67

Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light. —Brene Brown

"Vista", oil on canvas, 18"x24"

This past weekend was my 67th birthday. I recognize that some people obscure their age but each of my years has brought new friends, family, learnings, and outreach. As has been said, my more than 67 "laugh lines" have been well earned.

And yet, my 60s have been my least favorite decade. It has looked like the following: I was 60 when Jim was diagnosed; 63 when he died. My 63rd and 64th years I grieved in the isolation of Covid. I often recall those years as my "Cinderella weeping at the fireplace stage"—and myself as the widow who didn't receive casseroles. At 64, I faced my birthday without him even though we had danced out of our wedding to the Beatles "When I'm 64".  In my 63rd, 64th, and 65th years, I faced major financial and legal hurdles without Jim's steady mind to untangle the mess. At 66, I came out of my widow's shock and faced full-on the reality of my life without Jim. On the plus side, I began to be able to sleep, eat more normally, exercise, and a host of other things I had lost. The final financial-legal affairs finally resolved. All in all, my 60's were when I transitioned from a very joyful married life to a lonelier, more difficult, grief filled widowhood.

Gosh, I miss this.

And yet, when I unwrap these last 8 years there are gifts that I won't forget. If I begin with Jim, he lived and died in such a manner that was truly inspiring. He never seemed to engage in anger or self pity about his diagnosis and impending death. He constantly shared joy. And his final words to me were a gift beyond measure that always dispel my doubts. We lived love to its very fullest and finest.  During the first months of the Covid shutdown, a very pure love totally held us and filled our last months together with an intensity and solidity that I am grateful for. Since then I've found my own inner calm and resilience that has been tested over and over again. Without it, I'm not sure I would still be here. And of course, I've come full circle back to embrace the love of family and friends. Each day seems a day not to be dismissed or wasted. 

Painting my sister, Joan DeMarle-Oberlin, did of me skiing at Park City, Utah with her this March.

Internally, not "wasting" this life has been a unique struggle. I argue with myself that sorrow has thrown these days away but I've learned something only learned through losing Jim, our former day-to-day existence, and my identity: grief takes time; reconstructing one's identity does too. 

Worden's Task of Mourning - not a linear path or a to do list.  

Baby, 

Child, 

Teen, 

Young Single, 

Wife & Husband; life seems to embrace and celebrate us as we go through these passages. 

Even Divorcee is celebrated these days. 

Widow or Widower? 

That identity passage leaves nothing to be celebrated, least of all by the widow or widower. It is not a title anyone wants, and its certainly not one I want but there you have it. It is my fate. A cruel one for which I am always asking "why?".

In January, I retired again—another change in identity. I can't say I'm comfortable with that either—yet. It has led to a lot of self reflection with not enough answers. It has stopped me from painting and writing this past month and a half. What value have I brought to the world? How did I become the person I am. Who am I now? Will this longing for who and what I've lost always be so painful? How do I create the best life now? How much longer should I, can I, stay in this home we built for these shared years? How do I prepare for my elder years? Where is the balance? And always now, where is Jim, where is Mom and Dad, where are those that I love deeply and have lost gone?

Now 67, it's a birthday I have not been looking forward to. Jim was 67 when he went on hospice and died. It feels deeply wrong that I am this healthy and he was not. That I am here asking these questions and he is not. That I continue on and he is not here to experience what I am experiencing—all the questions and all the amazing beauty. It seems like the universe made a dreadful mistake.

I'm not one to sit comfortably with such a dilemma. I threw the question out to my siblings in a text. Their suggestions were as unique as they are. Through their various ideas, I was able to create an intention to move more gracefully into this 67th year. What you ask? I intend to take Jim with me. How you ask? I'm celebrating "67 days of Jim". I've started a list of "Jimisms" small to large from his love of Dunkin Donuts coffee to his volunteering as a Vermont Adaptive coach. Each day throughout these 67 days, I am choosing any one of these Jimisms and completing them in a manner that fits me (I'm not biking across the country at least not for now). Already I've run our black diamonds at Bolton, found a rainbow and photographed it, celebrated Easter with friends, and roasted a turkey (his favorite holiday dinner). I am hoping in this way to open more joyful moments for my own life and carry Jim's memory forward.

The surprise rainbow just before my birthday.

And after those 67 days? Well 67 days of Ann of course! Wish me luck, reach out if you can, join me for a coffee, bike ride, Italian dinner, or in some other way you remember him. I'd love to have your company.

Birthday wishes from our grand daughter <3