A Painful Goodbye

I signed the papers on my home today.  It's gone, no longer mine.  While I am thrilled that the new owners love the place, are raising a young family, and plan to put the land to use, I'm also mourning.  Everyone keeps telling me how happy they are for me; how I needed to "get rid of the place," and how I am going to "have a new start."  I know that they love me and that they mean well; I know that it is nearly impossible to know what to say, but all of this is making it harder and harder for me to share what I really feel.

When I think about "our place," this is what I picture:

Brett happy and sitting like an imp two stories above the floor, after installing the new chandelier.  Every time he worked on a house project, he laughed and joked, swirled me around, added a few kisses and a dance, and told me how glad he was to have the opportunity to help.  It never ceased to amaze me that Brett could be so positive about doing all of the fix-it jobs.  He was a pure delight when it came to putting up curtain rods, helping with the dishes, or mowing the lawn.  I'll never forget his response the first time he saw me on my knees cleaning a bathroom floor.  With tears in his eyes, he firmly declared that he never wanted to see me in that position again, and that he would take over all bathroom cleaning and floor washing.  And he did.  He made a contest for himself, to see if he could do a better job than I had done, and with his teasing grin, he would tell me how he was constantly improving his performance.

Brett on the ATV, having the time of his life, yet stopping by to make sure I remembered that he loved me.  Notice that devilish grin again.  Brett enjoyed the land - and the ATV - with all of his heart.  He rode like a crazy man, yet was always careful when I accompanied him, me riding on the back and holding on to him tightly (not necessarily because I was afraid).   (By the time I moved, I had learned to ride like a crazy woman too).

The ham radio in Brett's teeth was his idea for always being able to talk to each other, no matter how far apart we were (although I think we only used it once or twice).  Brett used to have a hard time when we were separate, and would swear that he would never allow us to spend a night apart.  He was positive that Adam and Eve had trouble because they had separated from one another in the Garden, and the first words out of his mouth after watching the full Lord of the Rings trilogy were: "Why didn't Arwen and Aragorn stay together?  They should have never separated."  Oh, how true those words were!

I remember my concern when we first bought the land, because Brett would need to spend hours mowing, and we would have that much less time together.  But we always found a way around those kinds of difficulties: I usually mowed the front yard while he zipped around the back and sides with the ATV/field mower, waving to me and smirking whenever he was within sight.

The boots Brett bought me for my birthday, specifically intended for my "farm girl" new life.  I never gave up wearing the skirts (that's just me), but I loved my new footwear, and wore them until they had more holes in them than roses.  The last time I wore them, Faith and I walked in the creek, and there was absolutely no protection whatsoever from the water.  That was just a week or two before I moved, and I reluctantly threw those precious boots away as I packed up my things to leave.

We loved taking pictures, journalling, and documenting our life together.  Every particle of our life together seemed to revolve around the deep love we shared.  I can honestly say that Brett made me feel that I was the center of his universe, and his constant loving gestures were a delight that brought healing balm and joy to my soul.

Brett laboring - again with joy - to put in the fence for Midnight.  It was the first order of business when we moved in . . .

Brett's Grandpa showed up as a surprise one day, garbed in his work clothes and ready to help get the fence completed.  What a wonderful experience it was to have Brett and his grandfather share such a loving endeavor!  I kept stealing peeks through the windows, even though I was supposed to be unpacking and painting.  I just couldn't help smiling every time I looked out and saw them working and laughing together.

All of that labor had had one purpose.  It was the same purpose for which we bought the house/land in the first place: to make a home for Midnight.

Midnight loved the place, and seemed to feel safe for the first time in his life.  He consumed the grass so quickly that he became quite fat within just a few weeks!  I love this picture for capturing his gentle spirit, and the beauty of the land.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Brett, taken just a few minutes after bringing Midnight home.  I think Brett looks so relaxed and truly happy.  This was a day we had spoken of for years.  Midnight's happiness and presence meant so much to us that the one name we kept coming back to for our home was "Midnight's Landing."  

There had been a very special bond between Midnight and Brett, Midnight and me, Midnight and Isabeau, and Midnight and Faith and Austin.  It never ceased to amaze me that Midnight could be so intuitively gentle.  Faith used to run up to him with her hands full of carrots, a dangerous situation for most toddlers whose little fingers can so easily get wrapped up with the carrot offerings, but Midnight would softly and slowly separate the veggies from her hands, and no hurt ever came to anyone.

