Year In Review

In a moment of reflection I closed my eyes and reviewed all that had transpired in my life starting January of 2017.  As the first of the year commenced twelve months ago, I continued to sit deeply in grief, missing Dean with constant pain.  I had just passed my first Christmas without him and missed his presence with a visceral anguish.  My daughter Tia, had convinced me to purchase a new home in her neighborhood, right down the block from her house.  I was happy that she wanted me so close to her and my grandchildren and excited to have a new start away from the home that had brought so many happy memories but recently painful loss.

 I spent the better part of January and February in perpetual motion, ten thousand steps a day.  I hiked, ran and walked in snow, ice and rain every day to contain my grief.  I started to pack in anticipation of my move to the new home, and what I hoped was a new beginning. In March, I cleaned out every room, closet, and garage, giving most furniture and unused items away.  I lightened my life from all the STUFF Dean and I accumulated over the last twelve years.  I had lost my ability to care about all the things and focused only on what gave me pleasure.  Pictures that had memories of our travels around the world, scrapbooks, our king bed, Deans Steel head fishing pole and my grandmothers deacon bench were my coveted items.  I eventually moved the entire contents of one home to the next virtually by myself, one truck load at a time. Towards the end of the month, thirteen days before the one year anniversary of Dean's death, I received the call from Tia of her diagnosis.  On my knees, in the middle of the driveway, I sobbed that it could not be true.  How could God take so much from me again and how could he do this to her?  I chose to believe that she would survive.  Surely, the same fate could not befall my daughter so soon after my husband and father's death.  On March 30th, the one year anniversary of Dean's passing, I tattooed my arm in commemoration of our life together with a permanence I would now die with.

I carried on in April with my new life and my fifty fourth birthday came and went.  I moved into my new home and threw myself into upgrading and improving my new abode.  I could now walk to Tia's or Hannah's house and visit my daughters and grandchildren with ease.  I no longer felt isolated.  Tia had promising news of treatment and I held the hope that she would overcome her cancer and go into remission.  Easter was a memorable event, and even with her illness, Tia hosted the first neighborhood Easter egg hunt.  I felt a part of me was coming back to life and kept my sorrow hidden to most of those around me.  The grief was still palpable, and when I was alone I held it close to my heart as it gave me comfort and connected me to Dean in a way only I could feel.

May, June and July were a blur.  I was working more at Cedar Creek Contractors and looking for ways to exit the company.  It was difficult to navigate the complexities of how to move ownership from one family to the next and I was forced to make hard decisions.  I wanted a new life and managing the company my husband and I created together, continued to be emotionally painful.  In June, I decided to drive seven hours to Ashland Oregon and spread some of Deans ashes on top of his grandfathers grave.  This was the second event to honor his death wishes and I met his sister and mother there for support.  I felt his presence with me on this long journey and was glad I could continue to keep his memory alive.  I drove to the Ocean over the fourth, to feel the sand on my bare feet and let Cady, my dog run in the surf.  I looked for signs of his presence until I found it.

The summer was hot, hotter than it had been in years.  As my daughters treatment plan hit road blocks at every turn, I tried to compartmentalize a new ball of grief forming in my soul.  August twenty first, her thirty-third birthday, brought her first seizure and an ambulance ride to the hospital.  Confusion and disbelief brought up further emotions I continued to pack away deep inside, too scared to acknowledge.  And as summer turned into fall, cancer slowly robbed my precious daughter of life.

At that point, the year was mostly over for me.  I managed a couple of quick trips, one in October to Santa Fe and the last in November to Las Vegas, but as much as I hoped, prayed and denied the truth, death was coming and not to be stopped.

As I start this new year, I feel I have been set back to the beginning of last year, with grief being the theme of my life.