Sunday, August 13, 2017

Lonely on the rocky path...

There are days as a recovering caregiver that I think I may be losing it but these are usually followed by days where I feel on top of things but lately the grief of losing my spouse, my best friend of most of my life has been grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me.  "looky here, girl.  This is it!  He's gone and left a great big void.  So now what?"
I look around this small apartment and go "what the fuck happened?"  This is not what I thought my life would be at 80.  I'm struggling to come to terms with the reality that this is the last hurrah.  This is where I will be the rest of my life.  My life seems to have become so small.  I know it didn't happen was getting smaller with age and with caregiving, especially with the move into the first retirement community.  And now it seems just plain small.  I've left house, pets, friends, some family behind and even though I'm in a beautiful place with other women sharing the same experiences, life just feels damn small.  I see the same people every day...the same for breakfast and lunch every day.  Not that they aren't wonderful people but it is the same people.  I think a more positive thought is that they are now my family and in many ways are as caring yet dysfunctional as any family but this family is old and facing all the issues of aging that I am.  I suppose that is comforting in a way and I try to think of it that way.

I get out art supplies and try to start something but lose interest or get distracted with the next event or should I empty the dishwasher or check my email.  I can't seem to get anything written even though an occasional line runs through my head. I think of what I used to tell depressed clients: exercise, call a friend and I do those things.  But I miss that creative self that was used to looking at opportunities and saying yes.  People tell me "You are free now to do anything you want."  So where did my motivation go?   My fascination with the unknown?  I guess He-Who had my back for so long that I felt I could do most anything.  Even with Alzheimer's I felt he had my back...a ridiculous thought but still there.  I do recall when a dear friend suddenly lost her husband, she quit painting.  She was an amazing portrait painter!  Now I understand!  I get it!  Perhaps this is the darkness I need to go through to get to the other side.
I've had a wonderful trip recently to visit family who pampered me well and that experience really helped!  It was good to get out in the world for a few days and hang out with some amazing folk in beautiful Colorado.  And more travel is on the horizon, thank goodness.
In the meantime I give myself permission to be sad and lonely, really sad and very lonely and know that this too will pass.


  1. Gosh. It probably will pass. But please keep dabbling and writing one-liner haiku. Could be the next "in" thing, you know.

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  3. Darla JeanAugust 16, 2017 at 9:28 AM
    Kay, I hope this is temporary. I think it will be. There has been a shock to your whole being, the bruise is healing. Hopefuly your creativity will burst out soon. Maybe a visit to Archway Gallery??? You are one of my favorite wise and funny women! I wish you the best in this phase of life. You are so young at heart!


  4. Kay, I see you. I hear you, I am listening. I attempted coordinating an Artist's way group and it crumbled with schedules and summer plans but we got half way through. It crumpled my heart to see it fizzle out. I wasn't able to keep up morning pages and artists dates with a toddler. I wanted to share because I think of you often when I am feeling unmotivated, uncommitted, uncreative. I am absorbing your vulnerable yet reasonable words with an eager ear to learn from those who are walking different and similar paths and at different milestones of their path. Thank you for sharing your feelings here. You continue to inspire me, even through your still and "smaller" times. My life too has become small in a different way. 😘 Sending you Love and light. Jamie Whetmore

  5. Kay, I know how you feel. Charlie always had my back. With him I always felt I could do anything. He was my safety met. I have been lost in many ways since I lost him, but as the years pass, I grow and become and, as they say, the best is yet to come...