Love, Lessons from the Road

I took off. The urge to move struck me a few days ago. So I hooked up my camper and took off into the woods of West Virginia. This is where I write to you from.

I had not planned on going anywhere but the show I am supposed to be working on for six months got pushed, again. And the mural I am working on paused for construction in the building. So why not take advantage of the opportunity?

On my way here there was a death in my family. Seems as if death won’t lmtfa.

I bought some comfort food from the camp store and pulled into my sweet little campsite. I ate the chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich as I unhitched my trailer and begin to set up.

After lighting the fire I sat down and looked around at the woods which surrounded me. I scouted who was close by to determine if the people around me were serial killers or harmless like me(?). I determined the ones closest by were fine.

Do I even like camping?

Yes, of course I like camping. I said out loud.

I wondered as I poked at the fire and thought death.

Was this really the best use of my time? I have limited heartbeats after all. How are they best spent?

I looked around. I could hear the faint sound of other campers, mostly families and old couples. Usually in these spots all I hear are kids getting yelled at and people arguing about stuff, but it’s a weekday, so it’s pretty empty here. More chance of a bear coming for me! The ratio of choices is smaller

- No Jolene, do not think like that.

I poked the fire then sat back down.

Ahhh, all alone in the woods, again. So...relaxing? Scary? Tiresome? Yes. Lonely? For the first time.

My phone rang. Bonus, I have cell service here if the Mothman shows up I can call for help. A phone number I didn’t recognize. I waited and listened to the voicemail. A frantic man delivering what he said was “ton of red roses” on my doorstep. “I’ll send you a picture, let me know if you got these. I don’t want anyone to steal them.”

Fair enough, I thought, I do live in the city.

Six months after my husband died people started asking me if I was going to date again.

Date again? I could barely get out of bed in the morning.

Nine years later, I rarely talk about this part of my life on here. Not because I don’t have one — I do. But because I like my privacy. And, truthfully, because it’s been highly embarrassing how much shit I’ve tolerated in the name of not “comparing.” You know, the ol’ “Jolene, you can’t do that to people!”
But also… WTF not? It was the only truly successful relationship I’ve ever had — of course I’m going to compare.

Losing him was like being dropped into a vast ocean of grief. I’ve been wading in it for years, staring out at the most beautiful horizon I’ve ever seen. Fully aware it’s behind me now — and still, the water is very real at my feet.

Sometimes I think I’ve healed, only to find myself crying at a commercial or getting irrationally mad at the way someone doesn’t know how to hold my hand. Grief is weird like that. It shape shifts. Disguises itself as mood swings or ambition or the sudden urge to travel to another country. (Guilty.)

Dating after loss? It's not for the faint of heart. People tell you to “stay open,” to “try again,” to “let love in.” But what they don’t tell you is how hard it is to sit across from someone new while your body still remembers the way someone else laughed. Or how hard you’ll try to be “normal” again — like you’re not measuring every interaction against the feeling of being known so completely by someone who’s now gone.

Since losing my husband, I’ve opened my heart a few times. Some relationships taught me hard lessons — one ended in betrayal, another chipped away at my self-worth, and one revealed more anger than affection. And some… well, some came close. Close enough to imagine a future.

Regardless, as to how different they each were and their reasons for being who they were, they all had one thing in common…