Putting It Out There (Are You Listening, Universe?)

Loss is a beast. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly understand or be free of it.

I have felt somewhat distant from the losses I experienced earlier this year, partly because they both lived on the other side of the country. Partly because I’ve deliberately kept myself busy these last few months, with work mostly. It didn’t occur to me until just now, but I did the same thing after Kaz died.

Which is not to say that good things aren’t happening. All the hard work seems to have created some momentum.

I have been writing on my book, and it’s going really well.

I just started a new blog series for a large company – to be announced soon.

Ruby is healing beautifully and as beautiful as ever.

I am taking the first steps towards buying a house – finding out what I can afford and looking around my area. I hope to buy something toward the end of the year.

I have stopped eating meat and am trying to avoid dairy – the former a lot easier to do than the latter!

Things are going well at my PT gallery job.

I spent a very special weekend at a conference at West Point Military Academy recently, and am about to attend a prestigious writers’ conference in NYC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve made some wonderful new friends and connections.

Still, there is a layer of loneliness to life. This is more of an observation than a complaint. I don’t think it has to do with the rural area where I live. I see plenty of people through my job and social life.

No, there is loneliness because I am alone at home (other than the dog). It was a necessary cocoon, of sorts and not in a bad way, as I healed. Now I miss having another person around to share moments and conversations.

There is so much life still to live.

But it has to be the right person… someone who doesn’t need much, someone who is intelligent, intuitive and kind. Someone who has a good sense of humor, a passion for something, is artistic but not egotistical, talented but humble. Someone who understands what is important in life and isn’t afraid to live it.

Am I asking for the stars? I hope not. I used to think it impossible to meet someone as cool as Kaz. Now I feel more ready to accept what a friend once told me, “It won’t be the same. It will be different.” I also feel like I’ve learned the lessons I needed to learn, and I’m ready to apply them should I get the chance.

The idea of going on a dating site does not appeal to me in the least. I’d like to meet someone in an organic, no pressure kind of way.

It’s been 5 years since Kaz died. Strangely it feels both like yesterday and like a lifetime ago. I’m proud of how I’ve changed my life – moved across country, started a new career and a whole new social life.

What’s missing is a partner… and a house.

Not sure in which order they will come to me… but I am putting my desires out there into the universe.

I hope the universe is listening, as I listen to it.

 

 

 

Your Only Job Right Now… Keep Breathing

(This post is dedicated to the reader who recently lost her husband and left me a comment a few days ago.)

Not long after Kaz died, a friend sent me a message quoting Dr. Seuss, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” It made me want to scream.

At the time, cards, flowers and food were arriving every day. People sent me Facebook messages, called me, texted me, came over to visit or took me out to eat. It felt really good to have so much support. It felt less good to keep hearing certain phrases. Phrases like: “He’s in a better place” “He’ll always be with you” “Remember the good times” “Time will make it better” and “At least you’ve experienced love.”

No, no, no, no, no, NO, NO.

In those days, I was walking around feeling like someone had literally reached into my chest and yanked out my still-beating heart (Aztec style), leaving a gaping, bloody hole. If someone reached into your chest and yanked YOUR heart out, would “Remember the good times” make you feel better? No, it would not. You’d be like “fuck you, I want my heart back.”

On my first day back at work – three weeks after Kaz died – people practically lined up outside my cubicle to give their condolences and hugs. I nodded and thanked them and fake-smiled, but by the end of the day I was hiding in the bathroom. I didn’t want sympathy. I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want to be seen.

I would have much preferred to just been dropped off on an island somewhere with some food and water, and a writing pad, and left alone for a year. I didn’t know how to respond or what to say or how to function. Nothing was okay. Nothing was going to be okay. Everything was totally and utterly fucked. And the more people tried to make me feel better, the more I wanted to run for the hills.

That was in the beginning.

