the truest pieces

It’s the first day of October, and Georgia somehow finally got the message. I grabbed a sweater and a full cup of coffee as I took the dog out this morning. I felt a real chill. Fall is here. Finally a new season.

I drove a few winding roads to my grandparents’ place today and accompanied my grandad to my grandmother’s grave site to place new flowers for the season. Today would have been their 62nd wedding anniversary.

They were never the types to revel in attention and didn’t want a party or big occasion for their 50th. So twelve years ago, my sister and I orchestrated a secret campaign for letters from family and friends far and wide and put them together in an album for the two of them. It’s at their house still, overflowing with pictures and letters from a life spent together and the world it creates when you love like that. As it turns out, they were a fixed center point, a solid unmovable ground, not just for me but for loads of others, too.

We walked the cemetery a bit with him today and watched him take out flowers that were hardly faded and replace them with new ones. Huddled over the iron vase in the bright fall sunshine on what would have been the beginning of year 63, he carved a bit at the tough foam base of the arrangement and fit it snugly on the metal marker.

He is honest and real and can do hard things. Do men exist like that anymore? I honestly don’t know.

I ran into my former mother-in-law at a soccer game two weeks ago, and she asked me if my grandad was meeting women yet with plans of another wife. I didn’t even know what to say to that. He is in his eighties and spent a lifetime with her. There are tears in his eyes still when he talks about her sometimes, and there’s not yet grass fully on her grave. Is this really how people do it now? They just skip all the hard parts and move on to the next distraction.

I am nearing the two year mark of single motherhood, and people are starting to ask of me (and of course, ask others about me) whether or not I’m seeing someone. There is so much I could say on this topic, volumes I could write, but the short answer is that I’ve changed in a thousand ways in this season of my life, and the bar is set high.

Something happens to you when spend time alone and do things you never thought you could do, when you carry the impossible. I take out the trash. I sleep alone. I pay the bills. I’ve attended real estate closings alone. Parent conferences alone. Soccer games alone with my chair for one. Cub Scout meeting alone with dads everywhere else. And at first it is all terrifying and depressing, but then you break through that initial moment, and it liberates you from everything that tied you before. I’m doing hard things, but I’m okay. What you want in a partner is a list that begins to change with the first passing seasons of your time by yourself, and the bar creeps a little higher each time.

And in the midst of all that, my grandmother got sick, and I watched my grandfather do all of the hardest things. The taking care and the letting go. Never once in those last days did he try to control her pace as she drifted. He just left a sacred space between them for her to do what she needed.

He is 6’2 with clear blue eyes and an uncommon steadiness and more strength and integrity than anyone I’ve ever met. I was there in June when a hospice nurse told us it would likely be less than a week or so until the end, and after the nurse left, I could hear him sobbing in the room where she was laying as I waited downstairs. Never once pushing her to abide by his own plans and always holding steady in the hard work of compassion.

I hear talk shows and see articles passed around online where people talk about marriage tips and what to do when you are struggling in a partnership. I’m realizing that people think marriage is hard these days because you aren’t always happy. Because you feel tired and you work too much and the kids are always demanding something and the other person can’t make all that go away. Is that hard? Really? Because now that I’ve seen what the hard part really is — the grieving and the accepting and the letting go — burnt dinner on the stove or noisy children or a cluttered bathroom counter don’t seem like a cause for unhappiness. Whatever “happy” means anyway; it’s always a moving target when you depend on the other person to provide it.

It’s all connected though, I think. If you can’t do the hard work of putting aside your own selfishness in the earlier years, what do the later years look like? It took 62 years to build what they had, and I understand that. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that maybe the little things are actually the big things. Honesty and integrity start with lending a helping hand and showing respect and saying I’m sorry and meaning it. If I knew then what I know now. But isn’t that always how it goes?

I’m so grateful for every bit of it — my own pain in the earliest days of discovering something that felt like a knife’s edge, the itchy pain of being alone and figuring out what it all meant after the dust settled, and even the hardest pain of watching this season happen in the lives of the couple who was always my fixed center point, and likely always will be.

