They Say It Takes a Year, and They Were Right #Grieving

A year has just about come and gone. After Paul died, a friend told me it would take a year, and I winced in emotional pain. No, not a year of this heartache that at times was literally physical!

But she was right, after a period of time, I found that time was the patch on my heart that kept me going. Admittedly, the initial three months were what I term “the fog”. I couldn’t even drive at night because I was so disoriented. I stayed in my studio and it became “the cave”.

I think I was hiding out in that cave. I was so afraid to be me again. I was afraid of what was outside those dark walls. I lost my best friend in the worst way imaginable. I did not have a heartfelt goodbye. I had no idea of just how much we did together until he was gone. Our love, our relationship was all so natural.

After those three months, I realized I needed a place of my own to stretch my arms and a yard for Zeke to chase the squirrels. Spring arrived and in March I found out about a tiny cottage – 480 square feet – that would be available. I kept driving by in anticipation, looking in the windows. It never occurred to me how so much of my furniture would not fit in that house. Insert chuckle! In May I moved in and the cottage took a transformation with my decorating, hanging my art work, finding a place for my most essential kitchen items.

This place is a diamond in the rough, but I have managed to make it better by putting my trademark, eclectic style inside as well as outside. The decorating hasn’t stopped either. I have so many projects to work on this winter! So, get this, I decluttered over the weekend. You are probably laughing and asking, what, decluttering? Yes, decluttering. I would sit on my couch and look at my shelves and realize my books were blocked by knick knacks that were starting to make me feel there was too much going on.

I finally got to the To Do list this weekend and tackled the garage, truly organizing it with more of those huge storage containers with the yellow lids. Thank you, Costco. Inside the house, I rearranged one of the bottom shelves that in now the place for home office supplies. The new empty shelf above is home for those knick knacks and my framed photographs. My crystal ball – every girl needs one, you know! My tiny things from Ecuador, the country my Mama was from. A book titled, It’s Never Too Late. It’s about a shift in perception.

My perception has certainly changed. After my breast cancer diagnosis 20 years ago, what I thought was important took a back seat to the new realization of what was truly important in life. We lost our parents 20 days apart in 2006 but the experience was a privilege. To be present with each parent during their process as well as to have the love and support of loving siblings is my treasure. Death of a loved one has a way of stopping you on your journey, a way of forcing you to take note.

I feel that since I have moved to the tiny cottage, my decluttering and giving away the things that did not fit was part of the path of letting go. All the memories I have are the gifts that those who are now gone gave to me, the gifts that will always remain. The gifts of love, my brothers and sister, my friends, my new friends are ongoing.

What has meant the most are those who continue to touch base with me often. They let me be a slacker because they understand that grieving is a day to day process. Keep that in mind for others you know that are grieving and keep in touch with them. It is so important, take it from me.

It’s that time thing.

#grief #lifelesson #tinyhouse