We loved hosting dinners at our home, especially for family.  This was our first Thanksgiving at the house, and Brett, as usual, was right in the midst of it all.  I loved the fact that Brett was such an equal in the kitchen and in prepping, hosting and cleaning up after any event.  We had so much fun planning all of the details and carrying them out.  He was my beloved partner in everything.

Austin and Faith loved Midnight, and Brett loved taking them for rides.  Brett was as loving and gentle with the kids as any true grandparent would be, but he was ten times more fun because of his youthful energy.

I remember that when the kids stayed overnight, Faith would often be fretful in the night.  Brett always insisted that he was the one who wanted to go and get her and bring her into our bed.  He was a natural, and always calmed her down - and then riled her up in the daylight hours!

People make me feel like I'm not supposed to talk about Brett.  At worst, they tell me that he was just a pretender who used me (are these pictures congruent with that idea?).  At best, people tell me that like Job, God will reward me ten-fold.  I ask "Do you mean I am going to get Brett X 2 or X 10?"  Because I really don't think that is possible.  And I don't think it is possible to "replace" one person with another.  Brett was my soulmate and companion in every way; I've never been so compatible with another human being on so many levels.  And I have never known such joy and love.

People love me and they want me to "move on."  They tell me that I should be really excited about my new home, as if that should become the new center of my thoughts and dreams . . . but I've had new homes before.  I've designed and decorated them, and then packed them up and moved away again.  Truth be told, I can't imagine any home, or any property, coming close to measuring up to the home I've just left.  Yes, it is true that I had grave concerns before moving into it, and I felt very overwhelmed by its cost and time commitment.  I feel that the Lord was warning me about what was coming.  But I came to love that home, and particularly that land, with all of my soul, and I found real healing as I walked through the creek, and laid on my back in the pasture, watching Isabeau run and the hawks circle overhead.  It was everything that Brett and I had dreamed of . . . together.

How can a home - or any thing - fill the hole that has been left by the departure of my beloved?  I still really don't understand what happened.  Even Brett can't make it make sense to me.  I feel that "my" Brett has entirely disappeared; I've only seen tiny glimpses of him for a second here or there over the last year-and-a-half.  How can I ever find peace with that?

I've wondered quite often if "Mrs. Noah" was ever happy after the door closed on the ark.  How many of her loved ones were outside, drowning?  Yes, it had to be strengthening to know that God was aware of her and her family, and that she had been chosen to begin the human race again, but how to close the door of her heart against the loss?  I know that God is aware of me, and loves me.  But my constant prayer to Him is not for myself . . . it is for Brett.

Today, signing away our dream home felt like another divorce, another step away from all that I have held precious.  . . .  I don't feel that I am seen, heard, or understood when I try to express that fact.  "It's not healthy for you to dwell on the past; you've got to look to your future," people tell me.  What future?  Isn't my future my distant past all made up over again?  I'm not a 20 or 30-year old just discovering how life works.  I'd found a way to cope and work with things before I met Brett, and then he came into my life like a bolt of lightning.  I resisted it, but the Lord gave me the strongest direction that I ever received, before or since.  I felt that the Lord was telling me that I was meant to be happy, and that I would now have "my reward" for the way I had faced the difficulties of my life.  I would now see what true happiness was, what true love and a celestial marriage were . . . But people tell me that if it was love, I wouldn't be where I am now, and in that process, they strip away what little I have left.  They question that I could have received revelation that would tell me to marry Brett.  If I did not receive revelation then, I have never received it at all.  Simple as that.

I always felt that people did not understand Brett.  I spent a great deal of time trying to remedy that, but with little success.  Now, I feel that people also do not understand me.  It is a very lonely place for me to be.  I think most people shake their heads with pity over me, and feel that I have lost my reason.

What is reason?  What is truth?  Most people in the world disagree over the answers to those questions.  I believe that truth is the most precious commodity that exists.  Some years ago, my book club read the book "The Goose Girl," which posits that all of us are born with a word on our tongue that defines us.  It is when we discover and speak that word that we come to know our true selves and our mission.  I knew immediately that my word was "Truth."  It always has been.  Brett used to commend and love me for it.  I've only recently realized that my middle name, Veree (accent over the last e), is a derivative of the Latin verite for truth.  It seems fitting and telling that I have carried that name all along without realizing it.  I think that one of the most difficult aspects of life is that we experience it in a mostly-blind state.  I know that I am constantly aware of just how blind I am.

Now, more than ever, I wish that I could see.