(I actually have a 1964 Red Corvair convertible in my garage, ergo the image above.)
Endings are just beginnings in disguise, whether we like it or not.
I don’t think anyone ever fully and consciously ‘lets go’ of a loved one who dies. Over time, the relationship to that person changes. The pain and longing shifts, becomes less acute and eventually, perspective slowly emerges.
It takes that nasty little four-letter word, time. At the beginning of my journey in dealing with the loss of my husband, the house and my heart felt heavy, both filled with memories, and in the case of the house, stuff that represented an accumulated life that was no longer.
Alone, in my home, without the distractions of work, or a husband, or kids, or even a dog anymore, I found myself pretty purposeless, bored and admittedly lost.
My home to the uninitiated looks uncluttered and presentable. This has always been important to me. It is my attempt to feel in control of something in my life since I often feel like the universe and I are fundamentally out of sync and a higher power somewhere is just cracking up.
However, behind the doors of closets, the garage or, God forbid, the attic, a very different picture emerges. It is a teeny little metaphor for how I operate: outside I look pretty good; inside, I’m a bit of a mess.
In the name of what I can only describe as a way to get control of my life, I began to spend hours cleaning out closets, drawers, cabinets and even entire rooms. My hope was that by ridding myself of years of junk and clutter, the burdens of grief might also be lifted. It was extreme cleaning – a cathartic combo of Keto and Intermittent Fasting all designed to address my material world and, hopefully, my aching soul. If nothing else, it gave me something to do other than be sad.
In retrospect, it was also an attempt to ‘move in’ to my home, alone now and on my own which meant all that stuff - clutter and years of accumulating those precious items ‘saved for later’ or stored away ‘just in case’ needed to go so I could either live happily with less or make room for new junk which spoke to me. My intent was never to excise my husband from our home – even now he is omnipresent.
I’ve come to learn that this cleaning ritual is actually a thing. It’s called grief cleaning, and a friend discovered it and told me what I was doing.
Nice to meet you. Always good to have a name with a face.
Experts say that some people hold on to a dead loved-one's possessions as a way to feel closer to them, but de-cluttering can also be another step in the grieving process. I was leaning into that second thing.
Turns out there are helpful steps and a thoughtful approach to grief cleaning which I came to know of later, and of course, did not, and probably would not have followed at the time anyway because I don’t always take advice well.
1.) Decide when to start.
Nope. Just started.
2.) Realize that their belongings are not them.
Sort of, though I have a lot of his socks and underwear I don't plan on wearing anytime soon.
3.) Start small.
Seriously? Go big or go home. I hit the attic, garage and closets. It created total chaos.
4.) Let go of any feelings of guilt.
OK, sure.
5.) Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
Help? What is that?
Not following any of this probably very helpful advice, I started with the most difficult and cluttered place first, the garage attic.
There were boxes of unopened stuff, packed in 1980, moved in 1999 and never touched again because one day those five cheese graters will be desperately needed and return as an essential part of daily life.
Think about this – we crossed over to a new millennium while those babies sat up there for that just-in-case moment I can no longer remember. Things from my childhood home, apartments and other living spaces had traveled with me more than 40 years.
What did any of this have to do with grief other than despair over having to deal with this now, and what did I feel was important to save for more than 50 years?
Love letters, of course. (People wrote letters to each other last century.)
High school yearbooks that had gone missing for years, and my class ring and tassel from graduation.
And, photos of me and boyfriends past.
There he was – the Kodak version of my boyfriend when I was in my early 20s: skiing, kissing, laughing looking carefree, overflowing with love and lust, happily learning how to navigate a young relationship. So many new experiences. So many feelings.
Each photo brought back vivid memories of experiences that were ‘firsts - the beginning of adulthood and maturing relationships even when I was not very mature.
I smiled and sighed and found myself wandering in that familiar territory many of us cruise by at some point in life when your navigation is not working well, ‘was he the one that got away?’
He left me. Somehow that fact seemed irrelevant to me in that moment, like I had some agency in that decision.
I found myself standing in my garage, surrounded by years of crap (literally and figuratively) yearning for the time before cancer and the death of my husband, asking myself the question, ‘how would my life have turned out if I had married this guy instead?’
Super unhelpful thinking. Of course, I went there anyway.
In the vulnerable state of grieving, divorce or loss, old lovers are familiar goal posts and the idea of running a pass down that field all of a sudden seems like a good idea.
Remembering this guy back in the day and the way he made me felt brought me utter joy, a feeling I hadn’t had in a long time. This is nice. I remember this. I’m now in a full-blown fantasy about how we will reconnect after years of living lives apart and it will be magic and perfect and all my longings, loneliness and sadness will be lifted away by this old, recycled boyfriend.
Maybe he’s divorced or, like me, a widower?
I have no words. I’m just appalled by my very messed-up thinking.
Looking back at what happened next is evidence that the frontal cortex of my brain had gone kaput, just shorted out. A quick internet search, and I find him on LinkedIn and fire off a ‘connect’ message. And what do you know? A few hours later he connects back. I’m in utter shock and asking myself what have I done. Still thinking about him though. Still wondering about the what ifs, while deeply concerned at my ability to manage myself at this point.
I successfully talk myself off the impulsive and often fatal 'immediate response' ledge and decide to sleep on how to handle this with hope the elusive tools of logic and perspective will show up in the morning and help me through this.
