“But you already went to Maine!” exclaimed a friend after I posted my 2nd arrival at the island in just under ten days to Facebook. Angelo and I had been up to open the cottage and stayed a few days afterwards, but when it was time to return home, I couldn’t get past the feeling of wanting to just stay. We even talked about whether or not it was doable…and I decided it wasn’t. So, we headed back. But then I thought, I could go back. There was no reason I shouldn’t go…except I felt like a teenager trying to sneak out of the house. And it wasn’t that I wanted to be without Angelo, I just wanted to be alone and the pull of having that kind of time was strong.
A few years ago I ran into an old friend who had recently lost her father. She told me that her care coordinator advised her to take some time by herself after the loss—at least six weeks. So, she went on an extended trip to London, Paris and Rome for a couple months. At the time I thought to myself, with no small amount of sour grapes, ‘yeah that’s probably what I’ll do, too.’ I was only a couple years in with having Dad live with us, but I already knew it was wearing me down. (Apologies to all my friends who thought I changed my name to Exhausted because all I said was “I’m exhausted” for the last five years.) I knew I needed time alone, but I didn’t know how to make it happen. Now here was that opportunity. So I came back.
My plan was what it always is: get some writing done. And reading. I imagined myself spending day after day reading all of the six books I brought with me and getting lots more words into my current manuscript. I was going to take walks and eat healthy and get some rest. I didn’t even know when I was coming back, all I knew was I was going. I had a plan. And we all know what happens to plans.
It was a bit surreal to be here—at the family cottage—alone. I’ve done it before, but not since I lost my mom, my sister and my dad in the last four years. I didn’t consciously plan to resume grieving when I was here, but it showed up in the form of changing around all that reading and writing I thought I’d be doing. Instead, I began taking care of the cottage.
In an essay in my first collection, I wrote about old dogs and new tricks and how I probably wouldn’t be learning any new skills with any proficiency—and I was fine with that. But I did new tricks! There was a ton of work to be done, including moving all the tools, swimming floats, boxes of nails, old light fixtures and every other random thing that has been collected over the years back into the newly relocated shed. I wrangled a new mattress onto a bed and an old mattress into my car to take to the dump (I had help on that one.) I stayed in bed til much later in the morning and went to sleep earlier at night. I watched movies. I moved ramps, tree stumps and cinder blocks. I planted flowers and washed tables and buckets and took swipes at spider webs. I vacuumed. And every night I drank wine in witness to a beautiful sunset.
Once I had completed as much as I figured I could accomplish, I started to put a list of chores together for the rest of family. I keep tons of lists in my files so I was looking for the latest one when I came across this photo…
I didn’t remember this one. We were gathered for my mother’s 80th birthday. My family…as we began. From left to right Susie, Dad and Mom are gone. Richard is standing and I am at the end--two-fifths of our family of five.
There is no shortage of writing about grief. For every nuance of the process, there is a book, movie, song, article or expert on it from which to find affirmation and empathy. If I had to name the process I was experiencing I’d say I was definitely working through my grief in the best way I know how: caring for my family—as I always have—in the place where everyone still exists.
In the past five years, I’ve had to put aside my grieving, mostly in order to take care of dad, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t felt it. I’ve been buffeted by sadness, loss, anger and just flat out craziness. And this week I’ve felt it throughout my being—in my muscles, in my heart, in my bones. It has been hard, but I’m so grateful I am able to be present for it. Because isn’t this what it’s all about? These feelings? We hurt, we lose, we cry, we resent. I expect my body and my heart to go through it—I don’t want to miss a minute.
And now it seems as though I’ve been here for months and it’s only been a week. When I think about going home now, I feel ready. And not so alone.
Wow.....oowerful. Life always seems to busy to grieve. Glad you were able to find some peace. I loved the family photo. Such a treasure.
I feel you...