It’s nearing 8 months since Lisa drew her final breath here in the physical world, and nothing about my life has been the same since. In fact, everything has changed and literally nothing feels as good as it used to, sleep, exercise, music, nature, food, etc. The joy of simple everyday things remains elusive. When it comes to grief, we lose our loved ones over and over, daily, for the rest or our lives, through the endless sudden realizations that our person is gone. It happens every morning when we wake, or when we pass a photo, or hear a song, smell a smell, wear a shirt, the security of our lives suddenly shaken by these recurrent, sobering reality checks. There isn’t anywhere to hide from the loss or loneliness. It always finds you.
After Lisa passed I knew I had to return to NY to live. I had no one in NH except a few casual tennis friends I made through the USTA New England social league. My son is living in Harlem and very close old friends, folks I’ve known for well over 30 years, remain in Brooklyn. I need them all desperately, and wanted to be near enough to grab what enriches me still in the city with an easy escape to the country to live a quality life. Proximity to nature is really important to me, as is quiet and peace, and while my 30 years in Brooklyn were amazing, I couldn’t go back to that lifestyle at this stage. I’m past being ok with the limitations that come as a trade for the access gained by living in the city.
I spent several months driving between Upstate NY and NH looking at houses, focusing on the Kingston area for it’s vibrant creative scene and proximity to all the things. I saw a bunch of places in Kingston, but nothing that checked all the boxes until I widened my search North a bit. A newly renovated 50’s ranch in Saugerties, NY eventually found me and I closed in February.
Timing is everything. I closed on a Thursday, moved that Saturday, and was laid off from my job with 15 other employees the following Tuesday. Nice. Honestly I was just thankful to have made it out of NH by the skin of my teeth. If the timing had not been in my favor I’d have lost the house and found myself stranded, alone and jobless in NH. I’m happily back in NY State in my little hiding spot for whatever is left of my life, but unemployed. Win some, lose some — nothing matters much after saying goodbye to Lisa. I find I’m hardened to challenge now. It’s all just life, and there are few pains left in the world that I fear. Death is not one of them. I’m fortunate to have enough savings to live on for a short time as I reinvent myself here in this new place, but tick tock. I missed the billionaire boat.
Unemployment has been a gift in all honesty. I’d barely taken any time off since Lisa died. I spend my days making the house nice. I’m building a new fence in the back yard and have a bunch of other plans for the place. More significant, this is allowing me the time to properly grieve for Lisa, and providing perspective for the lessons of these past few years to wash over me. The washing is daily and humbling. Part of me is finding peace through this, gaining understanding, deepening resolve, softening to the reality of accepting a new version of myself. Other parts of me are thrashing about trying to find land. We don’t heal grief, we just learn to live alongside it. My love for Lisa will never wane and with that will be the grief, riding shotgun.
I read the other day a very resonant explanation for the living state of those who’ve lost our true loves. I’d been searching for the words for this. This author eloquently explained how we don’t feel “single” as widowers, as we are still deeply in love with the person who has died. This state is described perfectly as being “half a couple,” living in a state of romantic love that can no longer be reciprocated. This is what drives the constant, recurrent sense of loss. I’m half a couple, and half of that half is treading water, floating, bobbing and hoping to one day swim again. The other half is half a man drowning.
As “half a couple”, Lisa is still the last person I say goodnight to and the first to greet me in the morning, her beautiful smile radiating love as I wake to her over-sized photo on the dresser. I talk to her constantly like she’s in the room with me, purring my pet names for her and engaging in the same silly banter that bonded us so deeply. I ask for her guidance. I tell her I love her. Every night I ask if she’ll visit me in my sleep. She hasn’t yet, and I tease her about it, but honestly it hurts. I want to see her so badly, hear her voice, embrace her, all things I imagine could happen in a dream. It’s ok. She’s come to me in other ways, though it’s been a while since she visited me last. I mentioned in my last post that I’d share some of the remarkable ways Lisa has communicated with me since she returned to the ancestral home. Didn’t make it this post, so I’ll kick that down the road to share next time.