Lorri Weisen - www.lorriweisen.com

Leaving Pooh Corner.

(8 minute read)

My late husband, Klink, named our beautiful home Pooh Corner many moon’s ago and long before we met. He had a wife and son before me and the Loggin’s and Messina song “Return To Pooh Corner”, I always believed, was his song to his (estranged) son. Klink was a music man. Not with the talent of an instrument or voice, but with the words and meaning of the song. He found himself in music. And if he loved you—he would show you by singing the words to you. Never on key, but always, always, with his heart on his sleeve, a sparkle in his eyes and the biggest grin you could imagine. Anyone who was receiving of this experience—I know for certain—felt like they were the most important person in his life at that moment in time.

And it was true.

I moved out of Pooh Corner this week. I was here with Klink for 25 years; three of his cancers, three of our companies, our wedding, his funeral, millions of moments of happiness, friendship, anger, loss, grief, and joy. So many years of construction, illness, discord, and chaos. But through it all…lot’s of love, laughter and music.

My friend Jennifer called me a week before the move and said “I just want you to know I am holding space for you and what you are about to experience. If you need me, I am here for you.” I cried when we hung up from each other. Not only did I appreciate the love and support, but her words, “holding space for you”, stayed with me. I knew it was going to be difficult to leave my home and I knew I needed to make sure I was allowing myself the room to process it all. The words “holding space” wrapped it all up for me and became my mantra during the packing and moving.

Putch and Jackie — life long friends of Klink and I — were gracious enough to let me stay at their house while they were away (on their own RV adventure no less!) and this gave me a space to land while I moved out of the house. (And for several weeks after.) Lucky for me they only lived two blocks away and so I moved several truckloads of the items I would need to bring for my future life on the road; clothes, cooking supplies, books, tools, etc. I was so grateful to have this “space” for me to regroup and catch my breath. It would allow me to sift and sort through my belongings and pack up my trailer with ease when the time came. Their house was familiar, comfortable and when I arrived after dark each night—soaked to my bones and fatigued from the day— there was always a light on for me.

One friend was holding space while another was giving it.

What I needed to remember, most importantly, was to hold space for myself throughout all of this chaos. Allow myself to grieve and let go of this home that is so connected to the man who used to sing to me. Allow myself to be okay with it all; not push myself through it or push it away. Not dismiss it because he’s been gone for two and a half years and I should be “over it” by now. I needed to be with it. Be in the space of it. Take this time for myself; not answer the phone if I didn’t feel up to it, set my boundaries, honor what was happening and not feeling guilty or judge myself about any of it. This was a big deal and I needed to respect it.

This was for me.

It may seem silly to some that a person could be so connected to a house, but I had spent most of my adult life here. I moved in with him when I was 27 and I became the person I am today because I was here. With him. I grew into a happy, brave, and confident woman in this house and that’s why I am able to pack up and go live on the road now. Because I am unafraid. I trust the Universe and that everything is always working out for me. I learned that being here. I learned how to love unconditionally, to respect and honor so many things, to be an entrepreneur, to make mistakes and grow from them, to forgive myself, forgive my past, forgive him, and forgive others who had hurt me. There are so many layers to my life, but this place, with this man, gave me an opportunity unlike any I ever had.

It was safe. It was home. It was where I felt I had truly become me.

As the movers were working, I went into the garage to assemble a portable grill I was taking with me and looked around to make sure I didn’t miss anything that I would need for my trip. And then it was like I wanted to take every single piece of everything with me. A dirty bucket with a scrubber Klink used for the floors, a small wooden brush and dustpan he used to clean up small messes with. The Sawzall. (Wtf? When would I ever need this?) His tools were an easy connection—and in my truck they all went.

Even the ball bungees. Especially the ball bungees. Those I’ll really need.

After the movers had gone, I noticed a picture lying on my now bare office floor. It was my favorite picture of Klink and I—circa 1997 before cancer #1—when he was healthy and well. It must have been stuck behind my desk and fell to the floor when the guys moved it. None the less, I take these things as a sign of his presence and his way of saying “Hey Lj. I’m here. Right now.”

And, of course, that’s when he showed up.

I had Spotify turned on my phone so the movers could work with a little music and when I picked the picture up off the floor a song from Nobody Know’s (Pete’s Dragon) from The Lumineers started paying. I shit you not…

Nobody knows how to say goodbye
It seems so easy ’til you try
Then the moments passed you by
Nobody knows how to say goodbye

Nobody knows how to get back home
And we set out so long ago
Search the heavens and the Earth below
Nobody knows how to get back home

Through the darkness to the dawn
And when I looked back you were gone
Heard your voice leading me on
Through the darkness to the dawn

Love is deep as the road is long
And moves my feet to carry on
It beats my heart when you are gone
Love is deep as the road is long

Nobody knows how the story ends
Live the day, doing what you can
This is only where it began
Nobody knows how the story ends

Nobody knows how the story ends

This is how the #crazyghost sings to me now. Through Spotify.

