I spent a while last night in the woods behind my house lopping and hacking. Greg and I had lived 20 years in a medium-sized city and raised our two children there. When our baby boy graduated from high school we fulfilled a dream of moving to the country. It was completely orchestrated by God himself. Greg was offered a job in the middle of the boonies (at a fish hatchery which is what he did, take care of sick fish) and I got a job teaching second grade (which is what I did). We found our dream house on seven spectacular acres replete with native vegetation and a spring fed creek. There were no paths through the dense underbrush but we planned a course and chopped our way through. There were so many exciting surprises, like little waterfalls in the creek and chunks of fossil coral dating back to when Florida was under water.
In the last two years nature has reclaimed what we tried to civilize. The paths have blended back in with the wilderness. There's a certain mocking feeling I sense when I'm in the woods now. Like it's rolling its giant, ancient eyes and thinking, "Here we go again."
I have sweat like I've never sweat before the last couple of weeks. The 'feels-like' temps. have been well over 100. Sheesh! Why am I doing this????? More on that later.
For now I can say that as I was hacking and lopping last night, I was pretending it was Richard. He's the guy who rents the apartment I still own in the city we left. It's a tiny little duplex that Greg and I bought ages ago for extra income. When Greg died, Richard apparently saw an opportunity to quit paying his rent. It's the cheapest place in town and I pay the utilities, so we're not talking a poor guy who got in over his head financially. He is intelligent, healthy and skilled. He just stopped the payments.
Last year I called him and said I had been distracted by grief but now I was "one angry widow". He resumed payments but still owes me 10 months back rent. I went by the place yesterday and asked for June's check which hadn't arrived and he said he didn't have it. I drove away feeling duped, then turned around, knocked on the door again and told him this wasn't okay. I asked him to be out by the end of July. I'm selling the place.
So all of that brings me to this: What in the world has been stopping me from dealing with this issue? I'm an intelligent, capable adult. I'm not afraid of Richard. I know my rights. I have read all about eviction (and most of it doesn't apply because he's month-to-month). I could have kicked him out at any time. I could have threatened court. My friends and family have been hassling me to stop letting this man take advantage. All I can say about it is, it's complicated. It's part procrastination, part anxiety, just not wanting to deal with it.
But now I'm going to. I think that's a very good sign for me. Not so good for Richard, though.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Why I Decided To Blog
It's been a long two and a half years since my husband of 28 years died. Before that I had two ugly, but precious years to prepare myself for becoming a widow. I really hate that word. It makes me think of a nasty spider bite or the forlorn roof balcony (I'm afraid of heights). Like it or not, that's what I'm labeled now.
Greg's illness was long and difficult. He had brain cancer. He stopped being himself even before he was diagnosed. Add to that neurosurgery, radiation and chemo, you might get the picture. I have to say I was the good caretaker. No, I was an excellent caretaker. Everyone said so. I was always told how strong and dedicated I was. Truth is, I went numb. I think that was God's way of helping me get through it in a way that was dignified and best for Greg. I did things for him no woman should ever have to do for her husband (and no husband should have to endure). After all was said and done, I can say I have very few regrets about the way I handled it all. I know I loved him to the end and treated him with all the affection and respect I could muster. It wasn't hard. He was a great guy and I loved him very much.
The illness is not what I want to talk about. It's this being a middle-aged single woman on her own for the first time ever in her life. I'm not a really compliant person by nature. I don't like being given a script. So I tossed out the "Steps of Grief" with G's shirts and shoes and determined that I would not waste a minute wallowing in self-pity. Rather than bulldozing through the heartache and pain, I figured I could just outwit it and skirt around. I like to say I took the scenic route through grief. I started dating right away. It was a family friend and someone who was safe. But it was a bad idea and ended in the loss of a long and treasured friendship. Soon after, to ease this extended sense of loss, I found myself in another serious relationship. It was all too soon and this also ended in heartache. I'm thinking now that I was grasping for what I thought would restore a sense of normalcy to my life; get back to the familiar and comfortable which for me was companionship i.e., a shopping partner, movie sharer, dinner talker, you know. Denial was a good drug but I think I've finally broken the addiction. I'm finding it's actually quite healthy and refreshing to just face the music. Sorrow IS good for the soul as wise Solomon stated in Ecclesiastes. Now I have two and a half years of lessons learned to speed me on my way and something tells me I'll continue on the scenic route, but with a GPS. Maybe there's someone out there who would like to come along.
My future is definitely the undiscovered country.
Greg's illness was long and difficult. He had brain cancer. He stopped being himself even before he was diagnosed. Add to that neurosurgery, radiation and chemo, you might get the picture. I have to say I was the good caretaker. No, I was an excellent caretaker. Everyone said so. I was always told how strong and dedicated I was. Truth is, I went numb. I think that was God's way of helping me get through it in a way that was dignified and best for Greg. I did things for him no woman should ever have to do for her husband (and no husband should have to endure). After all was said and done, I can say I have very few regrets about the way I handled it all. I know I loved him to the end and treated him with all the affection and respect I could muster. It wasn't hard. He was a great guy and I loved him very much.
The illness is not what I want to talk about. It's this being a middle-aged single woman on her own for the first time ever in her life. I'm not a really compliant person by nature. I don't like being given a script. So I tossed out the "Steps of Grief" with G's shirts and shoes and determined that I would not waste a minute wallowing in self-pity. Rather than bulldozing through the heartache and pain, I figured I could just outwit it and skirt around. I like to say I took the scenic route through grief. I started dating right away. It was a family friend and someone who was safe. But it was a bad idea and ended in the loss of a long and treasured friendship. Soon after, to ease this extended sense of loss, I found myself in another serious relationship. It was all too soon and this also ended in heartache. I'm thinking now that I was grasping for what I thought would restore a sense of normalcy to my life; get back to the familiar and comfortable which for me was companionship i.e., a shopping partner, movie sharer, dinner talker, you know. Denial was a good drug but I think I've finally broken the addiction. I'm finding it's actually quite healthy and refreshing to just face the music. Sorrow IS good for the soul as wise Solomon stated in Ecclesiastes. Now I have two and a half years of lessons learned to speed me on my way and something tells me I'll continue on the scenic route, but with a GPS. Maybe there's someone out there who would like to come along.
My future is definitely the undiscovered country.
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