In the beginning, when loss is still fresh, the pain is so acute that it’s actually real physical pain. Often, it’s also mixed with feelings of guilt, which manifests in a swirling cycle of moments, decisions, expressions, thoughts, actions and words – like a looping reel of nightmares that plays constantly every moment of the day and night. Everything “bad” is dissected, reviewed, analyzed, and re-lived. Any “good” memory is kicked aside by the nightmarish swirl, like a tornado flings cars and trees like matchsticks. The result is intense mental flagellation… the “shoulda, woulda, coulda” routine, over and over.

In the beginning, the pain is also often mixed with anger.

I was PISSED… at myself, the universe, the doctors, even a little bit at Kaz. People who encouraged me to accept and “make peace” with the situation seemed alien to me. I couldn’t accept or make peace with it. There was absolutely no justice in the world if Kaz was the one to get sick and die, and I was the one to survive. I remember thinking, “How dare I still be alive and breathe air and still walk through this world when he can not, and more over, when he suffered so?”

All of the phrases and Hallmark cards and well-meaning gestures of support made me feel less alone, but did little to ease the actual agony… pain so intense that, I admit, there were moments when I considered leaving this world (and hopefully joining Kaz).

There were three things that saved me.

The first was Kaz. His memory, his spirit, however you want to interpret it. I felt his presence in those first few months as strongly as a physical touch.

At night, when I was racked with sobs, feeling as if I might actually die of tears and heartache – or asphyxiation because crying that hard feels like choking – I would feel his body pressed against mine in the bed, his right arm under my pillow, his face in my hair, his left arm around my stomach, and his belly against my back. I could feel his warmth and hear his voice and I knew it was him. Every time I was at the precipice looking down into the abyss and contemplating its infinite depth and comforting blackness, I would feel his presence and his desire for me to live.

The second thing that saved me was writing.

I wrote every day… mostly letters to Kaz, but also memories. I was so scared of forgetting things that I was literally in a panic to document everything I could remember about him and us as soon as possible, even bad memories. I typed while sobbing, but somehow the typing always calmed me down. It was almost like going back in time… I would hear his voice, remember his expression, remember where we were… and re-live the moment.

The third thing that that saved me was something that a friend who had experienced loss told me. He said, “Just keep breathing. That’s your only job right now.”

It was so simple, yet so true. And I knew Kaz would have told me the same.

So, that’s what I did. I focused on breathing… another minute, another hour, another day. Kaz had been so incredibly brave and had persevered even when he felt like giving up. I owed it to him to do the same. To not give up. To keep breathing. To do the things that he could no longer do. To live for both of us.

Later… much later, I did think of the good times, time did make it easier, and I was able to feel gratitude more than anything else. I did experience a great love, the greatest love of my life, and it forever changed me, and I will always feel lucky to have known, loved and been loved by this man.

But in the beginning, it was all I could do to just keep breathing.

I hope you keep breathing, too.

Grief’s Trajectory

There’s a part of me that is tired of grief. Tired of feeling it, tired of reading and writing about it, tired of talking about it. It’s like there’s an internal dialogue going on: one half of me saying, “Enough already. Move on!” The other half saying, “How DARE you?!”

The truth is, on a day-to-day basis, I’m somewhere in the middle.

Of course, grief is still part of my life. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of Kaz; I have friends and family who are actively grieving, and I’m still editing essays about loss at Modern Loss. But my own grief isn’t as present as it used to be. The pain has gone deeper, like roots that other memories and experiences have grown on top of. Sometimes I feel guilty about this, but more often, I don’t (or try not to). I know this is what Kaz would want for me.

A year ago, when I stopped in Pittsburgh on my cross-country road trip, a friend gave me an eye reading (like an analysis via the eyes). We sat across from each other, and she looked intently into my eyes and face. Then she told me that she saw a man in my eyes and determined that this man was Kaz.

“It looks like he’s really present in you,” she told me, “more than just in your mind. His spirit is really in there. He’s really with you. He looks like he misses you and he’s thinking about you. He’s actually watching you. There is some spirit connection between he and you. I think we could have a conversation with him. Do you want to ask him something?”

“Is he angry or disappointed with me about anything?” I asked.

“Absolutely not. Never.”

“How is he doing?” I asked.

