At 62…why so calm?!

As Mike could have told you – when something’s on my mind, I’m a worrier. I fret and natter out loud about anything and everything that bothers me – half under my breath. I make lists and plans and I try my darndest to know what my future holds. When I’m really down, I do online puzzles and games for hours, which frustrated Mike to no end.

But since Mike died, I’m different. I’m finding peace in solitude. I like my own company. I laugh less, but I believe it’s because I’m alone much more. I miss Mike with every fiber of my being – and I still cry at the oddest times – but I’m not unhappy. I haven’t opened a video game since he’s been gone. Don’t want to waste the time.

There are so many things I should be worried about. Family and friends who have health issues. Money. Work. Keeping my world running alone. My giant pile of to-do notes. The list is a long one.

But somehow, during this bubble of an Alaskan summer, I’m only finding the space to simply – be. Just sitting on the porch. Turning off my mind and letting the world go by. Going out in the boat. Talking with friends. Reading. Doing needlework. Watching my mountains. Feeling the peace of our summer world wash over me. Merely being.

Mike’s death hit hard in so many ways. When Al died, I learned that I could fix just about anything – but I couldn’t fix death. And I learned it again – in a much different way – with Mike.

Mike was so vital, so full of energy, so alive. We fought this thing together with everything we had. And in the end, we lost the battle.

Suddenly so much that seemed so critical in life just doesn’t have the meaning it once did. That’s not to say there’s no joy in life – there is. But there are things that are important – and those that only seem as though they are. Priorities shift.

After the roller coaster that was Mike’s cancer, after the constant worry, after trying to hide my terror and depression at the potential of losing Mike, after all of the sadness – I need to just be.

I am a person who likes her world under control. So did Mike. We were both Type A control freaks – him, more subtly; me, both subtle and direct.

And now, there are so many things in my life that I have no control over. And instead of agonizing over them and wasting time doing it – I’m just trying to ignore them and be happy. Mike always told me one of his greatest assets was patience. It has never been one of mine. I feel his gentle hand over my mouth daily, telling me to hush and just be patient. Let life unfold. Have peace.

Mike knew, and I knew – Life changes in an instant. I’m working on peace between the storms…at 62.