Do you miss me?

Eric didn't use to "miss" me.  He didn't really "miss" anyone; he wasn't wired that way.  That didn't mean he didn't think of others, and it certainly didn't mean he loved me little.  He loved me plenty, likely more than anyone else he would and could love.  

I, on the other hand, used to miss him.  That's how I was wired.  

Now, I try not to miss him.  I had loved this man with every fiber and every ounce of energy.  Especially in the last few years.  It was profoundly powerful. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Instead of missing him, I need to turn the energy around. Instead of focusing on his absence, I shall let his presence comes through.  I need to let his presence be my focus.  His laughs, his silence, his meditation, our conversations.  

I feel his presence in pretty much everything I do:  Every loaf of bread I bake, every round of skate on Alki, every French press on Sunday, every time I touch my bow and arrows, every piece of music I play on the piano, every piece of art I create, while I am in any corner of my house, when I ask "what should I do."  

I try not to "miss" him.  Me missing him somehow implies that I am focused on the past, what was lost.  He would not want me to "miss" him.  He would prefer that I remember him, but not "miss" him.  He would want that we apply what he has shared with us in our respective lives, in the best ways we know how.  He would not want us to miss him.  

Not "missing" my deceased husband, and putting it in writing.  That is so controversial.  And cold.  But it's not like that.  

It's about knowing that he is present.  

Then I discovered something I never considered.  What Eric and I shared was very powerful.  What I learn and intentionally apply from our love is more profound.  

My living may need to include not missing.  And that scares me shitless…  

My dear friend Janelle's corgi, Abby

"My Legacy"

A few weeks ago somebody at work asked what I would like to be remembered by when I leave my company.  "What do you want to be your legacy?" he asked.  It was one of those "self reflection" sessions at a meeting.  The kind you "take three minutes to ponder then write down your thoughts on a piece of paper" session. 

My legacy.  What does that even mean!?

I am not that ambitious.  I don't think about my legacy or what I want to be remembered by when I leave my company, or ever - it is just not that interesting and certainly not that important to me.  I try to make the best decisions for me, for my peeps, and and for the business.  That's it.  Why complicate things?  I stared at my note pad.  My mind wandered away.  I wondered what I should make for dinner; I wondered when it will finally stop raining.  I secretly chuckled how Eric would roll his eyes all the way to the back of his head if I asked him that same question at dinner.  Yup.  He, too, would consider this a frivolous question.  And then he'll say, "that's a deep subject."     

Tick tock tick tock.  I had better write something down.  I had one minute left. Still, my page was blank and I still couldn't think of what to make for dinner.       

I don't consider what I do for a living very important or meaningful in the grand scheme of things, although I would like to delude myself that at least a small portion of it just might be so.  That is, of course, if I assume correctly that there is indeed a "grand scheme" and that my presumed grand scheme is indeed THE grand scheme…  

I now had about 45 seconds remaining to scribble down something.  Quick!

#             #              #

"I don't know what I want to be remembered by when I leave this company, or when I die.  I am a people connector.  I am to bring out the best in others in everything I do.  Let's not complicate things."   

Wild Camping with Eric between New Denver & Kaslo
(Beyond Jasper, Canada)
August, 2011

Random Babble

I made a decision last month that I don't want to count chapters anymore.  I think it also means I don't want to count 15th's anymore.  

In god's honest truth, I am physically tired of remembering Eric. Of compartmentalizing memories. Remembering is VERY HARD WORK.  I want to close the lid and say "I'm done."  I don't want to think about him.  I don't want to remember anything.  I don't want to talk about it.  I don't even want strangers to know that I had a husband.  Answering that requires factual information that is also respectful to his death.  Explanation requires lengthy sentences and careful thoughts.  Thinking gets better when there are good dialogues, but good dialogues are energy expenditures.  Now, I simply prefer listening to music over talking.  I don't like listening to my voice that much anymore.  

Perhaps it is a form of escapism.  I respect my need for space and an escape whenever I feel like it.  The fact is, I will never be devoid of memories of my husband.  An escape from it is not only smart and healthy, but brave.        

Ever feel like you're damaged goods?  I was talking about that with a friend and he said, "Daisy, we are all damaged goods one way or another."  There might be merit to that statement.  Since no person is "perfect," in essence, everyone is "damaged" one way or another.  It's not good or bad; there needs not be a value judgement.  

Winter Sojourn 2011
Ashland, OR

It will be Eric's birthday (again) in a few days, a day he never liked to celebrate in the recent near-decade because it painfully reminded him of yet another year passed and his inability to do anything he loved to do, to live life.  It was impossible for others to remotely comprehend even a hairline fraction of what that meant.  I hated answering the question "what did you guys do to celebrate his birthday?"  Sometimes I simply lied about it.  As much as I could, I avoided answering that dreadful question. Diversion is a great life skill.

I am immensely grateful that my husband is eternally free of agony of any form.  

Still, I find internal resentment that I cannot explain. I find myself extremely intolerant of whining, entitlement, laziness and incompetence.  Especially entitlement and laziness.  I find this world brutally unfair.  I feel Eric's life cheated and robbed.  I feel an overwhelming burden that I never asked for; cards dealt to me and a game I was forced to play in; strength and grace buried that would otherwise take me five lifetimes to uncover. 

I also honor completely that I have only one life to live:  mine.  There is no time to waste.  The illusion of control over one's own life is just that:  A complete illusion, and delusion.  The sooner we let go of the need to exert control, the sooner we can live.  It is that simple.     

Random babble. 

Ashland, Oregon
December, 2011