Walking on the Ashes of a Dream

As 2017 winds down, I’ve spent some time looking back on my year and one of the biggest decisions I’ve ever made. The decision to leave Texas and everything Rickie and I had spent almost 30 years building. It was scary; it was stressful; it was immensely sad both for me and my kids and grandkids; and lots of people thought it was crazy. And some still do. But it was mostly necessary. People tell me, when they hear my story, that I was brave (some say crazy) to leave my familiar home and come here, not knowing anyone. But it would have been harder to stay. We can’t fight our nature and it’s not my nature to sit around and cry and wring my hands when things go all to hell. I’ll do that for a while, most people will. But then it’s time to pick yourself up and take stock of your life. What you have and what you want.



I can sum up what I wanted in one sentence and often have when people ask me why on earth I left our place and came here to Colorado. And it’s this - while I’ll always be sad, there has to be some joy left in life for me. And so I set out to find that for me and for the kids and grandkids. As I told them, Rickie left us an opportunity for adventure and I meant to take advantage of it. Not just for me but for them.



And it’s been the best thing I could have done. When I look back at photos of the ranch, it makes me sad. But it’s the life we had there that I’m sad about and that I miss. If I went back it would still be sad because what I miss isn’t there anymore. I read something a widow wrote the other day about why she moved when her husband died. She said his memory ambushed her at every corner she turned and she was emotionally drained all the time from the sadness. That summed up where I was.



It’s been a busy year here and it’s been an adventurous year for the family and friends that have been able to come over. We’ve all done things we’ve never done before. Some have been skiing and snowboarding, we’ve been horseback riding in the mountains, rafting and kayaking down the river, hiking, train riding, sitting in the hot springs, and practicing our snowshoeing for this winter. We’ve seen some beautiful sights and we’ve driven down some scary roads.



I’ve had a Christmas tree for the first time since Rickie died. This is the 4th Christmas without him. I decorated the cabin and put the lights that used to be on the ranch cabin up outside. There was joy in the house with grandkids here. And then more joy as I went to Denver to celebrate Christmas with Sarah and her family.



I accomplished some goals here at the new cabin this year. I had a deck built; I furnished the cabin since I left almost everything I had at the ranch; replaced all the broken mini blinds; moved piles of stone; mulched my planting beds and planted trees and perennials; dismantled an old greenhouse: replaced all my door locks (17!); painted the kitchen and bath; had my bedroom, living room wall, and staircase painted; cleared a pile of junk on the hill; replaced the appliances; painted the front and garage walk-through doors; made gravel paths, edging, and a garden area by the deck; and had someone haul off a giant pile of old posts by the driveway that had been there about 10 years. I’ve started a list of things I want to do next year.



I sold Rickie’s truck to our grandson and traded in my SUV for a Subaru, the state car of Colorado. I joined a great group of people that walk dogs at the animal shelter each week (and then we have lunch and they teach me all about Colorado) and I go one night most weeks to meet some friends to hear live music and have a drink. I know my neighbors and could call on them for help. I’ve sort of learned to drive in winter weather. Sort of.  And just this week I adopted two rescue cats from the animal shelter. All part of learning to live again.



In everything I do I see Rickie’s hand. Without the sacrifices we made all those years to have the ranch, I wouldn’t have been able to sell it and buy this place. Without his belief that we have to take every chance to grab happiness and joy when it presents itself, I wouldn’t have had the courage to go off on my own like I did. Without all the skills I learned from him, I wouldn’t have been as confident to do some of the things I do. And without his love for the natural world and how he instilled it in me and the kids and grandkids, I wouldn’t have picked this place of peace and beauty.

I sometimes wish we had sold the ranch when he was alive and come here. He would have loved the adventures we’ve had. And I believe had he lived we might have done just that after he was retired a couple of years. We talked about it many times and he was always ready to do something different. He was the only one in my family like that. And he taught me to be that way and I’m grateful. It’s made all the difference in my life. That road less traveled.

My grandson Larry Michael told me that Rickie lived on in me because he changed me into the person I am. And that when I went to Colorado people would know him because of who I now was. Sometimes when I’m doing something or making a decision that I never would have before, I’ll say Rickie is gone and so now I have to be Rickie. Sort of like Negan on Walking Dead and how all his people say they are Negan when asked who they are. In many ways, I am Rickie and so are all those he influenced.



It’s been quite a year, this 2017. I hope 2018 finds us courageous enough to face what life tosses at us and that if we find ourselves faced with choices, we don’t always take the familiar one. That road less traveled does, indeed, make all the difference.

Ashes of a Dream by Mike Stinson