The Tree

The gorgeous maple has change colors so quickly this year. I wrote about it last year. One day it's plain green and the next day (okay - not quick "the next day") it transitions into this vivid red. And then within the week, the wind blows and the leaves disappear, leaving a skeleton until the spring. Then the cycle starts over again.

Janell loved that tree, as do I. I came back from Illinois after being gone for three days, and there is was, in all of its vibrant glory. And I know Janell smiled down on me. She sometimes seems to drift away from me, and then something as simple as a maple tree pulls her back. A song, a flash of red hair (as in the movie The Help), sitting in her chair at the scrapbooking table down stairs, getting a piece of junk mail with her name on it - little things re-establish my loving memory of her, of us.

Is it fair to another with whom a budding relationship is emerging, that Janell is still so much a part of my interior world? I feel a growing connection with her, wanting a friend, a confidant, a lover, someone to share my world with, but can I really find a way to hold Janell in my heart and soul and respectfully and honestly give myself to another? Can I do that, and can she accept the fact that Janell will always in essence "be there"? Saying it isn't an issue and living with that internal sense that my heart is shared - will that move from acceptance to annoyance to a "deal breaker"?

The loving memory of our marriage is locked in my heart, and there is no key.

Is It Time?

I know in the past posts I've talked about ending this blog, and have hesitated time and again. People have told me they appreciate the insights, honesty and heartfelt emotions, and lately several people have mentioned that they are seeing healing and a future-orientation in my writing. I'm feeling that in my life as well.

The journey through my grief at losing Janell has been like walking through a mine field, a "tear field" if you will. Everywhere I went, memories of Janell were there and I cried - a song, a picture, a scene in a movie or TV show, a conversation, a mere thought and tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. Even now as I write this, I feel them. It was truly an every day, every hour and sometimes seemingly every minute occurrence. And now, after almost a year and a half - the pain and grief has lessened; the memories that brought on tears in the past are more and more bringing a slight grin and a fond remembrance. I was so blessed to have Janell in my life for almost twenty years, and I am blessed to have the memories of our marriage, our love and our devotion to each other. They will live in my heart and soul forever. Every once in a while I'm blindsided by some reflection of Janell and tears come. That happens and no doubt will continue to happen throughout my life. That's just the way it is, and people who know and love me understand.

And so - is it time?

Cutting Myself Some Slack

In the past, I have been a "people-pleaser." I've been told that is what middle children do, to keep the peace and make things nice. And in doing so, I have bent over backwards to do what people want me to do and have been my own worst critic for not having met my exacting goals. This attribute obviously does NOT fit well with the occupation of a program evaluator. I have always attempted to be honest, accurate, comprehensive, and yet gentle in my evaluation reports. And yet there have been and are times in which the blunt, exacting truth of the success/failure of a project could potentially be detrimental to workers who have no control over that project and be used as a weapon by those in leadership positions. And so I temper my response, holding to the data and restraining my impulse to display a litany of provocative recommendations. I pay a price for this balancing act - I want my reports to be complete, obviously on time, and utilitarian in nature. I want them to be "perfect" - whatever that means. And in my mind, because there is no real standard for "perfect," they are never good enough. Time to cut myself some slack, right?

In my other lives as father, step-father, grandfather, son, brother, and member of several extended families, I never feel like I give enough of myself. I SHOULD spend more time with all of the above and be more of the devoted "fill-in-the-blank" like everyone else seems to be. I listen to stories from friends about the amount and depth of connection with their families and think: "I should do better. I'm an awful "fill-in-the-blank." Time to cut myself some slack, right?

In my physical life, I strive to keep myself fit, exercising almost every day for an hour or more; yet when I look in the mirror or step on the scales, I see a chubby, flabby, overweight, sagging physical specimen who could do better. That spare tire around my waist, the droopy butt, the skinny arms - I could do better: more exercise, less food.  Time to cut myself some slack, right?

And in my living environment - my house is in shambles with boxes, three-ring binders, stacks of paper, and books in the study, the family room, the kitchen, and the dining room. What isn't covered with these things is covered with dust. The same for my yard - long grass, weeds, overgrown shrubs, which compared to my neighbors' manicured lawns, looks like something out of Jeff Foxworthy "redneck" joke. Time to cut myself some slack, right?

I feel like I don't have the time or the "right" to relax, to have fun, to do nothing, and to enjoy my family and new-found relationship with a wonderful woman. I have to work, to earn money, to take care of my project directors, to keep up the exercise regimen, to clean my house and take care of my lawn, to worry about not being good enough and see my life slipping away too quickly. I've used this saying before but it seems to apply more so now: "I don't want to get to the end of my life and find out I've never lived." I did when Janell and I were married - I focused on her and on us. I don't have that life now; parts of what I have now seem artificial and I don't seem to be paying attention to what is real. Time to cut myself some slack, right?

The Neutral Zone - Again

I have referenced William Bridges' book Transitions many times in my blog, and will do so again. It presents such a powerful metaphor for living through the changes in one's life. Basically in transitions there are three steps, if you will: endings, neutral zones and new beginnings. Endings can come about from one's choices or from decisions made by those in positions of power. New beginnings can be similar. The neutral zone is that "limbo time," that period of waiting, of inaction, of having let go of one world and yet not fully grasp another. Bridges equates it to a trapeze artist, who has let go of one bar and not seized another. I am there in many respects:

• I have let go and been let go of my current position at an organization where I have worked for almost eleven years. I now am the proud owner and sole employee of an evaluation and consulting firm, and thanks to my former employer, have a full complement of projects for the short term. I am still trying to figure out what an contractor does and how one functions effectively - neutral zone.
• I have unfortunately begun to lose contact with our "couples friends," the group of married people with whom Janell and I associated. In addition by not going to an office on a regular basis, I fear I will lose connection with my agency-related friends. Because of the level of work required to get my business up-and-running, I lack the time and energy to maintain those contacts and to reach out to new possibilities - neutral zone.
• Janell was the mainstay of my life. She in many ways was my reason for being. Her death tore my heart and soul to shreds. I felt I would never laugh, never find meaning, and never love again. I was thrown into self-imposed solitary confinement. I have begun connecting with a wonderful woman, warm, caring, intelligent, funny and so sensual - neutral zone. 