Hearing these words breaks me in half and I sink down in the corner of the kitchen and sob. Mostly because I know the words are from him. Straight from him. To me. Of course this is how he communicates now. Through music. I cry because I feel him present, I know he’s here. Telling me… “This is only where it began. Nobody knows how the story ends.” I cry because I know he is right. I cry because I am ready to begin a new story. My story. The one without a little brown house with an orange door—and the one without Klink. 

Half of me want’s to stay forever. Half of me want’s to leave for good.

As I clean the rooms one by one, the memories flood me. I find myself procrastinating because I just don’t want to go. Let me just keep cleaning, one more room, one more floor, I don’t mind. Just one more minute here. I polish the stainless as I listen to the echo in the empty space, talking out loud to myself – to Klink. The energy of this space is electrifying right now. I want to touch everything he touched, everything he built, every memory to capture. I know in the morning the new owners and movers will track footprints all over the newly cleaned wood – but I don’t care. I leave it the way it deserves to be left. Clean, polished, with love.

As I watch my tears land on the countertop I am wiping down, I finally realize the depth of what I am doing. This past week has been so laborious and taxing and I haven’t had time to really think. But now it hits me like a tidal wave. The bigness of it all. I knew it was coming. I have been full of excitement the last few months because of all of the changes and possibilities ahead, but here I am getting ready to walk out the door of everything I have known and loved for 25 years. I’m leaving comfortable and familiar. I’m doing something most people only dream of. This is pretty big.

“It’s okay Lorri Jean, I’ll be coming with you.” I could hear Klink softly say to me. “I’m in every song that reminds you of me and will be singing you new ones along your journey. I’m in every tool of mine you touch, and of course, I’m always holding your hand when you wear my gloves.” He whispered. “When something wonderful is happening—and you feel me at that moment—it means I am there with you. I never left you. I am never gone.”

I get up, wipe my nose, and pour myself a glass of wine. He’s right. I know this to be true.

Cheers to you my #crazyghost. Cheers to us. Cheers to Pooh Corner.

I take a sip of my wine and look around. The marble is polished, the floors are mopped, and the darkness is settling in on this rainy day. I go through each room and turn off the lights—one by one. I turn off the music and sit at the fireplace in silence. Let the memories wash over me. I can’t seem to get myself up to walk out the door. Klink dying wasn’t my choice but leaving this house is. I’m the one who has to walk away now. Even though he’s not here physically, his essence is. His spirit. I can understand why people don’t move away, don’t let go, stay where they are. It’s painful and raw and feels like the jaws of life holding you stationary. Frozen. But I know it’s not him holding me here. It’s me. I want to stay with these memories and this place forever. I’m not a nostalgic person but I want to sit here at the fireplace, stare at these walls, and remember every single detail of our life. I feel like my ass is glued to the hearth, and I want to get up, yet, I know if I do it will change this moment and I don’t want to lose this feeling. Like somehow I would lose him all over again if I did. When I look out these windows and doors I see my life playing out like on an old movie projector. The film is old and frayed and I hear it come to the end. Flit..flit…flit..flit. I can’t imagine myself being anywhere else but this place.

But that’s not true. I have imagined it.

My boots and jacket are outside the front door on the porch waiting for me to arrive in them. Waiting for me to let go and walk into the future I have planned for me. My life on the road. Exploring. Teaching. Learning. Hey….. get up get up get up get up get up….gooooooo. Lorri Jean – moooooove.

“Lj – it’s time to go.” I feel Klink nudge me after I’ve sat there for an hour. “I know… I know… I know” I say, as I finally move my body and walk to the kitchen. “I know…It’s all gonna be great, and where I’m going is gonna be awesome and I know you’ll be with me all the time… forever. And yes, I know. I know. It’s time to go.” I turn around and mentally hug every piece of this place, hug every piece of my life with him here.

I take a deep breath, and for the very last time, I walk out the orange door and the place that will always hold the biggest part of my heart.

Hello Friend!

I’m Lorri — The Nomadic Health Coach. I’m an Institute for Integrative Nutrition Health Coach, writer, nomad, and widow of a three-time cancer hero.

FoIlow along as I travel across the country in my teardrop—sharing my adventures and wellness advice.
Lorri Weisen

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  1. Nina Keegan April 26, 2023 at 7:21 am - Reply

    Thanks Lorri for sharing such an intimate part of your life – your journey. I’m reading this in April 2023 having found you through a series of clicks from a Heart Math Institute course I’m taking. I look forward to your emails. If you ever get to Charleston, SC, let me know. Would love to have a cup of coffee under a grand oak and hear more of your stories. Stay safe. Enjoy the journey.

