Good Mourning, Widows. Joy to you and me.
All living things need space to bloom and grow. And I am no exception to that golden rule.
My garden needs space. The ivy I planted in it needs space. Even the weeds that creep in and choke a crimson geranium growing in a corner patch needs space.
It is 3 years, 2 months, 12 days since Edward Louis Sclier died. 3 years, 2 months, 12 days since I created Griefcase, my safe space to weep, to mourn, and to cry my eyes out and to share with the world. It's been quite an endeavor. It's, ahhhh, what I lovingly call, mourning joy.
Today I celebrate a new space--my special writing space--my home office.
Ed's dying has taken me to new heights. Though I'm sorry He's left and would give anything to have Him back, I dream a new dream--to soar like an eagle, to write like the wind, to help new widows, just like you, just like me, through the grief process--and to experience the best of life.
It has taken time for me to think of any room in this house as "mine" and not "ours." For 3 years, 2 months, 12 days, I waited hopelessly for Edward Louis Sclier to come home. Imagine, I actually thought it could happen, the things we widows will do to get through one day.
Embracing reality I emptied my room in my townhouse of my many guarded treasures, the ones from another life, the one I shared with Edward Louis Sclier. I tossed, I trashed and I donated things. Seeing them no longer brought me joy, instead, they acted as daily reminder of another time and space and made me feel sad.
Was it difficult to trash that love seat we cuddled on?
Was it painful to give away the yellow sleep sofa, the one we picked out together, or the golden oak table that held his Time magazines and Nora Roberts' paperback pocket books?
Did I shed a tear when I trashed the decks of playing cards inscribed, Mr. and Mrs. Ed Sclier with a picture of a house on each one?
But... I decided it was time. My time.
I simply needed space.
And like weeds in my garden these treasures representing my former life, the life I shared with Edward Louis Sclier, were choking and holding me back from blooming and growing. Letting go of things marked my new beginning and I soon discovered, however painful, a new person, a new writer, a new me. I felt in my heart, and feel it still, it was time, my time, to let go of my past, and move one baby step forward with the best of my life.
And that's the way it is, Dear Widow, 20 miles north from where the World Trade Center use to be.
What about you. What do you need/don't need to move one baby step forward with the best of your life?
To every reader, I wish you an abundantly joy-filled day. And remember, we're not alone.
This is my new space -- my home office. It use to be our den. *That's Izzy curled round as a button in his bed*
To save money, I scarfed furniture from other rooms of my townhouse. My writing desk is a sofa table. Because of its narrow width, it fits perfectly into a small space. The lowboy borrowed from a hall acts as a desk and TV table, with books and files stored neatly underneath. A small wicker end table makes a perfect spot for the printer. A dining room chair finds new life as a place to rest quietly and work.