ME: "Thanks for connecting. Must have felt very random. I am cleaning out my attic and garage and found some old photos of us and thought of you. Looks like you've had a great career. Congratulations - hope all is well."
Not bad for someone who has a hard time keeping her inner dialogue from oozing out externally on a regular basis. It was a casual, cool note to explain the randomness of my outreach along with a way for me to elevate my behavior and explain it away in case this guy was totally put off. Maybe the frontal cortex is coming back into play here.
He wrote back.
“Wait, after a hundred years this is all I get? Yes, was a (pleasant) surprise seeing your invite to connect. Used to be fairly active on LinkedIn but ever since retirement I really don't have much use for it.
Still have my signed copy (by you, not the author) of Where The Wild Things Are so yes, I do still have a keepsake/memory and recall some fun times spent together.
Sounds like you've had a great career and would love to hear more about it sometime if you're ever in the sharing mood.”
What a nice note. A normal, natural response to an outreach from a long, lost friend. But in my case, my heart is a flutter. I craft a response back and impulsively send the following message, flying at the speed of sound from my laptop, into the internet and directly to his inbox.
ME: "Hey there, so all this started with me on a mission to clean the attic and garage as I am the storage space to four kids who are all now gone. But their crap remains and what do I unearth? A note from you which essentially said you wanted to make it up to me after the night with the woman and the vacuum cleaner...remember that? Why it was necessary for me to save said note will forever remain a mystery. Anyway, then found some photos of you and I in Tahoe (don't remember that trip) and in LA - do remember that apartment along with - let's just say it - some pretty great sex. So, all of a sudden you are on my radar again and ergo the internet stalking of an old boyfriend. Anyway, fast forward many, many years and I'm a widow finding my way in the world alone. I am very busy and active doing all the cliche things a woman my age does - pickle ball, bocce, swimming, etc. I travel a lot - am heading to Europe for a month in October to hang with my youngest son who lives in Istanbul though we are going to Portugal. A story for another time...I had a great career and retired more than 2 years ago. So, there you go. Would love to hear more about you and your world if you are inclined. Take care my friend.”
Did I really have to bring up sex? What was I thinking? I used to be on the normal spectrum, people respected and admired me at one point.
Well, what is done, is done. I cringe-out and sheepishly confess this way-too-soon encounter to a friend over a long walk.
As the internet does its thing, I wonder a.) did I totally embarrass myself; b.) did I shock him; and c.) hope I hear back from him.
The more functioning part of my brain is also experiencing significant guilt over even harboring these feelings for anyone other than my deceased husband and imagining how he would be so ashamed of me for these transgressions.
With these thoughts in my mind, do I stop to gather myself back into an appropriately grieving widow?
Of course not.
I place a quick call to a friend who lives in Mexico for several months during the year. Lots of discussion about what the heck am I doing? How pretty awful this is, and, oh by the way, can you run an internet search on him for me to find out if he’s married so I don’t leave a trail of traceable cookies?
Helpful as always, she says, of course. In a matter of seconds, she is in possession of facts about his lovely home, wife and kids.
Thank God. He’s unavailable, all good, phew, this one is off the table. I need to make a sharp right turn in my life and keep finding the road forward.
And then, another note shows up because he’s a really, really nice guy. He confirmed that he wasn’t necessarily embarrassed by my bringing up the great sex and proceeded to recall a few other places we visited that I had put in the ‘save for later’ category and simply forgot.
“Great hearing back from you. First and foremost, my condolences on the loss of your husband. Never really know what to say in a situation such as this so I guess I'll leave it at that I'm sorry for what I am sure was and is a painful and lasting loss. I have been married for (gasp) 32 years. Forever grateful, if not a little bit flabbergasted, that she's actually tolerated me for all these years!!!
I had to chuckle at some of your comments. Admittedly, I am unable to recall the circumstances surrounding a woman and a vacuum cleaner. Hopefully you can/will shed some light on that story as now you've piqued my curiosity. Obviously, it made a lasting impression on you but not so much on me. However, I can use the legitimate reason of my advanced years and failing memory as a legitimate excuse!
Again, great to hear from you. Hopefully, you are surrounded by the love and attention of your kids and step-kids. Keep in touch on occasion and I'll do the same. Take care.”
Our time together was incredibly romantic for a 20-something girl, and there were trips we took that I couldn’t travel to without feeling loss – of young love, lust and this lovely boy in his 20s who brought me places others had yet to find.
These were beautiful, lovely memories that, while part of my past, are foundational core memories of my life. How lucky I was to have had this guy in my life, even for a short time.
As I think about him and our time together, the purpose of grief cleaning is now clear.
Along with discovering five cheese graters that I may or may not keep, digging through these boxes was really about unpacking memories from my life and giving me an opportunity to decide what I keep going forward as I live my life alone, and what to discard that may no longer serve me. Some are trivial decisions and others profound which require my collective life experience, insight, wisdom and perspective.
I did spend a bit more time contemplating that unknowable and unanswerable question, ‘what would my life have been like if the two of us paired?’ It is a futile question. It just doesn’t matter because that is not where life took either of us. We shared some time together a long time ago and I am grateful for those memories and experiences and know we both went on to live the best life we could create for ourselves.
I will take that with me as I move forward.