“It looks like he’s still in the place he was when he left. He really misses you. He still needs you. I see that you also miss him and that you also are missing the connection. You’re both still in that place together of missing each other, and the connection you’re having now isn’t satisfying enough for either one of you.”

“What can I do to feel more connected to Kaz?”

She asked me to turn my head to the left and right, then forward again. “He wants you to try to get your sense of humor connection back, and not think of him only in the way that he was the last time you saw him, which is really stuck here in your face. It really does matter how you view him because you can’t see him. You have to choose how you view him. It looks like what he’s saying is ‘remember me before then, let’s remember the connection we had when we had fun and when we were joking.’ Then you’ll feel more connected in a way that’s more beneficial to both of you.

“So, make more jokes and make them out loud,” she continued. “Talk to him. I’m seeing that he can actually hear you. He’s extremely present and alive in your face, more than I’ve seen with a lot of people. You were that person whom he completely relied on, and that’s a beautiful thing, but he doesn’t want that to be the only memory. He doesn’t want people to pity him, or feel sorry him, and see him as just a sick person with a brain tumor. He wants to be viewed as a vibrant man that he was. Be true to him. In the scope of his life, the short time that he was ill doesn’t represent who he was.”

The reading blew me away. Whatever my feelings are about the supernatural, the way my friend described Kaz was spot on. He definitely would not want me (or others) to only think of him the way he was in the end, or always be sad when we thought of him, or for his memory to only inspire tears and not laughter. But it still took me a long time to embrace. It was difficult to get certain images out of my head (even three years later). I actually couldn’t force them out… all I could do was live my life and try to remember other, more pleasant images and memories.

Ironically, the past few months have been so busy, I ended up taking an inadvertent break from writing my memoir and blogging – and I just lived. I started a part-time job, I met people and made new friends, I went to parties and dinners, I even joined a regular weekly trivia team. I also hustled for work, finished a huge freelance project, and wrote dozens of smaller pieces for work. So, my mind has been preoccupied with other things.

Whether directly related or not, when I think of Kaz these days, I don’t always feel that familiar acute pain. I miss him and wish he were here, but I can also think of him and laugh. When he was alive, he had an aversion to sad movies and sad stories. Now I share that desire to some extent (I still love a good cry). I want to embrace life and get the most out of it as possible.

I expect that my bog posts will shift with the times. What’s important to me is not only giving voice to the grieving process, but also showing how it’s possible to move forward and live a full and happy life after loss, and that this isn’t something we should feel guilty about. It’s simply grief’s trajectory.

On Flow and Foundation

It’s been a busy month, lots of writing, reading and thinking, the latter mostly about the future. I feel as if on the edge of a precipice, or a bridge, poised to cross over into a new life that is very slowly coming into focus, like a landscape under a receding fog.

That the future isn’t exactly in focus sometimes scares the living daylights out of me. I don’t do well with unknowns, never have. But the uncomfortableness gives me the chance to practice my new resolve: to have faith, to plan ahead, to be patient (not expect everything to fall into place overnight and then get discouraged when it doesn’t), and, most importantly, to be present and appreciate the Now.

If my posts are becoming redundant with this sentiment, it’s because this period is so intensely about learning to appreciate life again, that is, to feel happiness and joy in the simplest of pleasures, and not just when things are going well. It’s when life isn’t going well that it’s the most challenging to keep that sense of gratitude and inner peace. That is the core of what I’m after, and what I’m trying to practice here, every day.

It’s funny how life sometimes throws things in your path that are just what you need in the moment. In my monthly book group here, someone recently suggested we read a novel called the Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami.

At first it felt a little daunting (it’s 607 pages of small print), but after a while, I couldn’t put it down. Besides being a great mystery and window into Japanese culture and history, the story felt almost like a philosophical manifesto on “flow”: when life is in flow, when it is out of flow, and when there is no flow at all, like at the bottom of a dry well.

For most of the story, the main character is dealing with several losses, in a state of confusion and passive. He lets things happen to him, instead of making them happen.

