In my last blog I said that I would let you know the first thing I did to begin my new life alone after my husband had to enter a dementia facility. I said that it was a simple thing but profoundly meaningful.
I had worked on accepting my life, what had happened to my husband, and all the facts that went with that acceptance: that we would live separately for the rest of our lives; that I would most likely be alone for the rest of my life; that there would be no more income, unless I took up teaching again; that all the magical trips that we had taken were the stuff of memories now; that I was going to have to choose between making it on my own or becoming bitter, taking to drink and zoning out forever. The last was never an option. Was I angry? Yes, at first. I was angry at my husband's brilliant career being cut short and for all the golden sunsets we would not see together. But the anger was replaced with a determination to do the very best I could for my husband and to learn how to make a new life for myself. I seem to have an inborn ‘never quit' attitude. It's something for which I am eternally grateful. I keep on moving forward no matter what.
So, once I had figured out that it was up to me to make my life whatever I wanted it to be, I decided that I couldn't do that unless I faced down all the demons I had lived with all my life and became the woman I always wanted to be. When the door closed on life as I knew it, I was faced with myself in the mirror. The only voice I heard was mine, if I spoke aloud. It was in that silence that I dedicated myself to transforming years of self-doubt, fear and anxiety into self-confidence, self-nurturance and a knowing that I was dependable. Just as others had counted on me for many things over the years, I wanted to know that I could count on myself for whatever I needed.
I decided to start gently by making my new home truly mine. I'd lived in many homes and always had someone else decorate them because there was a long ago voice in my head that said my ‘taste' wasn't very good. So, I relied on others and my homes never felt like much of me was in them. But now, awakened daily to the reality of life alone, I wanted to surround myself with myself. With things that mattered to me. To use the colors I loved, to choose what went on the floors and the walls, the textures, fabrics, paintings, photographs. I wanted to wake up and go to sleep looking at something lovely, inspiring, something created by my own hand in a way that would give me a feeling of peace and well-being. I had moved into a very small rental apartment which had gone ‘condo' three months after I moved in. I had to buy it or move out. I couldn't bear moving again after having moved 4 times in 6 years so I bought it because it was a very good price. Then I was free to redo its pink walls, carpet and tiles.
The planning of it electrified me. It gave me something tangible to devote myself to.
Next time: What I did to make an apartment my peaceful home.
I'd like to know your stories. If something similar happened to you, how did you cope? What did you do that helped you move forward. Please write to me at www.centerofthebed.com.
