with them emotionally in these days of coronavirus.
I’d be kind of sardonic about it all with them.
These emotions we’re experiencing in these last couple weeks, and for the foreseeable future are all normal in every way.
Of course, the virus will end at some point.
Our loved one, our person will never return, at any point.
There’s no date stamp for that.
I guess I just want to say to the world, as we all go through this, that I hope you all do continue reaching out to one another. Slowing down. Paying attention. Speaking from your heart to your loved ones. All of this.
Because, really, world?
Welcome to the fuck of widowhood.
Grief is suddenly mainstream, peeps, and ain’t that a bitch?

Love in the Time of…This~

I’m not going to write about what’s going on all around the world right now.
We’re all getting enough of it on a 24 hour basis.
I will, instead, write about Love.
I’m going to write about the power of Love in uncertain times. Continue reading

Tracing Time~

My fingers glance gently over the clocks in the hall,
Measuring time that carries no meaning.
My slippered feet wander past rooms of memory.
That are so far in the past, yet ever present but indistinct.
Are my memories real? Are they true?
Or an imagined figment of an imagination grasping at what once was and is no longer?
The doors of these rooms along that long hallway are open,
But I can’t pass into them…
So I simply pause at each one, allowing my eyes to study each piece of furniture, each window hanging, each picture on the wall.
That bed with its’ brilliant white coverlet, scarlet pillows fluffed…
Where our passion came alive and where we found blissful sleep,
Your arm curved over my hip as we nestled together.
The framed pictures of we two, 20841903_10159244759430441_4566915563922987957_n-300x225
Holding hands, smiling at each other, kissing, feeling loved.
The billowy curtains framing our backyard where we sat in the swing, admiring our colorful gardens and sweetly scented grass…
Our kids’ bedrooms, posters on walls, dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, mixed with clean clothes, no matter how often we admonished them.
A living room colored in pops of green and raspberry and cream…soothing to our souls as we’d sit together in the evening,
Me with a book and you on the computer.
A dining room that saw so many meals on so many evenings, over so many years, sharing our days, sharing our philosophies, telling stories of exploits and hard won wisdom with the kids.
I drift past those doors in my mind,
In my heart,
Hearing the muted tones of bygone days,
And I wonder how life feels so full, and then so empty, and both full and empty at the same time…
Memories of yesterday and a life today, though it is without you.
I’m here and yet, in so many ways, not here at all,
No matter the efforts I make each day, each moment, each month and each year.
And I think that maybe, it’s okay to be here, and there, too, photo-1541694321475-c3078053d72d-400x267
As I wander those halls of memories,
My fingers gently trailing over the clocks,
Tracing Time~

I Do. Over and Over Again~

I do.

Again, and over and over.

Even knowing that you would someday leave me.

Not of your own will, but because cancer is an evil and twisted demon that seeps into the pores of a healthy person’s body and wreaks havoc within.

You left, not of your own free will.

And I, also not of my own will, stayed.

In the first years that followed, as I stayed, not of my own will, I tried desperately to remember you and I.

You, and who you were with me,

And I, and who I was with you.

I forgot how to move my feet as they moved with yours in a slow dance around the room.

I forgot how we moved together in our last dance, there at the side of that long and Picture1distant road in Death Valley, as the canyons glowed gold and music wafted from our car.

That I could no longer remember horrified me differently, but in the same way, as your death.

I remembered again, though, somewhere in my 4th year.

I remembered how to stand with you, as if your body were pressed against mine,

And raise my left hand to your broad shoulder…

Curl my fingers over your hand,

And dance…

Clint Black…When I Said I Do

Chicago…You’re the Inspiration

These two.

Over and over again.

This night, as I remember what would be 30 years marriage…

Blended family, military life that took you away from me so often, scratching our pennies together, sitting on our swing in the back yard admiring our colorful gardens, retirement, traveling together in our last 4 years, that strong hand of yours on my leg, my hand on your arm as we sat a foot across from one another and explored and adventured…

This night, as I remember saying I do to my life with you, as you slipped a simple silver band on my finger… 24174380_1518274098227519_8389293166807736662_n-226x300

You and I are dancing again, my feet moving in tandem with yours.

You are my heart, always.

We are dancing in the dark and starlit skies of the Universe.

Always~