Stuff that makes me mad

     Background:  When I was about 21, my mother decided to move from Galveston to Victoria, get an apartment, and take a new job in dang near the middle of the summer.  I was home on summer break from college, but the timing of how I was going to get my stuff from Galveston back to my furnished student apartment in San Marcos did not concern her.  Nor how I was going to live in a totally empty house by myself until time to return to college.  She just loaded up her stuff and said bye, in the middle of a hurricane, no less.  Mind you, I did not even have a car.  (and back then, no one had computers or cell phones)  I did, however, have Mark, who would also be returning to Texas State.  I had to leave or toss most of my belongings - it could not all come with me, and Mom wasn't going to move or store it for me.  Same for my cat, which I had to abandon in Galveston.  When Mark's mother got wind of my situation, she was appalled.  She insisted I stay on their fold out couch in her back bedroom. This was for about 2 weeks, at the end of which Mark borrowed his boss's old work van and we loaded it and hit the road, ending our last summer ever in Galveston. 

     Now:  Wanting to do this differently, I have stored all of my kids' things for many years, in those big plastic bins, out in my garage.  I have reminded them to come look through them, to see what they wanted to keep or toss.  (friend, my "kids" are in their 30's)  Lovingly stored are their yearbooks, uniforms, karate belts, summer reading totes, baby teeth, toys, pre-K art, and other mementos of their childhoods, not mine. And you know - I kind of feel over it at this point, but I wanted to be respectful of their right to their stuff.  I get that they might not have the emotional capacity to deal with it.  But can we talk about my struggles these last 4.5 years as a full-time working woman and widow who is nearing retirement and was left with our clutter and possessions to deal with alone?  I don't think my mom had that same journey, though I can appreciate that she was arranging things by herself, as well.   But am I just a storage unit?  I have a lot of guilt over this - maybe I burdened my peeps with too much stuff.

The situation I created  kind of pisses me off.

Text messages

Sometimes I scroll through old text messages between me and Mark, especially when I am really missing him and longing to have a conversation with him.  Occasionally when he was at work, I would call him - he didn't seem to mind it.  He was always the first person I thought of when I wanted to talk to someone.  I would call him the minute I left Mom's house and he would help ground me in my own safe and loved bubble of reality. (visiting mom could do a number on me) 

 But I feel like we really didn't get enough talking time. 

I bet every widow feels that.

cheers!

The last text messages we exchanged will live in my phone forever.  They are proof of life.  We would talk about what the weekend's weather was going to be like as we made our plans.  Or talk about our lunch that day.  Around the time of Covid, he would text me about when and where he was getting the first shot, then the second, then "when are you getting your jab?"  He was worried about it.  I would remind him to turn the crockpot to warm, or tell him I was picking up take-out because I didn't feel like cooking dinner.  To ask him what he thought about me taking on over-time hours at work, or remind him that I was on call this weekend.  To let him know I was running late because of traffic.  And the very last two texts were me asking him if we could go somewhere to drink a beer instead of staying in that Friday evening.  He never replied.  I sent the text at 4:48 p.m., less than an hour before he would die suddenly of a massive heart attack.

Sometimes I imagine his response.

"yeah, I'm down with that.  Dinner at Rancho?  Whataburger?  you call it."

I'm going to top off the grass, get a shower, then I'll be ready to boogie!"

"see you when you get here, girlfriend!"

People who like to piss in your cornflakes

 I told someone that I had joined a wine club and the response was "don't ruin your liver", and "just don't be a drunk".  Mark would've called this "pissing in your cornflakes".

So....Brigid and I will teleport?

It goes without saying that I am not on a mission to do either.

But the issue here is having people in my life who bring a slant to my endeavors to live a varied and interesting life, full of new people and places.  I am a widow who is finding her way in this world as a single person for the first time in 39 years.  Let me live!

And not to justify, but the addition of the wine club satisfies a longing in me I didn't know I had.  Not just a reclaiming of visiting wineries and relaxing on a day off outside of my normal schedule, but a place to decompress and unwind doing absolutely nothing at all if I wish.  It was something I loved to do with Mark, but now I will make it my own.

I probably need to share far less with others, in general.  Vulnerability can have an upside, but also drawbacks.  It is OK to forge ahead with what brings me happiness and joy, regardless of what anyone else prefers. Its Ok to make a life that is separate and unique to me as I figure out who I am and what makes me jazzed about the day.

And its 100% OK to drive out to the country, put your feet up, and stare off into the distance or journal, with a glass of wine in your hand.