Letters into the Universe~

I was sick during the entire 12 days of Christmas. And counting. I lost last Tuesday, thinking it was still Monday, when it was actually Wednesday. Also, I thought last year was 2019 already.

I could blame illness. Widows Fog. General lack of interest in Time itself. So many things.

I’m so out of it.

What I choose to blame is that my creative brain is in process, and that kind of takes over.

Let’s go with that.

I’ve been spending the last month, when my consciousness has been engaged at all, in developing my latest project for my Odyssey of Love.

Love is, in the most serious way, the only focus of my life.

It’s what keeps me sane. Remembering Chuck’s Love for me, cultivating Love in my here and now world.

I’m inviting all of you reading this to join me in this project I’m calling “Letters to Love”.

Our world is starved for connection.

Craving connection.

Where did it go? We know it’s still here, with us. Because Love is energy, right? And Love is what remains after our person dies.

Hence my new project, Letters to Love.

I’m inviting everyone…the widowed world and everyone else…to write a Letter to Love and send it out into the Universe. Letters with questions and doubts about Love. Philosophies about Love. Quotes of Love. Anything and everything you’ve ever thought about Love.

Get a piece of stationary, or tear a piece of paper out of a notebook, grab a pen, and let the words flow from your heart into your hand and onto the paper. Write it out. Ask your questions. Share your philosophy. Just write.

And then take the paper and fold it gently and put it in an envelope and send it into the Universe, with a postal address for Arizona. 

Start it “Dear Love”.

Address it to “Letters to Love, c/o Alison L Miller, POB 2681, Florence AZ 85132

There is something magical about doing such a small but significant act as letter writing, don’t you think? It’s a lost art, for certain.

I’m resurrecting the art, and asking you to join me in it.

Write a letter to Love. Write several letters to Love over the next year.

You just might get a response.

Be part of my Odyssey of Love.

Be part of the magic that happens when Love is present.

Because Love is real, we all wonder about it, and it is what remains, beyond anything else~

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Words in a Book, From the Grave~

St Thomas Aquinas said that Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility. It is therefore able to undertake all things. To hear your laugh again did wonders for my heart. I feel so deeply for you and want you to be as happy and fulfilled as you can be.
I know that Betty is now free of pain, is with Kysa, and both are celebrating their new life.
I know that love is a powerful emotion and if anything can help, it is love.
Together, in love and through love, we will get through this difficult time.

For most of our 24 years together, my beloved husband, Chuck, and I kept a journal for Love Notes to each other. We did this instead of exchanging cards. I’d write a note to him, a page maybe, and then place it on his pillow for him to find. Or he’d write a note to me before leaving TDY (military travel) and put it on my pillow to find and read while he was gone.
Our Love Notes journal has traveled with me for all the years since Chuck died. Mostly I haven’t opened it; it’s been too painful. But it resides snugly with his flag and cremains, within hands reach each night, whether I’m in my trailer or in a room somewhere.
A few nights ago I opened it again. Just read the first couple entries I told myself. That much is bearable.
Our first few entries began the same year my mom and brother died. Each of them had a different kind of cancer. My younger brother died, and when I called my sister to tell her that our brother had died, she told me something was wrong with my mom. Six months later my mom died. Chuck was newly retired from the military, unable to find a job, money was tight, and death seemed all around us. It was an impossibly stress-filled time.
The quotes above are Chuck’s words that he wrote to me in the first two entries of our Love Notes journal. He writes the words about my brother and mom, about grief, about death…but he is speaking to me from the grave, isn’t he? Because the words he wrote are what he believed, they tell me his concept of the afterlife, his fervent belief in the power of Love, and yes and most especially, what he wanted for me then, what he would want for me now. untitledvv.png
These words are so very important because I’ve agonized since Chuck’s death, trying to remember what he believed of an afterlife. I know we must have had numerous conversations about that, and about a Higher Power but I can’t recall any such conversations. I don’t know what I believe and it has literally sickened me that I may not ever see him again, that maybe our 24 years is what we had and that’s it and it’s done and over and I can’t bear that thought. I just can’t.
Within those sentences, within those words that I read night after night so that I can memorize them into my heart…I read them and I physically felt my heart begin to pound. Here it is, I thought, here they are…his words Chuck’s words his beliefs here they are! I don’t need to try to remember any longer because they’re right here to read, in a tiny journal of Love Notes, words that were written from him to me over 20 years ago.
His words echo what my heart and my instinct have told me continually since I began my Odyssey of Love. That Love is all that matters, that with love and through Love, I can get through this. It’s what I have left of him and what I live daily, mile after mile, year after year.
Chuck spoke to me from the grave yesterday, powerful words on the pages of a little book covered in stars and moons. He spoke to me in the here and now, from a day in the past, and told me what he believed and what he hoped for, and what he wanted for me, and each and every one of his words are what he would write to me today, as I widow my way.
Love is powerful. Love is what he and I shared for 24 years and Love is what he left behind for me and Love is all that matters to me now and forever. We were Love and now I am Love.

The Shapes of Precious Things~

My fingers lightly grazed your arm,
Hairs tickling sensitive tips.
They slid along your shoulders,
Feeling their breadth and strength.
My hips tucked themselves into yours,
As we slept.
Your arm curled behind your back
To pull me more snugly into you.
Our bodies tucked and curved into one another, one passion filled night after another.
Toes touching as we drifted to sleep. Or pinkie fingers twined together. Hands clasped.
We always touched as we nodded off into dreams.
How long ago is forever?
My body moves restlessly through these without you nights,
In this widow life…
Pillows tucked into my own curves,
My hips, my breasts, seeking your body.
My head rests upon your 15-year old pillow.
Will I, at some point, feel the imprint of your head there,
Comforting me?
My one arm curls under the pillow, hand stretched out to the side,
As my legs tuck up, as if into yours.
One hand reaches out to the rectangular box covered with images of you alive and healthy,
Pictures with edges curling from time and wear.
So easily could I lift the top and dig my hands inside to free the gray ashes…what remains of you…
Dig my hands into the mix of gray remains and dead flowers,
Spread them upon the cushions where I sleep,
And coat my lonely body, in what remains of you.
But I don’t.
That would be weird. Right?
My other hand comes to rest on a shape that I trace as a triangle.
Red white and blue.
A simple triangle.
I see it in my mind’s eye, in the darkness, this triangle that has traveled so many miles with me.
Fingertips slide along the neat edges of the hem along one side.
This part is blue.
They glide upwards to the tip and follow it down to find a raised star shape.
This part is white.
I spell out s-t-a-r as I brush the shape lightly…
There is the very slight sound of a paper crinkling…a note you gave me in our early years, found after your death and tucked into a fold of the triangle.
Sunshine…like a beautiful flower, you always warm my heart. With love always, Sarge.
A small round disc makes a faint outline through the fabric…
A USAF coin, gifted to our son in Basic Training, gifted to me by our son.
MSgt Dearing. Recognition. Memory. Honor.
I confess…sometimes my arms pull that triangle into my chest
As I seek elusive slumber,
And my mind drifts back to our nights together, bodies curved into one another.
No worry about the tears blinding my eyes; the dark night has already done that.
No stopping the stitching spasms rocking my heart and soul.
It’s night, and I can let the feels be whatever they may be.
I clutch the colors more tightly to my chest,
Try to soften the tension in my body and let my mind drift, drift, drift…
Back to all of our nights and our days and nights again as our years played one into the other,
And I was loved, and I loved.
My body curls into yours in my dreams…
And I drift….