But he’s actually not entirely passive. Rather, he is consciously going with the flow… allowing people to come in and out of his life, listening and observing everything closely, not resisting his emotions but allowing them to be, while all the while acknowledging that his emotions aren’t him. He also spends time confronting his greatest fears (and regulating his breathing) in a solitary place, where he sometimes cannot distinguish between his imagination and reality. But by doing these things, he finds his way back to his true self, and regains the necessary strength and self-determination to take action.

Needless to say, I related to it very much.

I have written before about how loss shakes our foundation and changes us. It’s not just the loss itself, it’s how we deal with it years later, how we process and are reborn from the devastation. After loss, there is no going back, not to the person we lost, not to the life we used to lead or the person we used to be. And so we struggle to find ourselves again, and regain our footing in the new world, our new future.

This is how I feel about this period in upstate New York. Here, among the mountains, changing seasons, animals, insects, plants and endless creeks, lakes and rivers, I am both regaining my emotional, spiritual and physical foundation, and learning to go with the flow, not in some esoteric way, but literally shifting my approach to life.

I don’t mind that it’s taking some time. It should take time. This is the foundation on which the rest of my life will rest.

When Life & Grief Come Full Circle

Finally, the whirlwind of the last few weeks is over. I was in Los Angeles for ten days, upstate with family for a few days, and again with family in NYC this past holiday weekend.

As I mentioned in the last post, the trip to LA was excellent. I saw many dear friends, made some new ones, and re-acquainted with a couple of folks I hadn’t seen in years. I had brunch with my amazing writer’s group posse, met up with my former boss and had dinner with my former film studio sisters. I had lunch with my mentor, and a business meeting with my manager to discuss a television pilot.

Then I attended BinderCon, an all female (including female-identifying) writers conference, and spoke on a panel called Death and Loss: Women Writing Out Loud, along with several other amazing writers, some of whom you might recognize.

If I had to sum up the entire experience of the last few weeks in one word, it would be validating.

Being in LA confirmed certain things I already knew, but appreciated being reminded of, namely: I have a genuine, diverse and strong community of friends and colleagues there; I know the city like the back of my hand; and I always have a place to stay there. I was thanking my lucky stars every single day for these things. LA is not a place I would want to start getting to know now.

To my relief, I also didn’t want to move back, at least not in the immediate future. If I did, it would be for work, and I would want the east coast to stay the home base. It feels good to be certain of that.

Furthermore, the trip proved to me (and possibly to others) once and for all that moving to New York was a good thing. Not only have I accomplished a lot in the past six months, but also living and writing outside of the “business,” and writing more than just film and television, has made me less dependent on LA. I came back feeling more grounded and confident than ever.

Another surprise was that I managed just fine without Ruby. I missed her, but it was honestly nice to have a little break and concentrate on the matters at hand. It gave me huge peace of mind to know that she was being well taken care of by family and dog cousins. It’s good to know we have this option for the next time.

The writer’s conference was validating of both my writing and grief work. If you had told me four years ago when I was sobbing every day that I would be speaking about my grief to a room full of strangers (as a visitor to LA, not a resident), I wouldn’t have believed you. On top of that, to be in the company of such accomplished writers was a huge honor. At one point I had to pinch myself, like “I can’t believe I’m here!”

Having a “pinch me” moment.

Lastly, the trip was a significant milestone in terms of my grief. I had feared being bombarded by “triggers” the entire week – and I did have a couple of emotional moments – but in general I was more than okay. Rather than feeling tethered to the weight of my grief, I actually felt buoyed by the certainty that Kaz was proud of me. I could feel him and his pride everywhere I went.

Kaz used to lovingly call me a “soldier” after overcoming particularly difficult challenges. And that’s what I felt like in Los Angeles — like a once battle-weary soldier now returning triumphantly to the scene of battle, stronger, more focused and at peace. I am extremely grateful for him and his never-ending love, for what these past few weeks taught me, and for my current life in upstate New York.

