Good Bye 2016; here's to a Joyful 2017

2016 is almost over. This is the time of year people start talking about their New Year Resolutions, starting fresh, or moving on.

I'm not much for resolutions, and I really don't believe in "fresh starts," but I have been intrigued by the idea of picking a word or theme by which to live the next year - My One Word . While this is a faith based campaign, my personal reason for doing this is really to just be more purposeful in my daily living in 2017. So, what's my one word for 2017?

Joy

I want to do things that bring me joy, purchase only things that bring me joy, get rid of things (and people) that don't bring me joy, and share my joy with others. I want to be joyful in all aspects of my life.

Now, I think some of this is going to be a real challenge for me. I'm generally a happy person, but am I joyful? I'm not sure. I'm certainly going to make a conscious effort in 2017 to be joyful. I'm going to start by getting rid of many things that don't bring me joy. I have a lot of stuff - clothes, kitchen things, stuff people have given me that I don't really love but have felt guilty about letting go. I have to let go of things that don't bring me joy.

I'm also not really sure what activities truly bring me joy. Earlier this week, a friend asked me what I like to do when I'm not at work or with my kids. I had a difficult time answering him. I realize that over the last 25 years, I stopped doing many things that had brought me joy in the past. Why? Well, because the thing I liked most was being with Jeff, and he didn't like some of the other things I liked to do. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining about the compromises I made. This is what adults do when they want to have a relationship, and honestly, being with Jeff brought me so much joy. It didn't matter if we were sitting in bed looking at our phones together, watching Supernatural, or talking about our days. I loved being with him when we took the kids to movies or out to eat. He brought me so much joy.

But he's not here any more, at least not physically. And I have to figure out again what brings me joy.

The Move (Originally posted 10/22/16 on Facebook)

I originally posted this on Facebook, but I wanted to make sure I captured it on my blog as well.

So, I did something. I did something big. And I did it alone.

I bought a house this week. I went to sign papers at closing all by myself. The co-owner line was left blank on every page. I think this is the first time that I have been hit smack in the face with this new identity of mine. I’m single. I’m alone. (I know I have the support of all of you - but that’s not what I’m talking about here.)

Now, anyone who has known me for any length of time may remember that Jeff and I moved a lot. I mean A LOT. We moved 18 times in 25 years of marriage. 16 of those times were in the first 17 years of our relationship. We moved three times in 12 months around year ten. Moving was something Jeff and I did together. And we did it well.

We had a system. We could pack up a house, move, and unpack in 48 hours if we needed to. We had so many tips and tricks for moving, people suggested we write a book. We knew the best places to get boxes, the best way to pack a truck or a trailer, and the best places to get rid of old unwanted furniture. Moving was something Jeff and I did together.

Except this time. This time Jeff isn’t here to get boxes in the middle of the night from Walmart. He isn’t here to meticulously pack up his James Michener book collection. He isn’t here to color code the labels and stack the boxes in the garage. He isn’t here to drive the U-haul or pull a trailer. He isn’t here to help me manage my anxiety about moving and getting everything done. He isn’t here. I am alone and our system doesn’t work with just one person.

Some people have said to me things like, “The move will be good for you. A fresh start for you and the kids.” They may be right. But maybe part of me doesn’t want a “fresh start.” Maybe I want to be where I can still see him standing in the kitchen eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich over the sink. Maybe I want to be where I can still picture him on the couch, leaning forward, watching the U game, and complaining about the refs and announcers. Maybe I want to be where I can still imagine him yelling at all of us to quit turning the heat up (to 64 degrees - smh). Maybe I am scared to do this all by myself and I don’t want to move because I’m afraid I will feel more of my memories of him slipping away.

And maybe I know there really is no such thing as a “fresh start.” There is no starting over. There is a lot of carrying on, pushing through, and doing the best I can. But a fresh start? What does that even mean? I’ll be in a new place, a new neighborhood, but I take all of my literal and figurative baggage with me. In so many ways, this is NOT a fresh start. This move is just a small part of a much bigger change, just like so many other things this year. It’s part of my new normal.

I’m sure this is the first of many big things I’ll have to do alone over the next few years. I’m ok with that.

So, I have a new system for packing and moving. It’s not nearly as sophisticated as the system Jeff and I had together, but it works for my new normal. I’m hiring people to come do it for me. :)

25th Anniversary

Today is my 25th wedding anniversary. My heart is breaking a little today.

I was in a grief support group last night and I said something that shocked me a little. I said, "I wanted this anniversary so badly." I wanted to be able to say, "My husband and I have been married for 25 years. " It was a milestone I craved.  Almost like a right of passage, or maybe a badge of honor for managing Jeff's crap for so long. ;)

I was frustrated and upset when people in the group said things to me that I've heard for 25 years. They said things like, "At least you found true love." "You had something special that many people never have." "You are so lucky you were married for so long to your soul mate."

When Jeff was alive, I would agree. I would say, "You're right, I am lucky." or "Absolutely we have something special." People often told us they looked to our relationship as an example of what a good marriage was. We were the power couple others wanted to be. But since Jeff passed, comments like that have felt like an attempt to minimize my pain. I wanted 25 more years with him. I wanted forever with him. I didn't want the special something we had to ever end.

I've had some time (and a little reality check from a dear friend) to think about all of this a bit more and I now understand that it wouldn't matter if Jeff and I had only 5 years together or 50, it would still have been amazing and magical. I can't let his death take away from how special our relationship was.

I don't want to romanticize our relationship though. It wasn't always easy. There were times when I had to make a conscious decision each morning to choose in to the relationship, to actively work at loving him, to force myself to remember all of his good qualities. But no matter what we went through, we loved each other. Jeff adored me. I mean ADORED me. And he made me feel loved and special and strong in a way no one else ever had. For that, I will be forever grateful to him and for our magical relationship.

Thank you Jeff for the awesome time we had together. Thank you for helping me grow into the strong, confident person I am today. Thank you for loving me unconditionally and making me your queen. Thank you for giving me 5 beautiful and amazing children. Thank you for believing in me when I didn't. Thank you for reminding me every day how much you loved me. Thank you. I will love you forever and always cherish the time we had together.