Wednesday, March 31, 2010

What Is In Your Backpack?


Michael and I just watched the movie "Up In the Air". The premise is about a guy who has chosen a path of taking ownership of nothing except himself. I really liked the movie and the main character. I liked the idea of choosing a life path of owning nothing. Having owned everything, it feels appealing to me at times, to be accountable to nothing but yourself and your job. In the movie he sees the world differently for the first time and questions whether or not he made the right choice. Michael and I are at our own cross roads now and have to take the time to figure out what exactly it is that we want.
Me, my kids and now Michael, too have had to move multiple times. I never pictured myself being in that position. I certainly never pictured us moving our family 1200 miles away from everything we have ever known, our friends, our family and our home towns. I say to them what I say to you now, it is what it is. The best laid plans, you know...
As a child I pictured myself with a big family living in the same house, me at home taking care of everyone living happily ever after in Ohio. But I had other dreams too. I also saw myself with only maybe one child, a large career and an apartment in New York City. That also was one of my dreams. Marriage in that one was strictly optional, but not mandatory. My other dream for myself was one of no kids, a career in musical theater and no pets, no husband, no anything. It was all very solitary, except for my very dear friends, whom I have always seemed to have.
Michael wanted to travel. He spent much of his adult life in a tiny house with no pets, no wife, no kids. His house was spotless, his life very manageable and dare I say, a little sterile at times. I came along an blew him out of the water. He is a brave man for making that kind of change. We were both brave, because at the point where we got married I was becoming more and more OK with the idea of being single. I wasn't completely convinced I could do marriage well. You would have to ask Michael if it turned out I could. I am just myself in our marriage, for better or worse, so I really don't know if I have gotten it right this time. I do know that it doesn't feel so hard, we don't fight much and I know I am loved and I love him. I guess, with all of that being said, we are a success. We have renovated a couple houses together and haven't killed each other, so that says something, too.
Michael and I are having big discussions now about what it is we want as a couple with grown kids. This is very unfamiliar territory for me. Most of my adult life has been about my children. The house had to be in a good neighborhood with excellent schools, sidewalks and nice neighbors. The town had to have soccer, baseball and a sense of community. It has been about the kids for so long, I haven't taken the time to figure out what it is I want for myself. Michael, having had a large chunk of freedom, doesn't feel sure about where to go from here. The one thing we both agree on is we want time together as a couple. Getting married after the family has shown up is tough. Our marriage has been based on the auto family plan which has meant putting the kids first and us second for the bulk of the time we have been married. We did our best to help the kids get used to us as a "blended" family. They have and we are all on the same page now, after many years, lots of work and compromise. It wasn't an easy transition, but it was definitely worth the effort. As newlyweds, Michael and I put our burning desires for each other, our lives, and our hopes and dreams on the back burner. The kids are grown now. The youngest graduates form high school in two months. They are all adults. They have their own lives, friends, wants and dreams and are currently not counting on being "at home" much longer.
When I was about 35 I would look toward the future and think about when my 47th birthday would roll around. Why 47? Because I had done the math and figured out that was the year the kids would be grown and graduated. It felt like the day would never come. It felt like it was a million years away, and now here it is staring me in the face.
Mike and I have spent the last year getting rid of "things". I have no idea how we accumulated so much stuff, but it felt as if we should start throwing things out, donating to charity and truly cleaning house. Our back pack is chock full of stuff. We have adult kids, 3 dogs, 2 bratty cats, 1 sugar glider and a house full of furniture. As much as we have gotten rid of, we still seem to have so much stuff. As we pack up and get ready to move I continue to toss things to the curb. We have no idea of where we will live or in what house, on what street, or who will be joining us. We have no idea what furniture will fit, or what stuff we actually want to take.

