When we find ourselves alone it becomes more important than ever to make our homes our safe havens. Places where, when we walk in the door, we immediately feel comfort and security. Places in which we honor ourselves. Places where we can see evidence all around us of the path our lives have taken, and to which we can continue to add more of ourselves and whatever else we are passionate about.
When I found myself suddenly alone, without my husband, yet still in a marriage of over 42 years, I had to do some quick revamping. I had to sell our home that we had just built and into which we had poured all our savings because I discovered that we were living solely on our retirement funds. My husband entered a dementia facility and I found a small apartment for myself. As much as I could like any place I had to live in alone, I found the apartment safe and peaceful. But it was hard to get used to the fact that it was pink, pink, and pink. Pink walls, pink carpet, pink tiles. About 3 weeks after I moved in, I was told the complex was ‘going condo' and I had to buy my apartment or move out at the end of my lease. It was really inexpensive so I bought it and then set about making it mine.
Creating a new space isn't really about doing a lot of renovating or spending a lot of money. It's about creating something new that fits the new life that you have. I don't recommend that you do anything until you have grieved your loss for whatever time it takes...and no one should ever tell you to ‘get on with it.' It's my belief that you will know when you feel you'd like to ‘change a few things'...maybe have a different color on the walls, get rid of things you've been meaning to lose for years. Or put out where everyone can see it...that special collection you've been keeping off limits. Or even move to a new place.
What we put in our homes defines who we are. Would I know you if I did a walk-through of your home? Would I know what your passions are, what are your favorite colors, what kind of art you love, what books you've read, what music you listen to or play, who is important in your life? In short could I tell what really matters to you?
I changed all the pinks into the colors that suited me at that time. My mood was somewhere between anxious and depressed. Reflective of that, I chose neutral colors, beige for the living and dining room, pale yellow for my bedroom and bath. But for my study, I wanted to be energized in that space, so I chose a raspberry colored paint for the walls. It more than did its job. It made me happy every time I walked into the room.
I used the bookcase above and around my computer to hold mementos of my life so that I could look at them and find joy, sometimes tinged with sadness because time had moved so quickly. Like the little red Barbie shoe I had found on the edge of the bathtub, the day my granddaughter moved out of our home with her mother and brother. I had to bear the loss of her little body in my arms every day so that her mother could begin a life of her own. The tiny shoe was a reminder of sweet times together. Next to that there was my grandson's baby sock with a Tasmanian devil on it, a little rubber chicken he had given me, a rose I had dried from an inexpensive bouquet I'd bought myself when I was feeling lonely, a beautiful quartz egg I found in a flea market. There was an African Fertility God (out of commission) my son had given me, and a jar with MOM written on the front, holding my pens and pencils. It was made by one of my children in grammar school. Next to that was a bowl of white shells from my morning meditative walks on the beach that started my return to my self.
My grand piano had pride of place in the living room, so I could only put one chair in there and an armoire. Company had to sit on dining room chairs or on the floor. But there was lots of wall space for art work in every room. I went into my storage unit and opened boxes of paintings, photographs and pulled from them the ones I particularly loved, photographs of some of the places George and I had visited around the world. One I was particularly proud of was the one I took myself in a nomad's tent in the Sahara Desert; a picture of the wife pulling out her best cups to serve us coffee. My husband had always hung all our pictures. But I taught myself how to measure and do it without creating holey walls as I stood on ladders and even on top of the piano, hammering them into place.
I even used the bathrooms for art and whimsy...small paintings, a poster, some shopping bags from Parisian perfume makers, and an African statue. Around its neck I hung a string of amber beads that had been blessed by their seller.
But the place I spent most thought and time on was my bedroom. Sleeping alone for the first time after having a partner at my side for forty two years was a sad experience. I couldn't sleep on ‘my' side of the bed because the room was too small and I couldn't put a night table next to it. So I had to switch sides. I had to sleep on George's side of the bed. It was not only upsetting and confusing to me, but annoying to my little Yorkie. Because when I'd get up in the middle of the night I'd roll to the right and onto him. It took a lot of getting used to and while I was adjusting, I decided to treat myself to the softest sheets and comforter I could afford. I also bought throw pillows of different fabrics and textures, and when I made up the bed in the morning put them right down the center of the bed to remind me where I was aiming to be.
Lastly, I bought lots of green plants to give my home more vitality. And finally when I looked around me I was thrilled with what I'd done for myself. Everywhere I looked there was something of great meaning to me. From the time I opened my eyes in the morning until I closed them at night I was surrounded with what I considered to be beautiful.
I had lived in large homes with grand spaces, filled with the warmth and energy of a husband and three children. And so suddenly, it seemed, one by one, the children left to make lives of their own. At the last, my husband left too. It was there in that little apartment that looked out into a treetop that I took myself and began to learn how to honor the silent breath of my own life. And the first thing I did was to create a healing place for me, a place of beauty, peace and comfort. It was a good beginning.
What have you done to create your home, beautiful home?
See: Moving to the Center of the Bed: The Artful Creation of a Life Alone
