Michigan fall sunset view from my back porch.

I thought I would break.

We’d just begun a new chapter of being just the two of us again, children grown, new challenges and opportunities… after 34 years together, like young newlyweds, the world would be our oyster again hiding the pearl we knew would glimmer and shine its lustrous colors upon us. I’d rushed back from an overseas trip only to find myself now in charge of your healthcare.

And then you were gone.

So abrupt, from diagnosis to death in less than three months.

Crushed, angry, resentful for you having left me right when the adventures were getting even more interesting than the 30+ years before!

I restarted my studies, knowing that if I just immersed myself in the work I could hide away from my grief, ignore the wound in my heart. But by Christmas, I sat crying on the side of the bed…

I just. want. a hug.

I’d tried a dance class, a restorative process where I could lose myself in the movements, and connect to my grandmother, a dancer in her own day. You never wanted to dance with me… though there was that one last time. But still, the movements and the music began to heal me.

I don’t bite except on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

The dreams were so vivid that I looked forward to your visits. But the loneliness wouldn’t go away. Perhaps, if only there was someone, not one of our children, or friends, or anyone who knew you. Someone I could talk to who didn’t have your ghost to guide the conversations.

And then he reached out and I ignored him. Each week he’d check in. “I don’t bite except on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he wrote. And I finally couldn’t stifle the laugh. The nerve, I thought. So we wrote to each other, first just a couple of times a week, then every day, and then we’d talk all night.

“I wish I could dance with you, ya know,” he wrote offering to join me in a dance class when he visited. It became our connection. He was awful at it, and I loved him for it anyway.

As we shared our stories with each other I realized it wasn’t just my tears that were falling for the one I’d lost. He cried for it, too, a life of wonder and adventure that he hoped to build with me.

And then… we did.


The above prose was written as part of a 13-minute writing exercise during a six-week workshop offered by @LauraLentzWriter and her Literati Academy. The writers participating in this series are exploring their way through grief and the hero’s journey.

Happy times. Me and Steven were wandering the wineries of the Mission Peninsula in Traverse City. June 2019

Before grief, I spoke the language of we. What were we doing today? Even if we were working separately our days rotated around each other like two stars in synchronous orbits, each shining our light upon the other with love and kindness. 

Before grief, I still grieved for my first love. But you stepped into my life, two roses in hand, with a smile so bright it still makes me laugh when I think of it… Memories can be both healing and hurtful in their teasing. But I’d rather the smile, than the tears.

It was always like that with us, my sesame chicken to your homey meatloaf. The doctor and the hillbilly, the designer and the maker. We were in sync in this third chapter of our lives and I was looking forward to a long one together. But it wasn’t meant to be, I guess. The dogs sleeping on your side of the bed has a way of reminding me of that.

So now I speak of possibilities, though I am charting a new path without a roadmap to guide me. No late night nudges to ask you “Is this possible?” And for you to answer me “of course it is!” I miss that. But grief can’t take away my dreams, not completely anyway. They have shifted, adapted, and are still remolding themselves.

[A]fter grief, I’m learning to believe in myself again.

I’ve been through this before. And I know that it can only lead to something bigger than myself. That my life is not just a big empty house in a forest filled with darkness.

After grief, I’m learning anew. You always knew that I was a lifelong learner. Back to school again and again and again. But now it’s not what I know or who I love that matters. It’s what I believe. And after grief, I’m learning to believe in myself again. To apply the lessons of the before-times to a party of one with room to invite fellow believers.

That’s harder than it sounds. But I’m working on it.


The above prose was written as part of a 13-minute writing exercise during a six-week workshop offered by @LauraLentzWriter and her Literati Academy. The writers participating in this series are exploring their way through grief and the hero’s journey.

Friday, 7/27/18

Woke up at 4:52 am to a blazing light shining upon me. It was a huge full moon low on the horizon so that its light reached inside my bedroom. I smiled and said Happy 60th Birthday, Keith! We miss you here on this life’s plane. Hope you’re enjoying all our shenanigans from your view on the other side. ❤️

Keith taking his solo pilot flight test, upstate NY. Instructor decided we should all go to dinner in Keene, NH.

Postscript: When I awoke later in the morning daylight, I looked out the window and saw the trees and wondered how I could have seen the moon so clearly earlier. And yet, there it had been! When he passed, it was a huge blue moon (a second full moon in the month) and I always associate the strong light of the full moon as his embrace from beyond.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe that I am really living this happy life with a lovely sweet man, and planning a new home. In the space of a blink of an eye – it seems – life has turned around.

