The Wandering Widow- Day 4

Yesterday, I found myself crying over a lost cooler.

It wasn't just any cooler, it was Ralph's vintage Oscar Cooler by Coleman, circa 1981. I left it in Moab in the hotel parking lot and someone took it. I know this because I called the front desk four hours after leaving, but it was apparently gone.

I remember trying to get all my crap in the car in the same way I had fit it all in like a puzzle when I left San Diego. I fancy myself a good packer, but that was Ralph's thing-organizing- he even made a living at it. I usually end up tossing everything in at the end and calling it a day if the car doors will close.

I even went out in the night air of 5 degrees and emptied my car out again, thinking maybe I misplaced it- as if it was a shoe or a hairbrush.

 The last time Ralph used the cooler was on his 70th birthday at his beach party in August. In October, a month after he died, I needed to use the cooler and I opened it up to find it full of beers. COLD BEERS!

 I knew that I could get rid of all our other coolers because this one would now be mine.

And straight out of the chute, I lost it.

 I could blame the medications I am on for severe bronchitis and altitude sickness, or widow brain, but in the end, it doesn't matter. I drove off and left it and someone took it.

I sat in the car and cried, and then I remembered it held a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream, an expensive bottle of Rombauer Chardonnay my friend gave me for Christmas and my freaking cough syrup- talk about insult to injury.

That just pissed me off.

 I woke up this morning and thought about the cooler and realized that it was just a thing. I've thrown plenty of his belongings away already and the cooler, while it was a sweet memory, won't bring him back, it will just keep beers cold for a month.

 I'm learning to let go of things on this trip and I guess that was the first thing to go.

 Meanwhile, I'm sure his spirit followed the cooler culprit and gave him a flat tire, or at the very least, turned my fancy wine to vinegar.



 

The Wandering Widow-Day 3

For me, 2018 was a very good, terrible horrible year.

Oh sure, some years are better than others, but this one was shitastic. 

Our daughter married a wonderful guy and we were able to spend quality time with our funny, beautiful granddaughter. 

We took a month-long road trip and spent time with our son in Vancouver, Canada, with family in Monterey and four days in our favorite city, San Francisco.

Life was good- until it wasn't.

My brother-in-law finally succumbed to a long illness and my father was diagnosed with the same brain disease that took John McCain. We lost another close family member in the fall unexpectedly and of course...

My healthy, happy husband died suddenly of a massive heart attack. 

He took a walk on the beach and came home and collapsed on the couch.

He was, handsome even in death.

Of course, this doesn't make it any better for me- losing my favorite person in the world, my best friend and lover.

I'm dealing with it- because what other choice do I have? Mentally I am strong as hell, but over the last month, my body has rebelled and I've been as sick as I have ever been- as much as I tried to deny it.

But again, you move forward.

I am on a month-long road trip to try and get my inspiration and my sanity back. So far, I've seen some lovely scenery and the inside of an ER in Moab, Utah.

My darling husband would want me to go forward and be brave and happy. I'm going to do my goddamn best because I still have my family and friends and hopefully, 2019 with be kinder to us.
 

The Wandering Widow-Day 2

I talk to my dead husband as I drive down the highway.


"Are you seeing these colors?" I ask. "Have we been on this highway before?"

"This is eagle country I think. Can you have an eagle fly by? "

"Did I miss the turn-off? "

" Does the car sound funny to you?" 

"Is that ice? Am I driving on ice?"

"Should I buy that necklace from that nice Navajo man?"

"Can you believe how beautiful it is here?

It was a four-hour drive and not once did he answer me, so I figured he couldn't hear me. Then, a magnificent, giant golden eagle, the glitter on his wings sparkling in the sun swooped in front of the car and I laughed.

He heard me.

 

Driving the Grief Highway

I don't have my motorhome anymore nor do I have my husband, but I took a road trip anyway.

I drove up the California coast, stopped at a winery that we loved and stayed the night down by the ocean near Hearst Castle at a cozy inn.

 It made me happy. I put on his favorite songs and continued my drive the next morning, up and over winding highway 1 through Big Sur. It made me happy.

 I arrived in Monterey to stay with family. It made me happy.

Day three the grief wave hit and the darkness arrived. It made me sad. This is my life now.