Grief. Love. Magic. A new road. A new life~

These Shades of Pink

Chuck wants me to tell you he wouldn’t leave you without a road map. He wants you to be aware of the markers he’s left for you, both physical and metaphysical.

Whatever you’re doing, keep on doing it. You’re on the right track.

Did you know that you’re surrounded by so many angels that I can’t even count them? You’re protected.

These are just some of the words I’ve heard from people along my Odyssey of Love, who have sought me out, on the roadside, in stores, in meetings. People who don’t know me, who have no idea of my story. 

They have sought me out to bring me messages from Chuck and about my Odyssey.

I’ve also heard from people, earlier on, who said completely different things to me.  I’m 5 years into this widowhood now, and these things were primarily said to me in my 3rd year. Seemingly, there is a limited amount of empathy to be given and after a certain point, one must be…I’m not sure what.

Are you depressed? You might be depressed. Maybe you need medication.

Don’t you want to be happy? It’s a choice, you know. You have to choose to be happy. Don’t you want to feel joy again?

Why do you call yourself a widow? You’re more than that, you know.

So, here’s what I know, 5 years in.

Chuck did leave me a road map. And there have been markers all along the way of my Odyssey of Love.  They have shown up to me as Love. From people I meet along the road, the workamping jobs I’ve found, and the words that he spoke in his years on this earth that I live by; suit up and show up and let the day unfold.

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What is Holy

The month of May looms large in my heart and soul, as I remember back to that May day in 2009 when Chuck and I began our Happily Homeless travels, after selling our house and belongings, and our last 4 years together as we adventured around the country…remembering that April night in 2013 when our adventures ended as he took his last breath and I placed his cremains and his flag on the shotgun seat next to me, remembering this month, in 2013, as I began my Odyssey of Love for him, creating, at the same time, a community of Love and support for myself around the country.

It inspired me to make a list of what was, what became, what is, sacred and holy to me.

Indulge me, if you will, and, maybe, be inspired to make your own list.

Memories of dancing with him over the the kitchen, in our backyard, at social occasions...dancing as a way of being further connected. His arm around my waist, my hand in his. Holy.

The twinkle in his green eyes as his gaze caught mine across a crowded room. Followed by a slow wink. It was as powerful to me as his touch. Holy.

The confidence he always showed in me that brought me to an awareness of my own strength, my own determination, my own gutsiness.  It has stood me in good stead as I weave my way into this damned new life without him. Holy.

That moment as we lay in bed together, when he put his hand on my stomach, which I, of course, immediately removed because I didn’t like my stomach and he asked why I did that and I told him and his response was to place his hand ever so gently back on my stomach and tell me how he loved each and every part of me. That memory strengthens my resolve to make my body strong again, even in grief.  Holy.

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Just me, trying to figure this shit out, after the firestorm of my beloved husband's death~
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