I’m grateful for the chance to start all over and do it right. And I don’t care how long it takes. The truest pieces of a life well-built always grow slowly.

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11 thoughts on “the truest pieces

  1. Joanna Peterson

    I love, love this. “The fixed center point”. The part about becoming comfortable with doing things alone and the bar being raised higher. Your granddad being a man who did the hard things.
    I’ve known men like that, but they seem to be getting fewer.
    One of the things I mourn with the demise of my 31 year marriage is the loss of that fixed center point for my kids.

  2. Dorothy N

    What an extraordinary piece of writing filled with wonderful examples of life lessons: some waiting to be learned while others have been, sometimes slowly, sometimes painfully. Your Grandfather is truly an amazing man with such terrific character traits, so honest, tall, and true. No wonder your love for your grandparents is so full. Bless you and your Grandfather on your journeys.

  3. lpd

    This is absolutely gorgeous writing. You clearly have a gift and I so appreciate your words.

    I love what you wrote about happiness. You nailed it. Well-done. 🙂

  4. Belinda Reedman

    You are right in that this is a hard time, but also a very empowering one as you start to realise all that you CAN do! The bar does raise higher as you start to realise that you are happy in your own skin. Take this time to discover who you truly are and what you want as you grow and change. These days are tough, but it does get easier. Thank you for sharing your journey. You write so beautifully and force me to recall the bitter days of separation, but also the joyfulness of young children. Treasure every moment, because before too long, they’re grown and doing their own things. Thank you.

  5. Ashley

    Another heart felt entry. Many single mothers feel as you do – those first steps without a partner; Boy Scouts, trash removal, plumbing, paying the bills —now it’s second nature. Women don’t need a man to complete them (enjoyed that entry too).

    Your former mother in law- what a character- the Apple does not fall from the tree. I see where her son learned about love and commitment. I am impress you held your cool?

    I have been told how fortunate I am to have a second chance. I didn’t see it at the time as my life unraveled very similar to your in 2013 but after time I realize, yes I’m grateful and yes, I am in control of this life. As you wrote, “The truest pieces of life well built always grows slowly.”

    As for being single- you didn’t have a choice to be single at the onset but now you do and that’s makes all the difference.

    Happy October!

  6. K.M.R.P.

    I’m always so impressed by how cohesive your pieces are. You see life lessons everywhere and convey them effortlessly (or at least that’s the way it seems). As usual, your perspective resonates with me. Nothing but high hopes and well wishes for you!

  7. Rita Good

    Thanks for saying what I know is true but could never put it in words. I talked with your granddaddy last week. He and your grandmother shaped my life in so many ways. They were always where I wanted to be. I still see her face and feel her hugs. When my grandchildren walk in and tell them how special they are and how much I love them. Just as Doris and MawMaw would do when I walked in. Thanks again for your sweet self and your amazing writing.

  8. Jen

    I’m appalled that your ex-MIL could even think that your grandfather would date at this point, but much say this to you. My husband and I were discussing this over coffee this beautiful Fall morning. I was disgusted and outraged when I told him about your post. He looked at me and shook his head and effortlessly said something so profound that I had to comment…

    “Wives are not refrigerators. You don’t just replace them with new models when you desire or when they break down. Wives are the other halves of a partnership, of a family. You don’t replace partners – you work with them to achieve goals. They support you when you need it. And, you support them when they need it. If there are problems, you work to fix them.”

    Married 22 years – good and bad times – and my husband can still bring tears to my eyes. To those that would give up hope, remember – there are still good men out there.

    1. Thank you, Jen. I love that bit about wives and refrigerators. So much of our culture just throws things away to become something new. I was reading Glennon Melton’s latest book this weekend, and she said “There is no becoming. Only continuing.” I loved that and see that it applies to relationships too. You just carry the pain and mess with you anyway if you don’t deal with it first. Whether it is grief from death or the pain of divorce. It only continues and tarnishes what comes after if you don’t deal with it alone first. I firmly believe that. You can’t wipe the slate clean in an instant and start something new. It’s all hollow.

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