Now, Ruby and I are decompressing, sleeping and getting re-acquainted with our humble little house and old routine. I have tons to do, including a book to finish, but I’m re-energized to make it all happen. The weather is warmer. The birds are chirping non-stop, and the flowers are just starting to bloom. It’s as if everything around is us is coming back to life with a big cry of “Onward!”

HuffPost Live interview with Nancy Redd

I’m back from Los Angeles and happy to report that it could not have gone any better (proof that worrying is a waste of time/energy). I’ll be posting about different aspects of the trip in the next few days, but first wanted to share the interview I did on HuffPost Live with host Nancy Redd right before I left.

The segment, called “Newlywed Widows: Starting Over,” featured John McFadden, a widower who lost his wife on their honeymoon, Jennifer Cutler, a psychotherapist who specializes in grief therapy, and me. We talked about the particular challenges faced by people who lose their spouses shortly after marriage. We also talked about how writing helps in the grieving process. John blogs about his grief at Lindsey McFadden: The Love of My Life.

The full interview with all of us is here (28:14):

http://live.huffingtonpost.com/r/segment/newlywed-widows/54daea6f02a7600e1f000159

My portion of the interview is here (7:33):

http://live.huffingtonpost.com/r/highlight/how-this-widow-coped-with-losing-her-husband-11-days-after-their-wedding/550b3febfe34447e3600008f

The day after the interview I flew to LA and spent the next ten days in a whirlwind of meetings, both professional and personal. At the end of the week, I attended a conference of women writers, where I sat on a Writing About Loss panel with five other women, including two NYT best-selling authors.

More about the LA visit to come.

Now I’m back home in upstate New York, decompressing and processing everything. I feel incredibly humble and grateful, and wanted to take a moment to say Thank You to all of you for being part of this journey with me. Some of you have been following the blog since the beginning. Some of you are newer. Many of you have lost loved ones. Each and everyone of you has helped me cope with my grief. You have made me feel less alone and more understood. You have taught me so much. I can’t thank you enough.

– Niva

Being Alone vs Being Lonely

Last time I posted about loneliness and made some suggestions on how to overcome it. I neglected to mention that just because someone is alone doesn’t mean they’re lonely.

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of Kaz, that I don’t miss him and wish he were here. But even when he was alive, I used to like being alone. Back then I called it “needing my space.”

One of the more difficult aspects of moving in together was that I couldn’t have my space. His apartment (like mine) was a one-bedroom, and the bedroom wasn’t big enough for a desk. So, I wrote in the living room – with headphones on to drown out the sound of the television and his video games. After a while, he started wearing headphones too, so he could play his video games at full volume. It wasn’t ideal, but we made it work.

After he died, it wasn’t totally foreign to be alone, but it was strange and very painful. Excruciating at times. I felt him with me spiritually, but that did little to lessen the void created by his physical absence. It took a long time for the pain to subside and stabilize.

After 3.5 years, I’ve grown accustomed to being alone again. I still have moments of “why isn’t Kaz here?” but being alone has become normal.

And now that I live “in the sticks,” as someone recently teased, I’m more alone than ever, in the sense that I don’t see lots of people.

But I’m not lonely. Well, sometimes I am. But for the most part, I’m not.

I think this is because I’m writing all the time. I’m extremely focused on my work, and I like that there are little to no distractions (other than the dog).

Besides my work (which I enjoy), I get enjoyment from sources other than people… things like books, movies, cooking and being outside. I’m even enjoying winter (so far). It’s a bit like being in hibernation. There’s a certain relief in not going out a lot.

When I go into the city, it’s a different matter. That’s when I get my people “fix.” But I love returning upstate to my little sanctuary.

It’s hard to explain, but I have no complaints right now. I  don’t have much money, but I’m not stressed about it for some reason. I’ve gained a little weight here, but I’ll lose it eventually. I still cry about things, but I’m not depressed. And after I cry, I’m okay. I don’t go to bed sad, which is very different than before.

I’m more grounded and secure than I used to be, more self-sufficient and content. I need less of others, and less of the material world.

In a way, it’s like I’m learning to be happy again… happy with a very simple life. It might not always be this simple, but perhaps I can carry the simplicity within me.

