Yes, I had (and still have) the greatest of intentions of keeping this blog going, to update regularly, but I keep sputtering and stalling for various and sundry reasons. Main one, I'm quite sure, is that I simply despise writing under the "widow" title; try as I might, to embrace it, reclaim it, accept it, whatever it, I plain and simply hate it. Two and a half years out, the label is as uncomfortably ill-fitting, as scratchy and irritating as one of those plasticky-tags at the neckline of a cheap shirt, as it was the day Bob died. I despise the word and all it conjures, all that others assume, or fill in the blanks when they hear it—the pity, the patronizing, the pigeonholing, the stereotypes . . . I despise how I feel when I think about myself as a widow—the disbelief, the immense sadness that can weigh me down, the still-startling reality—and everything that is wrapped around that silly little word. It is what it is, as "they" say, and I get that—it is who I am now, so deal, right? Right. But I don't have to like it. That, and c'mon. Everyone has their shit. Why add to the pile with a blog that could easily go onandonandon about, well, anything and everything that this journey encompasses. As I said, everyone has their shit. So, until I come up with a better title for my blog, until I come up with a better word to describe this involuntary role, until I find a new focus, or figure out a better way to do all this, I'll keep "widow(w)rites", and keep sputtering and stalling and restarting. It's what I do best.
So, on to current events. Thanksgiving is just around the corner (okay, more like breathing down our necks). Folded into the continuing aftershocks of loss, I discover and rediscover tremendous things in my life to be thankful for. My most immediate and immense gratitude is for that of family—the perimeters of which run the deep and wide—my immediate family, Bob's family, our extended families, friends who are like family, andonandonandon . . . I have met many women on this journey who have lost husbands, partners, significant others, and heartrendingly, also lose a whole family in the process. Or lose connections with their own, immediate family, or end up with those relationships redefined, for the worse, for various and sundry reasons. Another tremendous loss, that upon first look, seems to be organic, though if one would examine the phenomenon deeper, we might find otherwise. . . the fallout of grief has reverberating effects that last a lifetime, the irony being, people have been dying since God was a kid, yet we're still so inept at handling it. I am tremendously, eternally thankful for my family . . .
Speaking of family, I'll be spending the upcoming Thanksgiving weekend with my adorable niece, Brittany, who lives in Chicago! Holidays are a strange time, but I am slowly embracing the concept of stepping out of old traditions and creating new—I say that as though Bob and I had any holiday traditions of our own, which we didn't. He was notorious for walking through the house as I was deep in the throes of decorating the tree, solo, all tangled up in Christmas lights (seriously, how much more sacrilegious can a person get than dropping f-bombs while decorating a Christmas tree?) and say, "Aren't you done with that yet?" before disappearing downstairs to his office. Being without kids, we were the hanger-on-ers, showing up to to the home of whomever was hosting the festivities, wine in tow, go figure. I guess the point is, we still got together, with both families. As a couple, a cohesive unit. I am grateful that I'm invited to be a part of whatever is going on, to both my family and Bob's family celebrations, but it's also slightly awkward for me. Just my own little issue, and no matter how many times someone tells me that I am not infringing on their time, it's still awkward. Holidays are strange for Brittany, too, I'd imagine. She's a hardworking young woman, our endearing free-spirit, but she often is without family on holidays. I know she has an endless web of friends whom she likely considers family, but must still be tough for her, too. When I learned that she wouldn't be able to get to Minnesota for Thanksgiving, I decided to go to her.
This time last year, Gretchen and I were kicking back on the lush, beautiful island of St. Maarten, in the Caribbean. I still have the time-share dealio that Bob and I bought into years ago—then, it was a wonderful impetus for us to travel; now, it's an unnecessary, unjustifiable expense. As I may have said before, ad nauseum, this whole reinventing thing is a damn full time job—it's taken over two years to downsize our belongings to the point where I can finally fit twenty years of a life into a house the size of a single day. All the other stuff—time shares, houses that are too big and too expensive, careers that need to be refashioned—has to be dealt with, one at a time, in time. Last year was the first time the time share had been used in over four years, even though I still pay yearly maintenance fees. As Gretchen and I feasted on fresh lobster instead of turkey last year, and zip-lined through the rain forest, and rode horseback into the ocean, I thought, "Hey, why not do this every year—travel over the holidays?" And why not. We were in another world—no Black Fridays, no family dramas (we all have them, right?), no pressure. Just ocean-fresh, buttery lobster in an open air restaurant, surrounded by shimmering aqua water, in sundresses and frizzy hair (tropical climates are not conducive to any hair type, which makes it pretty dang easy to style—simply don't!). Why can't that be a tradition, as much as anything else?
This year, I didn't get my act together in time to do a tropical Thanksgiving (there is still time to plan something over Christmas/New Year's, if there is anything available at this late date), but Chicago is an adventure in its own right. We got a great deal on Travelocity—three nights in an adorable vintage-y boutique hotel, the Allegro, located in the theater district, just a few blocks from Michigan Avenue—the Magnificent Mile—and a few blocks from Chicago's own 80 year-running Thanksgiving Day Parade. Wicked is still playing at a nearby theater, an old friend of Bob's now lives in Chicago and will hopefully join us for a lovely dinner at a local restaurant. So it's not lobster on the beach, but it is something new. Yes, I will think about Bob the entire weekend, but I will also give thanks to the beautiful person he was, for all he bestowed upon me, and continues to bestow. . . and I hope to do at least a few updates on this blog, maybe share a few of our adventures while in the Windy City. . . stay tuned! And be thankful for family, in whatever form or definition that might mean to you. And take good care of that family, the best way you know how . . .
xxoo
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