Widow's Voice

Nine D’s and a C~

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Words. I think about words in this widowed life.

How can I, how do I, describe this widow life?

What word best describes this widow life?

It’s difficult to find that one word, isn’t it, because there are so damn many that apply, to this widow life.

Dislocated. Discombobulated (that’s my fave), disoriented, disengaged, disturbed, disconnected, disrupted, displaced, disorganized.

Clearly, I like words that begin with the letter D.

Also, one C word works well. Confused.

I’ve now traversed this country for roughly 1600 days. 4 and almost 1/2 years, driving in all directions, as my heart leads me.

Yes, it’s been amazing. I’ve met people I’d probably never have met if I weren’t out here.  Yesterday, here at the campground, where I’m workamping til Spring, a couple came in for the night, on their way somewhere else, and they had a [email protected] trailer like mine. Different color, of course, but, a [email protected]! Believe it or not, this was the first time I’d met another [email protected]  We immediately shared stories about how much time we’d each been on the road, and I told them it was 8 ½ for me, but 4 ½ on my own, since being widowed. As soon as I said the word widowed, their eyes lit up and Mike exclaimed You’re Alison from Happily Homeless is MoonStruck! You have the pink [email protected]!  Upon owning up to it, they hugged and hugged me and said they knew all about me and they’d followed my travels.  It was, yes, heartwarming.

In theory, since I live on the road, I’m camping, in that I live in my trailer and spend quite a bit of time outdoors. I don’t hike, though, I’ve never lit a campfire, and I’m not much interested in nature, honestly.

In many ways, I feel like an imposter. Also, mostly I tell people I don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing. Camping related wise especially. And no interest in learning otherwise.

Mostly I’m confused about everything. Who I am, where I belong, what I’m doing, what the fuck I’m doing living out on the road, towing a trailer, not knowing much about it until something goes wrong and then I just ask for help from whoever is around me.

Just…confused.

How is this my life? How have I managed to drive over 100,000 miles when my heart is so shattered and, again, when I really don’t know what I’m doing, emotionally, logistically…all of the words that end in ly.

I talk to people who camp, as opposed to whatever it is that I’m doing, and they talk about cooking dinner in their trailers, or over the campfire, and they do all kinds of cool and interesting shit and I think wow, I don’t have a clue about any of that!

I probably know more than I think I know, but my brain is so clusterfucked with widowhood, even as I’ve got total clarity about my Odyssey of Love, that mostly I just feel confused.

That confusion, though, and all the D words, don’t keep me from doing what I know I need to do. Not for one damn minute, not for one damn mile.

Suit up and show up and let the day unfold.  Insist upon, and make damn sure, that Love leads me, wherever it might take me. That’s all that matters.

Amidst all of the D words, and the one C word, I remind myself of those words from Chuck as soon as my eyes open each morning.

I will always hold these words from him close to my heart. Always~

About Alison Miller

My beloved husband Chuck died while we were full timing on the road. We’d rented a condo for our stay in southern CA, and I had to leave 3 weeks after his death. All I knew at that time was that I had to find a way to continue traveling on my own, because settling down without him made me break into a cold sweat. I knew that the only place I’d find any connection to Chuck again was out on the roads we’d been traveling for our last 4 years together. I knew nobody out on the road, I knew grief was a great isolator, and I knew I had to change the way I traveled without him, to make it more emotionally bearable for me. So I bought a new car, had a shade of pink customized for it, bought a tiny trailer and painted the trim in pink, learned how to tow and camp, and set out alone. My anxiety was through the roof, and all I knew to trust was the Love that Chuck left behind for me. I found Soaring Spirits early on, thank god, and the connections I made through SS helped ground me to some extent. I needed to know that other widow/ers were out there in my world, because I felt so disoriented and dislocated. Through Soaring Spirits, as the miles added up, my rig taking me north, south, east and west, I found community. I found sanity…or at least I learned that if I was bat shit crazy, I was in good company, and realizing that ultimately saved my sanity. PinkMagic, my rig, is covered with hundreds of names of loved ones sent to me by my widowed community, and I know it isn’t visible to the naked eye, but I’ll let you in on a secret…she actually illuminates Love as I drive down the many roads in our country, and I can see it through my side view mirror. Love does, indeed, live on~

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