As I told a friend the other day, “If I can make it through this year of working my ass off, making little money, living in an isolated place, and surviving the winter… I’m pretty sure I can handle just about anything.”

Wishing everyone peace and light.

Dealing With Loneliness

I read several other widow’s blogs, and one of the main themes I see is Loneliness. It’s not just something widows or widowers battle. But I do think it’s especially challenging for someone who has lost their life partner to grow accustomed to being alone again. Loneliness is one of the most painful aspects of being a widow.

One widow recently wrote: “I don’t know what to do when it’s just me.” Then she listed all the things people usually suggest, and why they don’t work for her, like watching TV, crafting, coffee with friends, working out, cleaning. I suggested reading a good book, but she’s finding it difficult to find a genre that transports her, which I understand. 

Her post made me think of how I’ve dealt with my loneliness over the past few years. I’ve experienced many days of sleeping or watching TV all day, and many more nights of crying myself to sleep, due to loneliness and missing Kaz. There is no substitute for his presence.

I can’t decide if I feel less lonely now, or if I’ve grown so used to being alone that it’s become normal (and therefore less painful). It’s not that I don’t remember what it feels like to live with Kaz on a daily basis, but I do feel a growing distance from that reality. Part of that is time. Also, I no longer live in the same apartment, city, state, coast as we did.

Of course, we all know that you can’t run from grief — the loneliness comes with you wherever you go. When I did the road trip, the loneliness hit me really hard because I was witnessing incredible beauty and had no one to share it with. Now that I live in a rural area, life is even more solitary than it was in Los Angeles.

But so far, I’m maintaining. I recently listed ten ways to maintain as a writer, but some of these apply to battling loneliness as well.

Here are a few more…

Keep communicating with your loved one.

One of the things that helped me the most after Kaz died was writing him letters, and talking to him out loud. It made me feel his presence even though he wasn’t physically there. I don’t write to him as often, but I do talk to him. And it still helps.

Meet new people.

I’m not talking about dating, but meeting new people with common interests in a non-pressured environment. Meetup.com is one way to meet people in your area who share similar interests. There is a group for everything under the sun. Or you can start a new group and see who joins up. There are Facebook groups for just about everything too. When I adopted Ruby, I joined a Meetup group for people who like to hike with their dogs off-leash. I’m still friends with a couple I met from the first hike.

Take a class, or learn a new hobby.

I took a weekly Caribbean dance class ($15/class) in the first year after Kaz died. It was one of the most difficult but rewarding experiences of my life. Eventually, I’d like to take a photography class, along with a cooking class, and, believe it or not, a gun shooting class. The good thing about classes is that there’s usually at least one other person who feels just as nervous as you do. I also started taking photos and joined Instagram to share them. At first, I only posted photographs of Ruby, but now I post photos of life in general. I like taking photos because it’s another way to express myself other than filmmaking and writing.

Other ideas that are free or cheap…

Visit friends and/or family. If you can’t afford to travel, set up a Skype appointment.

Volunteer to help others in need. If you don’t want to deal with people, you could volunteer with animals.

Go to a concert. Check the local paper for listings. There’s music in every area, often free. 

Go to a museum. Many museums have a free or discounted day/night.

Join a local choir or singing group. 

Join (or start) a book club. 

Join a grief support group.

Travel somewhere you’ve never been before.

Ask others to visit you, and show them around your area.

Even if you do only one of these activities, once a week or once a month, it might help. It will definitely get you out of the house and meeting new people.

If you don’t want to meet new people yet, you can do things at home like listen to Saturday matinée opera broadcasts Live From the Met, or (if you don’t like opera) listen to a podcast. Podcasts are like television shows for the radio, and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of them out there. Serial is an excellent, true murder-mystery story, and it’s FREE. All you need is a phone or computer with internet connection.

I have also recently become obsessed with the Turner Classic Movie channel, which only plays classic movies. If you’re going to stay at home and watch TV, I highly recommend TCM.

You can also do yoga at home. There’s no shortage of free YouTube videos to guide you.