And yet - I haven't fully grasped the bar of new beginnings, but it's near and it's frightening. The career transition is slowly progressing. In a month or so, I'm sure the bugs will be worked out and I'll move smoothly into my own business. I will find ways to maintain/renew my connections with family, in-laws, work friends and couples' friends, perhaps in a new context. And lastly, I have discovered that a close friendship is evolving into something potentially more. As I've written before, Janell taught me to believe in love. I do - I believe that I will always love Janell and cherish the memories of our years together. I also believe that I am fully capable of having someone to love and who loves me, while keeping Janell's kindred spirit in my heart. There is room in there for an unlimited amount of love. And so we explore our relationship, enjoying each others' companionship. I don't know where it will lead, but I'm willing to let it develop as it will. I learned so much from the loving marriage Janell and I had, and hope to put those experiences to the test again. Janell and I succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. And so we may also.

Bits of Clarity

I'm a bit frightened by the shafts of light that are cutting through my foggy life. I'm beginning to have a less cloudy vision of my life as an independent consultant and the potential for future work. My professional friends have offered so much support and encouragement; my family is 100% behind me; and my project directors know I will be there for them. Now I need to continue to develop an order to my work day, my travel, and my non-work (I can see myself lapsing into 24/7 work!).

I continue to stay connected with my family, both nuclear and extended. My kids have been wonderful. It's so easy to talk with them and be around them. They are growing and have grown into such exemplary adults. I am so proud of them. Janell's family is and will always be MY family. My extended family in Illinois stay in touch through Facebook - I need to make the time to journey to Freeport to see them on a regular basis.

I will strive to stay connected with friends and be open to new friendships. I see many avenues to do that. I also need to connect in other ways - maybe a book club or travel club. And the reality of a special friendship evolving into more. . . .

And so I move on, never losing connection with Janell. The music from Titanic - "My Heart Will Go On"- particularly moved me today as I travelled back from the meeting. It seemed to put into words the special place Janell has in my heart and soul. She will always be there, not as a place of grief, but as a place of incredibly positive memories and hope. She was, is and always will be my kindred spirit. Her love renewed me and continues to be a model for any future relationships. There will never be another like her, and I will never have a marriage like our was, but I trust that some day I might find another person. I believe in love - Janell taught me that.

It Isn't Just About Me

Sometimes in my grief and my struggles to cope, I forget about those around me that I love. I get focused on work and the petty transitions, my compulsion about losing weight and exercising, keeping the house in order, and a multitude of other mundane tasks. I am surrounded by family and friends who really care about me, and I have been so lax in communicating with them on a frequent basis and asking how THEY are doing with life. I have expected them to call or visit me, but there is the theory of reciprocity - a give-and-take in relationships. Many did reach out to me and supported me through the most difficult time in my life - the loss of Janell. But I need to remember that they lost Janell also - a Mother, a sister, an aunt, a co-worker and a friend. I have hibernated for almost a year and a half, and I need to be reaching out.

The idea of fear of losing a relationship also weighs heavily in my heart. I haven't talked with several friends and family who are so near and dear to me. I am frightened that they are slipping away, and now I wonder if they fear the same thing. Life has a way of pulling us into so many other areas - weeks slide into months and months into years - and suddenly we are asking: "I wonder how ___ is doing? I haven't talked with him/her in so long." It's happening and close to home.

I fear my family - my kids, my step-kids, my extended family and my in-laws - are wondering - will we lose touch? Are we losing touch? There is again that trepidation that other facets of life and other relationships could potentially rust that bonding connection and cause it to break.

I need to take a serious look at my bonds with all of my family and friends and make honest efforts to maintain and reinforce my side of the relationship. I can't control what anyone else does, but I can pick up the phone, send an email/text, stop by or invite those I care about to join me in a drink, a meal, a conversation or a hug. Truly - it isn't just about me.

On Being 63

Sixty-three years old - widowed, down-sized, alone in this big house, lonely, tired and confused. What is the life of someone sixty-three years old? How does one think, feel, and act? What is the future of someone sixty-three years old? Do I have a chance to operate a successful business? Can I make a go of my evaluation skills and my contacts? Can I even think about the possibility of finding someone with whom I'm compatible, or someone who would even consider living with me, with my idiosyncrasies, my compulsions, and my ingrained way of life?

I admit - I'm overwhelmed with the job shift. My office and my family room are stuffed with the remnants from my former office. I need to organize, to arrange, to box up Janell's scrapbook materials to make way for my office binders, folders, books and paraphernalia.

I admit - there is someone. I'm scared - afraid of risking and afraid of not risking. Is it infatuation? Is it loneliness? Is it too soon? Janell passed away a mere year and a half ago. Is she a transition person? Are we compatible or is she even interested in a long-term relationship?

And then I think - for crying out loud: "I'm sixty-three year old!" I'm not a sixteen year old kid or a twenty-something millennial. I'm a mature, intelligent, sensitive, analytic, caring, responsible adult. Grow up, for heaven's sake!

And deep down in the recesses of my soul is a wound that may never heal - I lost Janell. Will I ever heal? And if I cannot heal, will I ever be capable of fulling loving another woman?