In December, Steve and I celebrated our marriage in a small “hillbilly wedding” on the terrace behind the old woodworking shop. Surrounded by family, nervous laughter, and not just a few chattering teeth, we said our “I Do’s” – the Doctor and the Hillbilly – in a loving commitment to sharing our future together.

Married 12/13/14, Steven placed a heart-shaped log as our featured decoration for our wedding.

Married 12/13/14, Steven placed a heart-shaped log as our featured decoration for our wedding.

Although the old shop was supposed to have been renovated prior to our wedding, its aging decrepitness lent a certain rustic charm to the day. After all, we’re building anew, releasing ourselves from the pains of past suffering, yet we acknowledge the scars we may still carry, fading slowly, but undeniably there.

Our day turned out to be auspicious, too, for its date. Honestly, it wasn’t chosen because of the pattern – 12/13/14. It was chosen because that was a day that some key people said they could be there. Fortunately, others who were equally important were able to arrange their schedules in order to support us. Our vows were sweet and honest, helping to tell the story of our meeting, our courtship, and our plans for a future life together. Unlike our first marriages, we were not marrying to raise children together. We are together because we look forward to spending our lives together as companions in our golden years, loving, supportive, sharing laughter, tears, and joy.

Even more amusing, my diploma arrived just after Christmas and ironically it stated that the degree was awarded the same day – 12/13/14. An auspicious day, indeed!

Doctorate in Education, Community College Leadership Issued 12/13/14

Doctorate in Education, Community College Leadership
Issued 12/13/14

Our wedding announcement told our little story in a gently amusing way. Here’s a mash-up of the front and back.

"The Doctor & the Hillbilly"

“The Doctor & the Hillbilly”

The response was appropriate and kind. Close friends and family shared their love and warm wishes. We were touched by the sentiments, especially those from around our generation or older, ones who could relate to building a life anew for a second chapter.

And that’s what it seems to be… a new chapter in life. Never will I forget the first one, my first life with Keith. Never will I forget the love and life we shared. And never does a day go by that I don’t feel his touch deep within my heart.

The old 1840s Farmhouse is being dismantled stick by stick. The pieces will be repurposed in the new house planned for the same location. Building the next chapter of our lives.

The old 1840s Farmhouse is being dismantled stick by stick. The pieces will be repurposed in the new house planned for the same location. Building the next chapter of our lives.

But as I move forward, building a new life with Steven, we take down the old… with plans to rebuild it, adapt it to new experiences yet to come. I pinch myself still. New career opportunities, new husband, new plans to build a life together… and the promise of a future watching our respective children raise their own families, building their own lives. I want to be a part of all that, and so does Steven. Together we can share in that joy. I acknowledge the guardian angels who have guided us towards each other, giving us the opportunity to share a second chance at love… sharing the next stage in life with a loving companion.

The mists rolled over the fields below our property.

The mists rolled over the fields below our property during our wedding, 12/13/14. The only music was the sounds of laughter and the soft ringing of the wind chimes on the hill.

I feel truly blessed.

 

Wedding photos by S.E. Fulmer Photography © 2014.

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Detail from an artist’s book created for a presentation on my growth through my doctoral studies.

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Well… That’s done! Phew! I have successfully defended my dissertation and can now officially be called Doctor Fulmer. It’s been a long and winding road and I can unequivocally say I am not who I was when I began.

And this is not where I thought I would be when I finished. But here, indeed, is where I am…

Tomorrow will bring a new challenge, something to change the course of my life… Sometimes it’s just a small thing… Or just a word or two. “Do you want to move in with me?”

You never know, really, how your life will shift ever so imperceptibly in a different direction. Not every change is brought on by the seismic shift of death. Sometimes… just sometimes…it is just one small thing you never really believed you would hear or say.

And then it’s over. And you’re sitting there thinking: “hmmm. That’s it. What next?”

In a way, life has been in a simultaneous holding pattern while I finished this doctoral degree, while at the same time rushing forward towards a future that was not entirely in my original plan.

Well, it’s not like I don’t have other things to do… Or want to do. Make art. Write more. Build a house. Move up in my career so I can put my skills to the test.

In a way, life has been in a simultaneous holding pattern while I finished this doctoral degree, while at the same time rushing forward towards a future that was not entirely in my original plan.

