Third Drawer Down

There’s an inevitable, awkward dance when you move into someone else’s home. Bryan and I had a lengthy courtship, for which I am incredibly grateful. When the time came to meld our lives together under one roof, we combined more than two households; it was more like four. His stuff, my stuff, his parents’ stuff, my Mom’s stuff all had to be dealt with as we navigated a new way of being together. Parts of it were great. We remarked for years afterward how much fun we had with the kitchen. We got to pick the very best elements to create a remarkable kitchen where we spent hours cooking with each other. Bryan laughed at how we would never need to buy ground cloves again. Ha! The books, furniture, clothes, took a little a longer.

We did have a storage unit for a while but were able to parcel things out to friends and ultimately sell the remainder at a yard sale. There was still an attic to tackle (still is) and the books never really got fully sorted until I did it by myself last year. Bryan was always gracious in sharing this space so that it would become truly ours. The new roof, porch, and paint color reflect that process. Some things remained very much Bryan–the garage and the basement for example, and the skis and poles leaned against the front entry wall all year long as a signature Lubbers decoration.

I’ve made quite a few visual changes to this space since Bryan passed. Part of it was to get a shift from the very small world we lived in for four and a half months. Part of it is permission I’ve given myself to keep living. Nevertheless, unintended shrines pop up and surprise me still. I’ve never needed the third drawer down in the bathroom. I have plenty of space for all my effects so I never found the need to change it. A couple of days ago, I was in a hurry and reached for the wrong drawer and opened it up–beard trimmer, electric razor, all the brushes and attachments stared up at me, unmoved and unchanged despite all that has occurred. I shut the drawer and sobbed.

I’ve talked a lot about how I’m navigating loss and processing living. A lot of you have been processing your own grief about Bryan, too. You know that I feel lucky that I got to be with my person and love him and be loved by him. But something crystallized in my brain this past week. Bryan was a guardian and protector of my heart. He was tender and gentle and so very kind even with the flawed, vulnerable, “flat sides” of my character. “I love all of you, Becci.” And he did. He did. And he protected my heart. Always. Even to the very end.