The only thing we can honestly say we know for now, is we want our backpack to be lighter. We will keep the kids and the pets, but the other stuff? I am not sure how much of that will survive the move. Our friends and family will go with us for the rest of our lives. Lucky them, they survive the cut. Our backpack got too heavy and needed to be purged. It's been tough getting rid of so much. But I, nor Michael, nor our kids are our stuff. We will keep pictures, but the truth is if the house caught fire and the pictures burned, we would still have each other and our memories. We will keep certain dishes we love to use, beds that have our indentations on them and practical items like Tupperware and dressers.
It's stressful not having a "plan" for the future. I have never lived that way. But for now, we have to go by the seat of our pants and see what happens. We have several ideas of where we might end up, but nothing certain is driving us to the finish. This has been one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, to let go and let God. Everyday we get closer to selling the house, I feel one more finger loosen it's grip. I am hopeful that I am not the person desperately hanging onto the front door as the moving van pulls away. Just as children, we have so many choices that we cannot decide. I call this sensory overload. So we will wait for things to transpire, time to march on and events to unfold and take another look at our options to see if anything specific has been revealed. The saying "It's always darkest before the dawn" applies here. For now we walk in the moonlight and remember that the our future is anything we want it to be. We just have to figure out what that is.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Irrational Can Be Necessary

Michael has been really sick with a cold/flu the past few days. He never gets this sick. At one point he went into our room and stayed in bed sound asleep for over ten hours. One would need to understand that he has the metabolism of a rabbit, and he sleeps for his eight hours then gets up and doesn't stop moving until it's time for bed again. I, personally cannot keep up with him. He is a machine when it comes to work or chores. I, on the other hand am more of a delicate flower and promptly wilt after dinner time.

While he was in bed sleeping for so long, I found myself doing what I used to do with my kids, checking to see if he was still breathing, feeling very freaked out by the idea that he was sick. I am paranoid. I have been paranoid since the day Danny told me he had cancer. I have good reason to be paranoid, since Danny died, I tend to have trust issues about illness and recuperation. It is not a rational thought for me, this I am sure. However, I forgive my inner skeptic. When Danny died things changed for me. I was forever altered and all I can do now is be respectful to the young heart inside myself, who gets scared and feels the need to put the mirror under the noses of my family every time they sleep longer than expected.

I worry more than I probably should that the other shoe will drop again. I have told God quite firmly, that I do not have it in me to bury another person from my immediate family under the age of 70. I still have nightmares, watching Danny suffer and die from the ravaging effects of cancer. I watched him go from being one the strongest people I ever knew to being weak, scared and feeble, unable to eat, his face grimaced in pain as he drifted further and further from life. He had not lived a full life. He had not done all he could do. There was then and continues to be now not one shred of justice in his demise. One only has to look at the faces of my children at the sound of his name, to witness that.

I cling to Michael as if he provides my air sometimes. He is kind to me, and allows for my weakness. He understand how I fear for the worst and let my imagination get the best of me. He doesn't mock me when I check to see if he is still breathing. he merely rolls over and and says,"I am still here, Baby. I am not going anywhere." He then holds my hand close to his heart so I can feel as safe as I am ever going to feel. Michael gets me. I never have to apologize for all the crazy thoughts I have, because I have seen the world crumble from underneath me. I never have to feel awkward about how I feel as if it were some big secret I have been hoarding. Michael and I have had thousands of conversations about why I get so jumpy and nervous. We have told each other about our insecurities and the buttons that never need to be pushed, ever. I made him promise me that I will get to die first. I tell him it's a contractual agreement and he cannot break it. I almost put it in our wedding vows, " Me first!"

It isn't rational. It doesn't have to be. I was watching the movie "P.S. I love you" with Betty yesterday. It's one of my favorite movies. In the movie the young widow finally breaks down at the realization that her beloved is NEVER coming back. I relate to this in every way. I cry every time I see it, remembering running to my own mom when I found out that Danny was deemed incurable, terminal. I was supposed to be on my way to school in Akron, driving an hour from our home in Cleveland. I got 3/4 the way there when I started crying uncontrollably. Water poured from eyes as if a faucet had been left on. I couldn't breathe, I could barely see and I drove like an utter maniac on a mission straight to my parent's house in a neighboring town. I ran in, running to my mother's arms practically knocking her down. She practically carried me to the couch and just sat holding me as I cried so hard, I drenching us both with my body wracking sobs. I repeated, "he is dying", over and over, as my mom held me tight. I felt bereft. I had not known what the feeling of that word was until Danny died. It was all so surreal for me. Danny has been gone now longer than I knew him in life. I find that unfathomable. Last year on September 27, the day he died, it hit me that he had been gone longer than we had known each other and I felt such grief again. Every once in a while I get hit by that bus and need my Michael to remind me that life is for the living.