If you want to try meditation, you can check out the meditation app HeadSpace, which is free for beginners.

I’m not suggesting that any of these activities will  take your or my loneliness away completely. They won’t. But they might ease it for a bit. Or lead to a few minutes/hours that you might enjoy. Or to meeting new people, maybe even making new friends. You never know.

If you have any other suggestions for dealing with loneliness, please share them below.

Wishing you peace and light, always.

– Niva

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Makes a Home “Home”

Yesterday marked three months of living in my new home, and I’m happy to say that it’s actually starting to feel like “home.”

What is it that makes living quarters actually feel like that? For me, it’s a few things.

Decorating

Living room wall

The other day I finally unpacked all the artwork I brought with me from L.A. and put some of it up. This wasn’t as simple as it sounds. I now live in a 2-BR apartment, instead of 1-BR, and have significantly more wall space. Also, the living room is green, which is tricky. So, before I put anything up, I walked from room to room asking “which color theme are you?” and tried to listen to what each room told me.

The living room wanted only black and white artwork which won’t clash with the green.

The bedroom asked for the big yellow painting I used to have over my bed in L.A., and my mother’s pastel-colored artwork. It’s going to be a powerful, feminine sanctuary when it’s finished.

Bedroom wall

The hallway claimed all the rock ‘n roll artwork, including the Coop lithograph, which now hangs just outside the kitchen.

Hallway corner

Coop lithograph

The kitchen and the bathroom are still undecided.

Most of the artwork used to belong to Kaz, and reminds me of him. But in L.A., every wall also held an image of Kaz. Now, only my office (the smaller bedroom) has images of him. My office is the most private room in the apartment, not only because it has two doors which I can close from the inside, but also because it’s where I do my most creative thinking, spend most of my time, and feel the most content. It feels right to have Kaz with me in this room.

There’s still a long way to go with the decorating (rugs, matching towels, TV stand, etc.), but putting the artwork up was a big first step.

Cleaning

I know it sounds like I’m getting all domestic, but seriously, once you start cleaning your house, it’s Home! The other day I spent a couple of hours vacuuming, dusting, tidying up and mopping the kitchen floor. It felt good! I’ve also decided to go to war with the critters. A clean house is the first battle move.

Candles

In lieu of no fireplace, I’ve been using candles to add, if not real warmth, then decorative warmth. Some of them are scented (nothing overpowering), and make the house smell lovely.

Cooking

Some of you may recall that, for a long time after Kaz died, it was difficult for me to cook like I used to, and this was painful because I really love to cook. Now that I live in the countryside, where restaurants are far and few between, I’m back in the kitchen on a regular basis. I’ve made Chili, Meatloaf, Quiche, Frittata, Pumpkin Pie and Ice Tea, which I heat up for hot sweet tea in the cold afternoons. Soon I will make my first soups. But my specialty seems to be Apple Crisp.

It started in late September when I went apple picking with some friends and came home with 20 lbs of apples! I made my first batch of crisp with half of those apples, and the rest of the apples I brought to friends in NYC. My mother and I used to make apple pies together when I was a kid and, to this day, nothing recalls that feeling of home to me than the smell of yummy, buttery apples wafting throughout the house.  A tip: don’t throw away the apple peel and grinds right away. You can boil them to make hot cider and/or add them to tea for flavor.

(had to go big with this pic)

Fresh Apple Crisp made with hand-picked apples (can you smell it??)

Traveling

The first two months of being here, I went to NYC four times (!) and Washington D.C. once. I’ve seen lots of my family and friends in the city. I even saw Kaz’s mother in D.C. But after all that visiting and traveling, I cannot express how nice it was to come home to the quiet, natural beauty and slow pace of my new neighborhood, the comfort of my own bed, and the peace of my own office.

Staying Home

I don’t know when I’ll be traveling to the city again (maybe Christmas). For now, it’s nice to just plant roots and settle in. I guess staying home reinforces the feeling of Home.