Let me explain. For the reader who is unfamiliar with my story, I offer a brief synopsis. Life was good. Really good. Daughter #1 had just gotten married to a wonderful man. Daughter #2 was graduating from university and had two jobs already lined up. I had finished my first year in a doctoral program while working full-time in a job I love. I had been awarded a short-term Fulbright to Russia. My husband of nearly 30 years and I had purchased our dream property where he could have his workshop, family art studios, gallery, and even a future new home. Life was good.

And then it wasn’t. (Read more about it In earlier posts going back to September 2012.) He had lost weight, been fighting a “cold” and feeling weaker. A month of tests led to a diagnosis of Stage 4 cancer, unknown primary (likely pancreatic), prognosis extremely poor. From diagnosis to death – less than 3 months. He made it just past his 54th birthday and our 30th anniversary. My life felt like it had completely crumbled.

Promises were made, though. He made me promise: Don’t sell the property, but finish it for the family to use for their studios as planned, and for my own uses. Finish the doctorate. He really wanted me to do that. He was upset that I had dropped out that summer to care for him. But, really, who can concentrate on Quantitative Research Methods while managing the care and emotional roller coaster of dealing with your dying spouse? But…then he was gone and I had to deal with the emotional crater that is grief.

First, I finished the renovations on the gallery house which contained daughter #1’s photo studio upstairs. Then a new fence, and retaining wall went in. The farmhouse is slowly being dismantled and parts saved for salvage. Steven, my companion in all of this, has tirelessly put his heart and soul into the work, along with any college students I can hire to assist.

Most recently, the large 4000 sq. ft. workshop space has been slated for renovations. Stacks of the 71 new windows fill the crowded shop in anticipation of being installed late fall, along with new insulation, siding, and steel roof. The emerging economy has slowed progress as the contractor I have worked with, an old friend of my late husband’s, is backed up from other work. But progress inches along and I have no doubt that it will all be done before Spring.

While all this was happening, I caught up. I finished all of my coursework, including the Quantitative Research course which I did by independent study with the original and very understanding instructor. I did all of this with a 4.0 GPA. At the commencement and hooding ceremony held last May, I was awarded the Faculty’s Distinguished Scholar-Practitioner Award for my thoughtful approach to the various studies, sometimes challenging my classmates to look at things from a different perspective.

And then, only five months after commencement, I have completed the dissertation defense, receiving high praise for intellectual standards for my work.

The meaning of pursuing these goals had changed. My life’s partner was gone… And my life had been designed for a partner.

I tell you all this not out of boastfulness. I tell you this because it was done in order to honor my promise. For if I had not made that promise, there were many times when it would have been easier to just walk away from it all. The meaning of pursuing these goals had changed. My life’s partner was gone… And my life had been designed for a partner. My new companion, however, was not going to let me give up on those promises.

And so how does one do it? It began with a simple gesture of sharing… Opening up one’s vulnerabilities and accepting that you might get hurt… But that you’d already felt the worst of pain. So what could it hurt if you shared a little of yourself with someone new who seemed to care and shared some vulnerabilities of his own?

It’s been a year and a half since I met Steven and he’s been the kindest and gentlest person that the spirits could have sent across my path at a time when his kind of personality was just what I needed. And since then, I have grown to respect and admire this self-described hillbilly for his creativity, innovation, and practical smarts. He is a good balance to my over-intellectualism. He wears his heart on his sleeve which reminds me to recognize my own capability to love someone again. And frankly, he’s always there with a good hug…just when I need it.

So I come back to where I began this brief story. I finished my doctoral studies. I am now Dr. Fulmer. I began as the wife of a loving husband of 30 years. I survived through my studies as a widow. I am now looking forward to building a new life with a new partner in a new home on the dream property from before.

The shape of the dream has shifted…just a little… I face a new challenge shared by many in the “sandwich generation” who are looking at caring for aging parents…mine who will join me in this new home I’ve designed. And I feel confident that, with Steven as my companion on this new journey, we will be able to meet whatever life’s challenges lay ahead. But I’m not naive. I know that, without warning, the road can shift beneath your feet. And life will never be the same again. You can’t live your life looking only in the rear view mirror as you try and move forward. And you can’t live your life paralyzed by the fear of a shifting road.

All you can do is take this long and winding path of life one step at a time. Look ahead to the dreams you continue to create. Scan side to side to see who is coming with you. And occasionally glance back to remind you how far you’ve come. Only in this way can you live your life moving forward.

Besides, I’m all good with the ghosts of those who still travel these roads with me around here.

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A good omen. Swans are visible through the branches along the pond’s edge as the sun sets behind my property where I’ll be building a new home.