Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of Lynn and I buying our super sweet, super small, 1950’s “Wonder Years” home. It is in the same neighborhood I grew up in, and a few blocks from my parent’s home, and my elementary and high schools. We bought our home less than two years before she passed. In the years since, but especially that first year after she passed, I have funneled some of my frustration, confusion, anger, and grief into half hearted, half completed, poorly-planned home “projects.”
As with many couples, there are home “projects” that you just don’t agree on, and the disagreement can last months, years, etc. In the meantime, that home project stays at a standstill. Lynn and I always disagreed on the Berber carpeting in the home. I wanted to pull it up and expose the mid-century hardwood underneath (that would of course need to be sanded, stained, etc – things we couldn’t afford), and Lynn wanted to keep the carpet. So, of course, nothing ever happened. Then she dies. In my first year, I fully believed that if I was a “very good widow,” she would return at the one year mark. But, I wondered if I could annoy her enough so she would come back sooner. So, I, very unceremoniously, over tears and wine, proceeded the long process of pulling up the carpeting. It was a long process because I did not even move furniture out of rooms. I would just move them from one side of the room to the other while I pulled up the carpet little by little. In my mind I thought over and over, “Well, Lynn, if you want me to stop, then come back and make me.” While I felt guilty that I was going against what Lynn had wanted, I also felt like I was playing a prank on Lynn, teasing her about this issue that only she and I knew about, like we could continue to have this very domestic, very “couply” argument, despite her physical absence.
The process was somewhat therapeutic, it was physically satisfying, and it was “movement.” The various states of my “home projects” over the years have reflected the chaos of my soul, and the fatigue and foggy thinking of grief. I constantly moved furniture around, displayed photos of her family that I did not even find until after she passed, I painted and repainted walls (rarely painting higher than I could reach… I’m 5’ tall…ish), and for a short period of time, I took the doors off the kitchen cabinets, thinking that not having to exert the immense energy it took to open cabinet doors would TOTALLY solve my grief fatigue! My home also reflected my ongoing desire to honor Lynn’s earthly life, and prioritizing my stance that “this is OUR home,” “that is Lynn’s grandparent’s side table that I must use,” “Lynn would prefer this color of paint.” (Slightly embarrassingly, I subconsciously maintained this POV even when a girlfriend moved in briefly. Oops…)
Last year, I finally had the exterior painted, a long overdue task on my long list. I immediately looked up colors that would reflect Lynn’s New England roots, or would remind me of our Cape Cod vacation. I just couldn’t decide, and I finally realized, I was not putting the current, living, human resident at the center of the decision. It actually took a lot of effort to imagine what colors best reflected current and future Grace, who, while permanently shaped by adventures and a life with Lynn, now also had an additional 10 years of a VERY filled journey that reflected the “whole” of who I am now and the life I want.
There is a bush in the front yard that Lynn planted. I have trimmed it into funny animal shapes over the years, because that totally reflects my personality more than a basic round bush. The other day while I was trimming it, I thought, maybe I want to cut it down for a different look of the front yard. Immediately I thought, wait no, of course I cannot get rid of it. BUT – it shocked me when I realized, the resistance to getting rid of it was NOT to honor Lynn, or even to keep it because SHE planted it. But, my resistance was ACTUALLY wanting to honor the “very good widow Grace” of the past 10 years, who has diligently kept Lynn part of all home projects decision making. (Insert explosion / light bulb moment sound here!) Still haven’t decided what to do about the bush. BUT, it is liberating to be about 80% okay with the possibility of cutting it down.
I am so grateful for my home, and I realize we have always had a living relationship with one another. My house and our youngest dog (until he passed last May), have been the PRIMARY witnesses to my grief, to how I have coped poorly at times, and it has always been a safe place to fall apart. My house has withstood being neglected when I only had energy to barely tend to myself. It feels like a tangible symbol of Lynn ensuring I was going to be housed and safe after she passed.
We (my home and I) are going through new growing pains together, and I promise it (her?) that I am ready to be a better partner than I have been these past years.
