How a Jigsaw Puzzle Saved My Sanity...

Have you heard of the “sandwich generation?” Well, I unexpectedly joined that club a couple of years ago.

I have always been a bit of a loner. I’m fifty years old and have never had kids – but I do have two ex husbands, so maybe they count.

I left my small town, east coast home when I was sixteen to embark on the adventures that I assumed followed adults who escaped to big cities. I anticipated unlimited career opportunities, fancy restaurants and shopping, lots and lots of sophisticated friends. Great expectations from a sheltered, ignorant child.

I did find my way, though. I became a travel professional, working my way up from entry level travel agent to, eventually (25 years later) Program Manager / Travel Contract Negotiator in a very large firm. I saw the world, experienced culture, and even witnessed foreign danger first hand. I did it all with the only traveling companion I could stand – me. That’s right, alone. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

I was married – twice – but have spent the majority of my life with only myself for company, avoiding attachments of any kind. The home I left so long ago was almost nothing but a distant memory and I didn’t think I needed or wanted to ever return.

In 2008 I was diagnosed with a brain tumour and, as you can imagine, things changed drastically for me. It was removed. It grew back. At the discovery of the second one, my second husband told me “I can’t go through this again” and he left. Yup – alone was where I needed to be, and alone was where I was when undergoing my second brain surgery. And my third. And radiation.

In 2016 a friend sent me a real estate listing for my grandparents’ house. This house, this home, was always my safe place. When in the company of my Grammie, I knew nothing bad could ever happen. She was long gone by this time, but always the keeper of my heart and looking at her palace, gutted and changed, not the same castle it was to my young self put me into a tailspin. I knew right then that I DID have to leave. I had to come home. Thirty years later.

I moved back to New Brunswick where I expected to die in peace. Close to family, away from the corporate life; I wanted the serenity of familiarity without having to keep up to the rat race. I found something quite the opposite, though…

I met Brian. A retired veteran of the military, extreme PTSD sufferer, he was alone and unstable. He was a lost wanderer looking for a place to lay his head without having to keep one eye open. Smart, strong, handsome… he was perfect on the outside, but broken on the inside. His wife had abandoned him, but not before she had spent years keeping him estranged from his family. He hadn’t spoken to his parents or his kids, aged 15 and 19, in over five years and he had no clue how to reconnect. He expected they hated him and would never forgive him. He was alone. Just like me. And I loved it.

Fast forward three years. In a nutshell, he rebuilt the relationships with his family. We went to visit his parents 6000 km away a few times. He started taking his kids out often. We bought a nice house in the country where everyone was welcome. Then the world fell on its side when hit by a pandemic.

His parents lost their home, so we moved them here. With us. They’re very elderly and can’t do much for themselves, and they became a full-time job. His mother has early onset dementia, and that, too, took a toll on us. Eventually we helped them find a small home of their own, nearby, where they are very happy, but still very needy.

His youngest son graduated from high school and moved in with us. His oldest son is very high on the autism spectrum and stays with us every other weekend. He’s sweet and kind, but also big and strong with a temper that can get out of control. We’ve lost a few precious breakables, and carried personal wounds.

I went from being alone, always, to being sandwiched between someone else’s parents and kids. I went from looking after myself to looking after the masses. I still live with an inoperable brain tumour.

Because of my illness, I can’t work a conventional job. I need a lot of rest, medication breaks, days off, medical appointments – you know how it is. And I have all of these people to care for, including the love of my life who suffers from PTSD every day of his existence.

To pay the bills, we opened an online vintage boutique, and thankfully it is doing pretty well. More importantly, though, we love it. It has become our passion, the treasure hunting and supplying people all over the world with items they remember from their own grandmother’s homes. But then life always gets in the way.

The first time I picked up a vintage jigsaw puzzle, I thought to myself “I can’t sell this unless I know all the pieces are there” so I set it up on the dining room table and put together the first puzzle my hands had touched since I was a child. It consumed me… there was nothing in the world except this puzzle and I wasn’t going to walk away until it was done.

Three hours later, I stood, stretched and realized that for the first time in years, I did something that I wanted to do. My mind didn’t once flicker to the old folks who can’t understand how to use their dishwasher- even after we showed them dozens of times, or the kid who punches himself in the head when the Maple Leafs, or any of his favourite teams, lose a game; to my partner who has a panic attack when he can’t decide on a parking stall. I had pushed it all aside to build a picture of a little boy fishing with his dog. And – phew – all the pieces were there, so I sold that masterpiece.

Now we purchase a lot of vintage puzzles for our shop – and I personally do each one. It took a few months, but the family realizes that when I’m engaged in one, they need to leave me be. When I’m in a particularly vile mood, someone hands me a puzzle. When they’re out sourcing items for the shop, they bring me home more vintage puzzles. Easy, tough, I do them all.

I was alone and content until the age of 47. Now I am in love and never, ever alone. Jigsaw puzzles have become my meditation. I live in a caring, rural community, and often neighbors will leave one they’re done with at my door. I return the favour. Family, friends, community – they are all better than being in solitude. I didn’t realize that until I was immersed into the family that Brian had thought was gone forever.

A few months ago, my own parents decided to live in a travel trailer. It’s parked in my driveway and I see them every day. They will be here for six months, and back again six months after that. In between they will be experiencing the sights of Canada and the USA. I hope they bring me back some puzzles from their travels.