As is often the case, my writing ideas come to me in the wee hours when I am bleary-eyed and don’t always feel like grabbing a pen or laptop to document the brilliance. I assure myself, as I roll over to submerge back into sleep, that I will remember word for word….yeh, right. So I do what I have learned of necessity. I imagine typing what The Muse is dictating so that when the morning light streams in and my eyes and fingers can coordinate, the article sometimes emerges fully formed. Last night, this came through.
I turned 60 on October 13th, 2018. A milestone birthday. When my parents were 60, they were five years away from retirement and their move from NJ to FL where they would live until they passed in their middle 80s. My dad died on April 3rd, 2008 and my mom joined him on November 26th, 2010. Hard to imagine my own life more than 20 years down the road. Hard to imagine my own life in five years when I will be 65.
Twenty years ago, my trajectory was altered far beyond what I anticipated. I had married my husband in 1987 and was widowed in 1998. In between, I lived a roller coaster ride that included love and loss, adoption of our then nearly five-year-old (now 32-year-old) son, destruction of our home in Hurricane Andrew in Homestead, Florida, business successes and challenges, as well as facing the demons my husband had brought into the marriage from his past and my own struggle to help him conquer them. The illness that ravaged his body ultimately set him free from his emotional turmoil.
It also helped me to recognize my ‘savior behavior,’ that had me believing it was my responsibility to heal his wounds. The truth is, it never was within my power to do that. The magic wand had not been invented that could. I was able to companion him on the journey and at a point, our paths diverged as they had once converged. When life support was turned off in the ICU room where we both had lived for the last five and a half weeks of his life, I felt a sense of relief as well. “No more pain,” were among the first words I sobbed when he breathed his last. Mine and his. No more pain for his body. No more pain (at least not in the same way) for my heart and soul as I watched him deteriorate while he awaited a liver transplant due to Hepatitis C. No more pain as I had wondered whether I could remain in a marriage that was what I call paradoxical. Love and abuse lived side by side. The anger that had become a familiar companion throughout his life moved in with us and would rear its head unpredictably. Once his health deteriorated I knew I couldn’t leave. The ‘in sickness and in health’ vows I had taken took precedence. I somehow found the strength and resilience to work full time, supervise his care and raise our son. I’m no hero, nor was I a saint at that time. I had all the feelz that included gratitude and resentment, love and anger that simmered under the surface since I tend to be conflict avoidant.
There are times when I walk into my house and shake my head in amazement that 20 years have passed and the 40-year-old widow who had no clue what her life would look like beyond marriage and a shared business, has morphed professionally and personally. I am now the woman we both would have wanted me to be in my nebulous boundaries co-dependent days. The ’emotional contortionist’ who would bend over backward to please people,’ was giving way to someone who stood her ground and created a life that included career changes, single parenthood, health crises that she has overcome, new friends and lovers that she wouldn’t have met otherwise.
Throughout the past two decades, I have both longed for longterm loving companionship and have enjoyed being single. I have done all the things recommended by relationship coaches. I have availed myself of the services of some of the best in my circles. I have followed the rules and broken the rules. I have been what I call ‘incidentally polyamorous,’ rather than seeing it as a chosen lifestyle. I have (as a friend had asked me about back in 2004) ‘loved whoever God sent.’
I look at the home and life I have created. Both are colorful and eclectic. I ask myself why I should need to give up any of what/who I have become as some have suggested. Taking care of myself and my son solo (with the support of my family and friends) has given me stereotypically masculine skills. I have been advised to be ‘softer’ and more feminine/receptive rather than the go-to-get-it-done-at-the-speed-of-light overachiever. It has taken this long to birth the woman who is typing these words. I am proud of her and wonder if there is someone out there who is her match. A friend claims that there is a lid for every pot. Somewhere in the last five years, I had a session with a psychic who told me that The Muse will be my partner. I got the sense she meant that my creativity would take the place of a human partner. Not liking that a whole lot. Why not both? I sometimes immerse in embarrassment that this woman who teaches and preaches, writes and counsels about relationship is a solo act. I sometimes roil about in resentment that people who by all intents and purposes are not relationship material because of lifestyle choices have loving partners. I am blessed to have many of the qualities I desire in a partner in my friendship circles. I feel deeply cared about and loved by those I have called into my life since Michael died. I am grateful for opportunities that present themselves daily to connect with kindred spirits. My intention is that in the near future (maybe even today), the One for whom I have been preparing to meet will show up as they have been preparing for me as well. Together we can have it all.
Photo Credit: Pixabay