All of these simple things have helped me adjust to the new reality and feel less homesick. I’m building a new life and a new career in a completely new environment. It’s a lot. When I unpacked the artwork, it was like reuniting with old friends. A little bit of Hollywood in upstate New York. 🙂

Can you think of other things that make a place Home? Design tips welcome!

Request from a Young Widow on #GivingTuesday (Guest Post)

Some of you may remember my friend M who lost her husband last year. I wrote about her in An Open Letter to M, a New Widow and Welcome to the Club. M and I have kept in close touch since then, and I’m happy to say that she is doing better. One of the reasons is that she channeled her grief into something positive. The rest of this post is directly from M (Melissa). I have never asked Riding Bitch readers for anything before, but today I am asking you to please read Melissa’s letter and consider her request. Thank you. – Niva

Letter from Melissa (“M”)

Once upon a time I fell in love with the most amazing man. His name was Sean.

When I lost Sean I thought my life was over. In a very real way it was, because the life we shared died with him. After about six months of sleeping, sobbing and binge watching Netflix, I started to think about what Sean’s legacy would be. Was it going to be that losing him destroyed me? Or was it going to be something else?

I pulled myself off of the couch, sat in front of my computer and wrote to the University of Colorado Denver, where Sean had been studying at the National Center for Media Forensics for his Masters of Science in Recording Arts, emphasis in Media Forensics. He had been a sound engineer before that, and he loved that media forensics expanded the realm of what he could do as a sound engineer. I don’t know why exactly, but I had this idea of establishing a scholarship fund in Sean’s name. I asked his university how to go about doing that.

They explained that there were different levels of donations: $10,000 to just name a scholarship after someone; $25,000 to endow the scholarship. This seemed all so overwhelming, especially as I was sitting under piles of medical debt, that I decided not to move forward. There was no way I could ever raise that amount of money.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Several weeks later I researched exactly what an endowment meant. When I realized that if we reached the goal of $25,000 that this scholarship would last forever, I knew this was something I had to do, or at least try. There was something about that word forever that motivated me.

Sean’s life was so very short (he was 32 when he died). And I loved the idea that because of Sean, students for generations to come, even long after I too pass away, would get to go to school because of him. With this scholarship, Sean would leave a lasting and tangible impact on the world. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to reach $25,000, or if it was even going to be possible, but the only way I would ever find out was to just make a start.

Working on this scholarship drive was not unlike working on coming alive again after watching my husband pass away and my entire life crumble before my eyes. It started very, very, very slowly. There were days when I saw real development, then stagnation, then some headway again, and of course I had to be constantly mindful for the crushing waves of grief and disappointment waiting behind corners camouflaged as progress.

The first donation was $35 from a friend. Then a colleague of Sean’s donated $1,000. That was the day I realized that this might actually work. Over the course of the last four months the donations have added up to almost $18,000 – a number I could never have imagined when I started out with only $35. When Sean died I could not even imagine sitting here a year later capable of writing this letter, let alone accomplishing this mission. Now with two weeks to go until I go to his university and accept his diploma on his behalf, I am only $7,000 short of my goal (our goal).

Today, December 2^nd, is #GivingTuesday a global day about giving back. To kick off the holiday season, on this day charities, families, organizations, businesses and students around the world come together for one common purpose: to celebrate generosity and to give.

Today I am asking you to please consider the Sean P Coetzee Memorial Scholarship Fund for your tax deductible end-of-year charitable giving.

Today you have an opportunity to make a difference. Because of you a young man’s life will mean something to countless students that receive the scholarship. You will be bringing awareness to young adult cancer just by donating and sharing our story. You will bring hope to young widows out there and help them realize that the world just might be a place worth sticking around in for a while. It will also mean the absolute world to me, and I know it would mean the world to Sean too.

For more information and to make a donation please visit http://www.gofundme.com/seanslegacy

You can also read about Sean’s scholarship here: http://www.ucdenver.edu/academics/colleges/CAM/Centers/ncmf/Pages/Sean-Coetzee-Memorial-Scholarship.aspx

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for donating. Thank you for caring.

Warmest Regards,

Melissa Watson Coetzee