One Year Solo-ing in Sacramento

So here it is. One year ago, I arrived in Sacramento. In my past blog, Long Day's Journey Into Night, I tell of the circumstances that brought me here. Actually, if you read all my blogs, it is clear that the life experiences, mistakes, and triumphs brought me to this place and time. And it has been a roller coaster, a ride beyond my wildest imagination. Nothing has turned out as expected and I realize it can and never will be as hoped.

I came in the midst of trauma. My sociopathic father had become ridden with dementia. I have learned that the disease affects the frontal lobe of a person’s brain—the place where the personality, the complexities, and the darkness of the person define the being. My Mother had dementia and her last days were spent simply smiling, though lost in the ravages of memory loss.  But she became the woman whom she always was -- good and full of light. Even in her most confused and health challenged moments, she laughed and joked and there was an innocent joy that could not be denied. She rested in her being. When you think about it, what a completely truthful way to live.

So, after witnessing my Mother’s final disposition, I was unprepared for my father’s decline. His manipulation, his rantings, his narcissism reared on levels that frightened. Nothing I tried to do for him worked. His doctor washed his hands of the situation and made it challenging and ultimately impossible for the family to secure further professional care. My brothers, within their personalities, stumbled. Just chaos. Even my dog suffered. In the midst of the cacophony of screaming and stress, his health declined.

For some reason, I stayed longer than I should have. Call it a dysfunctional sense of responsibility to a father who was always incapable of caring. Call it a self-imposed sentence of misery due to financial setbacks (I just closed a business which drained my savings). Call it fear to start over, knowing I could no longer afford to live in the Bay Area, and knowing I would be forced to make a major move. It was a crazed blend of all of these life circumstances. And then, in one of his angrier outbursts, amidst searing name calling, my father told me to leave. In spite of the erratic craziness of the threat, I finally had my “permission” to leave.

Why Sacramento? It was one of the cities I had already been considering—based on affordability, familiarity (I knew people from Sacramento, it was closer to my daughter who lived in Tahoe, and it had a major airport), and an inexplicable hope that this just might be the solution—albeit even temporary while I got back to on feet, recovered, and figured out where I would ultimately live out my life. I saw it as an interim move but hoped it would prove to be a viable solution. It would be my immediate freedom and a place to regroup. I just needed to leave.

I have to tell you this story. The morning of my departure, before the movers arrived, I gathered my last belongings and surveyed my packed boxes. Something compelled me to peer out the bedroom window-something I never did the entire time I lived with my father. The view was nothing like those of my past--of well landscaped gardens or majestic city views. I found it very depressing to look upon a fog shrouded sky and the neighbor’s weed infested backyard. But, that morning, I took one last look. To my surprise, there was a lovely, large bird sitting on one of the old fences. What was this stately creature doing in a part of the city that seemed to only host scavenging seagulls, dirty pigeons, and cawing crows? Slowly, it turned its head towards my window and I was staring into its eyes. I snapped this photo and then it flew away.

I know this sounds crazy but something in my gut, in the deepest part of my soul told me this was a sign from Mom. She was saying good bye. She was sending me off to a new life and I knew that, from that moment, I was truly alone. Alone in my destiny. Alone to grieve and understand what had been. I screamed back, “Why are you leaving me now of all times?” But “she” was gone. Now it was up to me to become what I needed to be to survive, to move forward.  Though scared and unsure, I knew there was no turning back.

And that is how I came to write this blog. For the past year, I have been figuring it out. It has been my diary to life; a farewell to the past and acceptance of the present, and my ultimate journey to what future I have left.

I know as a reader you wonder why I call this blog Solo in Sacramento as I rarely speak solely about Sacramento. I have not shared many observations of this city as a destination; as a travel log. Sacramento is what it is. Sacramento is not a complicated city. I do invite you to read the few times I have written about the town, as I assimilated. For you see nothing has changed in the city itself.  My observations remain:

Once A City Girl

So It Goes... In Sacramento

It has become clear to me that this city is and will continue to be my catalyst.  This sojourn is more of a journey of figuring things out. Sacramento is my metaphor for change, for renewal. I call this time and process “the space between”. And, in this state of suspension, this is what I have learned:

In the space between…

I can wallow in the rambling mire of remembering. I have a bountiful past. I linger over reminisces of another city that captured my sense of adventure and joy. I recall a true love that taught me about selfless giving and wondrous sharing. I celebrate a once job that offered security and importance. And because the memories are so rich, I seem to bounce from happiness to a sense of deep loss. Some days there is no easy way out.  I look at the faded photos, I close my eyes and take myself to specific moments and feelings. And, yes, I savor each. I grieve the passage. And then I come back to reality.

In the space between…

I created a home filled with treasured belongings, collected through life. Each representative of a memory, a person, a feeling. I cook wonderful meals. I spent a magical Christmas surrounded by special Holiday mementos that further evoke a sense of past and belonging. I meet new friends who share similar senses of humor and tastes.

As well, there is frustration with the limitations of a town that does not offer a richness in old world culture, architecture, and art. But all is not lost. There are wonderful neighborhoods of tree lined streets boasting grand homes and quaint cottages. There is theater and a museum. There are parks filled with roses and gardenias growing abundantly.

In the space between…

I witness the last months of my dog’s life. There is so much emotion here. There are days of endless clean-up from the ravages of  his illness. He is no longer the same dog who accompanied me through long walks of adventures. But his loyalty and love sustain and I hold onto that.

I worry and he teaches me to accept what is. I get frustrated and he teaches me to move forward, no matter how hard. There is sadness and he teaches me to recall the bounty of joy that he has brought my life. I will always be grateful. I know that soon he will show me it is time to leave and I will have to teach myself to sustain unspeakable grief.

In the space between…

I still awaken with a drive to create. It is a poignant seeking of the last hurrah. In spite of my years, I am still the girl who believes that the impossible is still possible.

In the space between…

For now, I live in Sacramento and I try to fill my days with purposeful discovery. I continue to heal from the challenges and face what life presents. There are no guarantees, no insurance, no solutions. Sometimes I think I am floating on the outside looking in…trying to find a place to land, a place to be. My own unbearable lightness of being.

Then, in the space between, this happened…

In a timely, recent conversation with an old friend, she simply came right out and asked, “Are you happy?” My response was the obligatory, positive response…desperately seeking only the good, minimizing the challenging, softening the sadness. Finally I came clean, “ OK. Honestly, some days I am tired of working so hard at being.”

Her response was loving and kind, “Of course you are. It has been tough. But do you know what I see? The dark circles and bags under your eyes are gone. You look rested, less vacuous.You no longer walk with your head down. You smile more sincerely.

And now, in your survival, you are kinder, braver, and wiser. You have claimed the best of you. Perhaps all the great times and all the shit, all this loneliness and all the love you gave and continue to give –it all brings you to this place of knowing and truly being yourself.

Anyone who really knows you, who really loves you would never expect you to compromise and concede. You are in Sacramento for now but I have no doubt that you will ultimately land where you belong.”

In the space between…

I know that on that damp day of departure one year ago, that bird on the old fence was not majestically beckoning me and that was not Mom flying away. I know, I accept that both are gone…as is San Francisco, my struggle with my father, my old accomplishments and glory days. What remains is the present, the continued growth that comes with living each moment as myself. As I stated earlier in this blog, “She rested in her being. When you think about it, what a completely truthful way to live.”

Thank you for living this journey with me. One year and counting...