  2. Kim March 25, 2019 at 2:30 pm - Reply

    Lorri, Although your story is definitely a tear jerker, it also brought you to this special place in your life. Count me as one of the many who will be following your incredible and courageous journey of discovery. All your plans are in motion and much love follows as you move boldly into the future.

    • Lorri Weisen April 7, 2019 at 8:36 am - Reply

      Hi Kim! Agreed- I am at a wonderful place because of it all. Always grateful for that! So happy you’ll be following along 💕

  3. nikki March 18, 2019 at 11:22 am - Reply

    Thinking of you Lorri! My mom is Mary Kay Laskowski and she absolutely adores you and loved Klink! Your story of course had me bawling my eyes out as thats the way I felt about my grandmas little apartment we had to clean out after she passed! I signed up for your emails along your journey and will be rooting for you every step of the way! Thank you for sharing your beautiful heart with all of us! You’re so brave and so capable of living another really good life beyond the past one you’ve had! Cheers to new beginnings!

    • Lorri Weisen March 18, 2019 at 6:44 pm - Reply

      Hi Nikki! So glad you’re here! Thank you for sharing your experience too. It’s so hard when we love someone so much <3. I’m glad you’ll be following along for the ride and please say hello to your mom 😉

  4. Carol Abraham March 18, 2019 at 8:35 am - Reply

    So well written.
    You are amazing

  5. Maggie Frazier March 18, 2019 at 7:26 am - Reply

    I enjoyed, if that’s appropriate, this story. I am so sorry you lost your mate. I look forward to following your adventure.

    • Lorri Weisen March 18, 2019 at 6:46 pm - Reply

      Thanks Maggie. And I think “enjoy” is completely appropriate:) Thanks for following!

  6. Lonna Espedal March 17, 2019 at 11:09 pm - Reply

    You are a strong brave lady. I look forward to reading your newsletter and following your travels across the USA and Canada.
    Hugs and Smiles,
    Lonna Espedal

  7. Jacalyn Callies March 17, 2019 at 10:23 pm - Reply

    So beautifully written Lorri. I feel all of it 👏😍

    • Lorri Weisen March 18, 2019 at 6:46 pm - Reply

      Thanks my friend. And yes, I know you feel it too XXOO

  8. Kris Greening March 17, 2019 at 8:03 pm - Reply

    Your writing touched my heart. I’m a widow since January 2016 after 36 years of marriage. I still miss him every day.

    You are very brave and you’ll have so many new adventures! Take care!

    Kris #10011

    • Lorri Weisen March 18, 2019 at 6:48 pm - Reply

      Hi Kris- thanks for being here. I’m very sorry for your loss. I hope you find a new adventure as well when you are ready. Take care.

  9. Ginny McKinney March 17, 2019 at 6:49 pm - Reply

    This is lovely and I can do relate. I left my home behind after my husband died of a sudden heart attack. I lived in my camper for the better part of three years, finally settling as the caretaker for the family farm in West Virginia. As fate would have it, I went to my 45th reunion and ran into my best guy pal from high school. Two years later, we were married! I never would have dreamed this would be my life and I would find this kind of love again. Thank you for sharing your story. I could feel your angst as you say on the heart. ❤️

    • Lorri Weisen March 17, 2019 at 7:12 pm - Reply

      Ah! I love your happy ending! Thank you for sharing <3

  10. Wendy Hughes March 17, 2019 at 6:14 pm - Reply

    Loved your ‘Pooh Corner’ essay. I related so much to leaving a home and a life behind, but mine was after a 25 yr marriage. I vividly recall the emotion of closing the front door for the final time after having cleaned and polished the house for the new owners and, being grateful that a family with little ones would fill the empty rooms of the house we’d built.

    I am now 4 years into a new life in a new state and home after spending 15 years in my post divorce townhome, a place I’d planned to just ‘land and heal’ for a short time. Funny how time has a way of getting away from us! This is now purely my home, my choice and my life.

    I look forward to reading about your new adventures on the road. I may still yet buy my little camper and towing vehicle and join you one day.

    May all good things co e to you on your journey.

    Wendy Hughes
    Eugene, OR

    • Lorri Weisen March 17, 2019 at 7:11 pm - Reply

      Thank you for sharing your story! Ugh…closing that door. It was the hardest wasn’t it? But, as we know, only good things await on the other side. I too, am lucky to have a wonderful couple moving into the home. Congrats on your new life. Hope to see you on the road one day!

  11. Latoshia Rudd March 17, 2019 at 5:32 pm - Reply

    If you make it to Memphis, give me a call..

  12. lynn colburn March 17, 2019 at 5:24 pm - Reply

    Yessss Loving and losing that love are so very difficult. I love your story as it bring back the memories of a man I lost 20 years ago. A reminder that that kind of love doesn’t go away ever.

    • Lorri Weisen March 17, 2019 at 5:40 pm - Reply

      You are right Lynn. I don’t think it ever does. I hope in 20 years I still remember the love too. <3

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