Today Michael has a little color back in his face. He will spend his day eating healthy foods and trying to get his energy back , so he can go back to work tomorrow. He is sitting on the couch with his coffee, sipping slowly, drinking in the morning's news. Every now and then I hear him cough hard and my skin breaks into goosebumps. I then hear him burp and laugh at himself and I smile, amused at how he is able to keep himself so entertained.

I told him yesterday after his fever broke how scared I got because he was sick. I laid my head on his chest and felt his heartbeat next to my ear. Michael reaches for my hand and once again , like he has a million other times before, he promises to never leave me. Today we both feel a little better and tomorrow will show continued improvement. That's all one can hope for in the end anyway, isn't it?

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

I Finally Saw the Trees

In the past several months, I had felt a little lost. I knew I was on a definitive path, but was it the right one? I am not good at being unsure. I like to feel the certainty of knowing whether the outcome is good or bad, I am on the right path. I had been feeling that while I had been lost in the forest of indecision, I hadn't been able to see the trees. Until, recently...
There is a scripture many people use for their wedding, " I am my beloveds, and my beloved is mine". The priest or minister then rambles on about two becoming one, which by the way is physically, emotionally, mathematically and categorically impossible, and then they kiss, sealing their everlasting love, until death do they part or somebody better comes along. Let's face it, marriage hasn't exactly had the best reputation, as of late.

I was thinking about my beloved, Michael. We are facing a giant "Y" in the road and we look to each other to get us through all the big decisions that are coming straight at us. I have had to face some fairly unpleasant truths about myself in the past months and am being forced to once again, reinvent myself. I know I am not my job, but I have struggled with what and who I am with no "real" job to bolster my self esteem. My family tells me I am a writer. I feel that all the way to my bones, however, I am not making a salary that could support a pet let alone myself, so the idea that writing is my job is sightly strange to me. Besides, I love to write, so it doesn't feel like work, and I am used to jobs which are painful, time sucking, endless battles. If I am not a nurse, not a massage therapist, not a worker outside the confines of my own abode, then who am I?

My beloved, Michael, thinks of me as a writer. He speaks often to me in hushed tones about my "gift". He supports me emotionally and physically, just so I have the opportunity to do what I love. He is unique that way. He never gives up, regardless of how pessimistic I am or how fatalistic my view. Usually, I am the childlike hopeful one, unless it pertains to me. Then watch out! I am able to on a moments notice wipe out every good thing I have ever done and turn myself into a martyr, so misunderstood, so larger than life that it would make the Pope cry. It's all so ridiculous! My beloved sees me for exactly who I am and nothing more or less. I am a better person because of my Michael. I will do things, because he is in my life, that I would never attempt on my own. I work harder at being a better person, needing no other reason than to make him proud, or keep him from feeling humiliated, which ever seems the most necessary.

This all made me realize something that on a gut level I have always known. I may not be the person I used to be. I may have to start over in the middle of the game, and I may have to redefine who I am on a work level, but this I know to be true. I am my beloveds and my beloved is mine. Being Michael's wife is enough for me. Knowing how lucky I am to be married to my very best friend, my secret keeper, my lover, well, it's rare these days. What Michael and I have is as rare as any diamond, precious as any piece of gold, and as spectacular as any miracle. I have been married before. I know lots of married people. I know only a handful of truly happy married people. These people wake up every day, just like I do, amazed that they have been so blessed. That really is how I feel about Michael. It has been like winning the love lottery. I realize that the person I have become and am continuing to become would never exist without my beloved. He is my anchor in the storms, my pillow at the end of a long day and sometimes my conscience, when I have lost my way. I had never thought being any body's wife would be that important, more important than who I was as an individual, but being Michael's wife has made me a better person across the board.

Feel free and address me as Mrs. Michael Gregg, anytime you want. It's the best title I have ever had.