December 2018
I am at a crossroad, yet again. But I think this one is so much more profound. My heart has taken another left turn at Peoria and I don't yet know what is causing the problem. After a month of just about every test possible, I have another one scheduled in 10 days. Hopefully my physicians will be able to determine a diagnosis and a treatment plan. The potential problems could range from mildly annoying to life altering. And I have gone down the rabbit hole a few times. I feel sidelined AGAIN, waiting for another level of healing. I know there is a strong connection between the emotions and the physical. I've experienced that to be true more than once. But this time I have had a hard time connecting the two, in fact I've been a bit defiant in wanting to connect the two. For some reason I isolated the very real, very physical symptoms of my heart's dilemma from the very real emotions of where I am on my journey now. Clearly I do not do a very job of listening to my body since my heart feels the need to be such a drama queen--making all these big melodramatic gestures to get my attention. The more I think about it, I can acknowledge the emotional in the physical. This feels deeper, more intense, and more visceral than each layer of the onion that I've peeled since Tom's death. It is a rope that is all looped and knotted. And the more I struggle, the tighter it gets. I didn't think there was another level to go. I thought I had done all of the work and it was time to move forward. I guess not.
I have decided to stay in our home for at least another year and to invest in it to make it my own, not our home, but my home. I had the entire place painted. I replaced the carpet. I changed out the window coverings. I changed out all the door hardware and the electrical outlets and switches. I changed the color, which I loved, but only slightly. Furniture has been rearranged, all of the artwork has been changed or relocated. The house feels lighter and brighter and beautiful and peaceful and mine. Tom's energy is still here, but it isn't heavy. I can hear his laughter lightly bouncing off of the angles of the walls and the ceiling. The love is still infused in the molecules of the house, his protection seeped into crevices. His presence is here, but in a lighter way, like how he is always a part of my life and my heart, allowing room for what comes next. It was a huge step for me to take to redefine our home. And this year I had the desire to decorate for the holidays. I did not want it to be nostalgic. I wanted it to be neutral. I bought a new artificial tree. I only used ornaments that I loved. I am happy with the way the house looks, and how I feel in it.
But now I have another conundrum. There is another level of work I need to do. One of the things you learn when you walk through a terminal illness and lose the love of your life is that most things just don't matter. I discovered that I am not afraid to die. To me, death is an acceptable alternative. But let me be really clear, I do not have a death wish or a plan or any intention of doing anything about it. What really frightens me is living. I've said that I'm afraid of living disabled. But really, I am afraid of falling in love with life. I want to, but I am terrified. For me to be in love with life, means being in love with someone. And being in love with someone means the very real possibility of facing another shattering loss. I am afraid I wouldn't survive it a second time, I barely survived it the first time. If I am going to live, then I want to live fully, ensconced in the joy of it, not marking my days waiting until I feel better so I can participate. I've spent far too many days over the past four years waiting to feel better. I do not consider it living, it was survival. I've done the hard work. I guess there is more to go. But I am tired. I thought I was on the precipice of launching into the next chapter, but this heart stuff is slowing my roll and harshing my mellow. My heart is holding me back in a different way this time. It seems more is being asked of me and I've given so much, I don't know what else there is for me to give. This next level of work is getting to the very heart of the matter (pun intended). I am tired. But I think I am ready to surrender (or not). Time will tell.
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