Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Intersection: Him and Him

Just let go.  Let go of how you thought your life should be, 
and embrace the life that is trying to work its way into your consciousness.
~ Caroline Myss

A shadow captured my peripheral vision.  As I looked up from the task at hand, a female postal carrier was walking up the driveway, mail in hand.  When she approached, I stopped what I was doing as she said,  "I have mail for ..., "

Boomer and I were dating almost a year, 4th of July weekend, 1998, when a ceiling fan in my condo crapped out.  I believe new relationships, early on, are compatibility tested to their teamwork ability and longevity potential over one specific project.  That day was ours.  Our mission:  replace the ceiling fan in my bedroom.  It was hot, my vintage 1920's condo didn't have central air, and the fuse box was in the basement of an adjoining building; the window a/c unit had to be temporarily taken out so we could communicate with each other through the window from the 2nd floor to the basement via the courtyard.  Was it stubborn perseverance or willful determination to achieve success and make a positive impression on one another?   I don't know which, but we spent 7 hours that day together trying to install that damn fan.  We got it up and mounted fairly quickly, then the electrical gave us trouble.  It didn't work, neither the fan nor anything else; a do-it-yourself electrical project of monumental proportions.  Memory-making and teamwork-testing at its finest.  We had power in one room but not another, then we had no power at all.   It went back and forth with no continuity, rhyme or reason, or full functionality for 7 hours.  We never lost our cool with one another -- not once.   When we finally surrendered, waving a white flag calling an electrician for service at holiday weekend rates, all sanity and cooling efforts were restored within 20 minutes.  We laughed over the whole thing for years, and never again installed our own ceiling fans.
Stormy Weather - June, 2011

An essential and professionally encouraged part of the healthy healing process after a loved one dies whom you shared a home with, is transforming the home to represent you.  You now.  You on your own.  Casa SMO, as it's been renamed, has and continues to be transformed -- visually and energetically.   It's been a process.  A gradual process of bringing forth vitality and vibrant tranquility throughout the house inside and out, something that hadn't existed (read:  Florida).

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day - June, 2015
I was in the midst of cutting down the the remaining Australian pine trees that lined the driveway (read:  Got Mulch? ) -- with a chainsaw.   I see now why men enjoy power tools so much; they're quite empowering and a whole lot of fun.  The men at the equipment rental store were quite impressed that I was intending to operate the thing.   The chainsaw was quieted as I greeted the mail carrier on the driveway,  "I have mail for...," saying Boomer's full name while reaching out to hand me mail.  With neither hesitation nor dramatic infliction, I calmly replied,  "He's deceased."   "Oh, okay," she said and walked back to her truck taking Boomer's mail with her.  I stood there for a moment silently, feeling awkward, astutely realizing amid the hum of the chainsaw, piles of tree trunks and branches, I was standing smack dab in the center of an intersection of life -- post-widow life.  It was like something out of a movie as I watched the mail carrier walk away with my past in her hand while hearing, "Which one do you want me to cut next?"  Turning my head toward the questioning voice, L.G.'s voice (read:  L.G.), the surrealness of what I was witnessing made everything move in slow motion.  I was standing at a significant cross-roads of my life, my romantic relationship life, right there on the driveway I stood at the intersection of him and him -- the past with Boomer,  the future with L.G.  The tree-chopping project before me was the ceiling fan install of my former life.  In that brief moment via the mail carrier, they intersected.  Their differences profound, yet their similarities startlingly familiar.  It was in my calm reply that I embraced the life working its way to my consciousness.

Tomorrow, June 10th, is the 4th anniversary of my arrival and relocation to Florida.  So much is different. My life today is unrecognizable to my life then. The color of my home is only the start.  And none of it is as I thought it would be -- four years later, including the people.  It's taking some getting use to, there have been a few more surprise healing hurdles along the way, in-part inhibiting my ability to blog for the last five months.  I haven't been here before, developing a new relationship, the next relationship -- post-widow -- while the early signs of team work and longevity potential are alarmingly exciting, I teeter with emotion of awareness and acceptance of the possibility things today are better, brighter and healthier than I could have ever imagined, including the color of my house.  That lost little girl (read:  Little Girl), empty for so long, is transformed, at long last full, and seeing stars -- bright stars.

Just when I thought I had it all under control...you happened,
and you brought a different kind of darkness...
and in an instant the stars just, appeared..."
~ R.M. Drake

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