Losses, Anniversaries, the Bitter in Bittersweet

Nostalgia for special dates, acknowledging losses and grief.

I recently commemorated what would have been my 46th wedding anniversary. We were married for 12 years (separated for the last year of that) and then divorced 34 years ago. 34 years. It doesn’t seem that long ago in some ways, and yet seems like a lifetime ago in many other ways. 

We married with dreams of a lifetime together. Both still with a lot of growing up to do. Growing that we somehow could not synchronize enough. 

I feel sad about that. Grateful for the time that we had. Grateful that we are in contact with affection toward each other now. Grateful for lessons learned. And sad that we couldn’t make it work, while realizing that we needed to do what we did to keep growing. 

I feel that loss of the dreams of my marriage. Grief. Gratitude. Poignancy. Bittersweetness.

I have been in several relationships since then. Again, I feel grateful for each of them. Each with its own special gifts and qualities. And lessons.

It seems that I needed to be alone. And at age 70, I have finally realized that. I needed to be alone to really figure out who I was separate from any primary relationship. Who I am as a human being and as a woman. What matters to me. I had not been able to figure that out in a relationship. I gave myself away too easily, focused on the other, and tried to become what I thought that I should be. And that hurt both me and my partner at the time. 

And now here I am. Living alone. Intentionally. 

I am open to a relationship if it happens, and now come to it in a very different way. As myself. With my own voice. 

And I am ok if a relationship is not in my future. I have friends and a small social network, and that works for me. 

 I have a lot of solitude. That works for me too. 

Even when I come home from social functions, I eagerly get home to the quiet solitude of my house. To hear myself better. To come home to myself inside as well as to my house. The home of Self. The home of my unique voice that I need to hear and listen to. 

This time of life brings all loss into more focus for me. 

I have lost people that I cared about. They no longer walk this earth, no longer can sit and have coffee and talk with me, no longer here to hold that piece of me and my history.

I have lost pets. Companions that got deep into my heart. Unconditional love and acceptance. A quiet nuzzle when needed, a comforting purr to soothe the pain. 

I have lost my former definitions of myself. 

My career. No longer calling myself a social worker. 

Myself as what is thought of as a productive member of society. Part of the workers going back to work each Monday. Part of that piece of humanity, that dance.

Myself as a daughter, now visiting and honoring my parents at the mausoleum. 

My sexuality. No longer recognized as a sexual being by society. Now at 70, becoming more invisible in that area. I feel sad about losing that part, yet also some relief. So many ideals and pressure to look certain ways now gone. 

My flexibility. Now needing to stretch more simply to keep moving and functioning. Thinking about certain movements before doing them. Wondering how important that item that I just dropped onto the floor really is right now. 

Talking with my neighbor, who is also 70, about the importance of doing floor recovery exercises. Practicing, in different locations, how to get up off the floor in case of a fall, whether there is a piece of furniture to hold onto or not. 

Letting go becomes a major focus as well these days. 

I look around my house and see all the things that I have accumulated through the years, and feel the need to let go of many of them. Figuring out their next best home. Lightening the load for further travels, until the final trip. 

I see how I need to embrace all of these feelings, the loss, the sadness, the grief. And to let go of what I need to let go of. 

And in acknowledging and accepting the pain and losses, I then feel the opening in me to what is here now in front of me. The poignancy of each moment. The appreciation of life still here, with a much deeper awareness that there will be an end to it. 

I find that I must embrace and feel the bitter in the bittersweet. The sadness as well as the joy. The poignancy of memories of what might have been, of what was, of what will no longer be. 

 I work to allow myself to feel the sadness, the grief, the losses and immerse myself in them. This, for me, then opens me up to feel the sweetness of life. The joy, the connections, the moments of pure bliss, awe, and wonder. It’s all part of the same package. 

So, I feel sad today. And it’s ok. 

I’m still here. Still here to feel it all. Still alive. Still inhaling and exhaling. 

And still in wonder of it all.