Ok, I debated whether to even bring this up. But it's part of life after the loss of a spouse and that's what I'm here to talk about and practice in my own life. So, here goes.

I met someone interesting in WV. He found me, actually. He's a good man, a widower of four years. He had dated a bit, one relationship lasting nine months. He spoke very kindly of her and there was something in his voice but I didn't explore it. We have SO much in common. We had three dates before I left for CO. They went well. We talked nearly every day all summer for 1-3 hours. Things were going great. Then there was a family wedding over the weekend. I didn't hear from him much. I didn't really expect to because he was busy. Then, Tuesday night, out of the blue, he called to say he had rekindled a past relationship and he couldn't continue this. Needless to say, I was initially crushed, then disappointed, then angry, then resolved.
Dating after loss is difficult, to say the least. The whole getting to know you thing, the questions and answers...it's all so tiresome. But it's also exciting to have something new and fresh to look forward to. Someone to talk to. Someone to care about. Someone to care about you. I've dated a couple of other guys, but I always kept my hand on the doorknob with an escape route firmly in place because it was really way too soon. This one was different. This one was special. I took my hand off the door. That's why this one stung...until I had a chance to think about it. The upside is, I felt the spark. I know it's there and it can come again. I am grateful he showed me that.

When I was in Glenwood Springs this week, I met "The Girls" for coffee. This particular group of women have been meeting every Thursday for 30+ years. I joined them 15 years ago. They had their babies together, raised them, married them off, and became grandmothers over coffee and conversation. I sat back and listened as they discussed the upcoming marriage of yet another child. This particular daughter joined us. My oldest used to babysit for her and now she's a doctor. Time. What a slippery thing it is.

I used to dream. Vast, epic, technicolor, Academy Award worthy dreams. Then Mr. Virgo died and my night world went dark. Gone. It was puzzling and disconcerting to wake up and feel that my night consisted of nothing but dead air. I think it compounded my sadness as I so desperately wanted to dream. I can remember two dreams in the two and a half years since that day I lost Mr. Virgo. And both dreams had him in them. The first, I was laying in his arms, my head on his shoulder. The second, I went to see him at his new job. He was wearing a beautiful brown suit, shuffling papers at his desk, and the smile on his face when he saw me was so beautiful. His eyes sparkled like raindrops in the summer sun. Other than those two dreams, my nights were dark...until about a month ago. I'm not having those epic, novelesque movie-dreams yet. But it is such a blessed relief to wake up and not feel like I'm coming out of a coma. I don't know what the difference is, but whatever it is, I'm grateful.

Ok, now y'all went and made me cry. The other day I offered a prayer up for Anthea. She lost her husband about three weeks ago now. Those of us who have walked that path have an understanding of what she's going through. She came to us via a recommendation by her dear friend, Debbie. Debbie sent me a private message and asked me what she could do to help her friend. I sent her some ideas and Debbie, being the angel-friend she is, immediately took steps to implement them. She delivered a Grief Support package to Anthea, who in turn sent me a picture and I wanted to share with you how easy it is to make a huge difference in a new widow/widower's life.

I've lived in a travel trailer for the last two and a half years now...about one and a half years were part time and now fourteen months full time. I took off mid-day and arrived at my campsite about 5:30. I had a lot of housekeeping things to do when I disconnected like emptying my tanks. It's not the most fun thing to do but I don't mind it that much. It's a price you pay for living this lifestyle. I have electric where I stay in Denver. And I can fill my freshwater tank so I have water. But there's no sewer connection. So, when the tank is full, I have to hookup and tow to a dump station. Since I was camping at an RV park last night with full hookups, I took advantage and did everything there.

Well, here we are...the end of summer vacation. I have one more week in Colorado and I'm spending it off in the mountains. Some time will be spent with family and friends who are dear to me. Some will be spent on my own, way up high, where I can breathe and shed some more layers before I head east next week. This phase of grieving is much like wearing a lot of layers of clothes. When you aren't doing anything, they seem comfortable and warm. But when you get out there and start moving around, they begin to feel constricting and uncomfortable. And you can't shed a layer of grief as easily as you can a jacket. There's some effort involved. That's when I go off by myself and let stuff go. And, the letting go of these layers isn't painful like it used to be. Now it's more like doing some housekeeping and getting things in order. Just checking in to see how I'm doing and where I'm at. Recharging the batteries is good for the soul!

One of our fellow "Ranchers" lost her husband two weeks ago and it caused me to pause and remember where I was two and a half years ago. My heart aches for her because, even though grief is an individual thing, I have a good understanding of where she is emotionally. I was so lost back then. At two weeks, I was in Denver staying with my son-in-law's parents. They are as much family to me as my own flesh and blood. I spent as much time as I could with my kids and grandkids but other than knowing logistically that I was there, I have very, very little memory of it. I bought my first little camper that week because instinctively I knew I needed to put something joyful in front of me or I wasn't going to survive this. I was numb for so long.

Change is good. Without it, there is no movement. A stagnant life is a boring life. Sometimes we want things to stay the same forever. First kisses. Falling in love. A sleeping baby. A lazy afternoon in the mountains sitting by a lake. But, there is only one guarantee in life and that is that things change. Sometimes with devilish rapidity. I have found the key to satisfaction in life is to slow down time which gives change a chance to catch its breath. Let it leave you alone for a little bit. One way to accomplish this is through the practice of mindfulness. This keeps you in the present moment.

I have several RV pages that I follow here on FB. Some are about decorating your trailer. Others are helpful tips for the care and maintenance of your home on wheels. Some are for girl campers and glamping and vintage campers. I read a heartbreaking account on one of them yesterday. A gentleman had been full timing with his wife for nine years. They came home from a trip and she left him a note saying she was leaving and don't contact her. Then he subsequently learned she had passed away. He is trying to carry on the lifestyle, but feels like something is missing. It's just not as fun when you're alone. He is contemplating selling his motorhome when he gets home from this trip. I felt compelled to respond and tell him my story. I encouraged him to hang onto the motorhome and get out there and meet people. To give himself time to heal a little before he chucks it all.

Novinophobia: The fear of running out of wine. I have no idea if that's a real thing or not, but it's certainly a catchy term. I was always a social drinker. On occasion I over indulged, but I usually just drank a glass of wine while I cooked dinner or a cold beer on a hot summer day. Then the Prozac years happened. I was heavily medicated for depression for years and when my marriage started its inexorable crawl toward the edge of the cliff, I started self-medicating with alcohol. It was the kiss of death.