You would think that living on a waterway, I would spend a lot of time by the water. I thought that I would. Water to me has always been calming and serene. At first, in the evenings, I'd sit on the dock and watch the fish jump and turtles swim by. There are a myriad of water fowl but my favorite animal was a nutria that swam down the bank and under our dock (if I was very still right under me) at nearly the same time every day. Slowly, I began to take for granted what we had here. We both did. The house, which sat empty for 2 years prior to our purchase, turned out to have significant issues that weren't apparent upon inspection. Many of them still exist and so began a love hate affair. We both saw our home's potential and dreamed of how we would renovate it. Every time something new went wrong it was tempting to bash in things with a sledgehammer. In the past couple of years, we accomplished quite a bit toward our goal. Tom was in love mode. I hope to continue the dream. I also got caught up in my art. Between painting and marketing my work in what little 'spare' time I had, I didn't have any time left to do much else.
Lately, the only time I went out to the dock was to photograph. When a fog rolled in or there were dramatic thunderstorms in the distance, I raced out the door to capture these fleeting moments. Never just to sit and meditate. Just be. I decided to "just be" Monday night after work. The day was a little emotional and I needed an escape. Within minutes the quiet filled me. I thought about Tom. When I've heard most people talk about losing someone close, they usually describe it as a hole or void in themselves. This is not what I am experiencing. I used to have a hole, a wound in myself. A very deep one, but I didn't fill it with Tom. Instead Tom helped me heal the wound. I don't feel any less than whole now. This doesn't mean that I don't miss him terribly or didn't love him deeply. I've lost my companion in life. The person I shared everything with.
Tonight a rainbow lured me outside. It became a double. Sometimes Tom would be in the loft or workshop and I'd drag him outside to see the rainbow with him protesting the entire time because he "was in the middle of something" until he actually laid eyes on it. Then he succumbed to its magic too. I was equally guilty and too often in the middle of painting when he wanted to share something. I'm relearning to "just be." Searching for a peace that is closer now. The water is a gateway.
I think we frequently go through life "in the middle of something" and fail to see the beauty around us. Fail to appreciate our friends. Fail to value what we do have and we need to be dragged kicking and screaming from our self-made prisons into the light to wonder at rainbows.
-----------------------
The painting is "Storm Clouds Over Bee Creek" and is our view from the back deck.
Sometimes I've wondered why we often don't take the advice of others when they say things like what you have just written about so well - to take the time and just BE. Speaking for myself, I have understood intellectually what I was told and agreed completely, but soon forgot to put it into practice because I was too busy doing other things. Now, at age 58, I've finally learned. It was via hard knocks, but perhaps that is what made the lasting impression, because taking the time to slow down, or even stop what I'm doing, is no longer difficult. There are so many simple moments in our lives to be savored, and they weren't put there for nothing. This was a lovely post, Rebecca.
ReplyDeleteI went back recently and looked over my postings prior to Tom's death. I had made a decision reevaluate all the things I do from volunteering, to paintings, etc and prioritize and give some things up. This was in part so Tom and I could spend more time together. I find it ironic I make this decision so close to what would be his death. I took vacation time off when he did even though his trip was with his good friend and not me. We did get to spend some quality time together before he left.
ReplyDelete