Funny how things take on a clarity that’s not apparent until you are in the midst of the situation.  I gave myself way too much credit and I was overconfident about my ability to control my emotions.  I made a conscious decision that I would not mourn the anniversary of my husband’s death.  Nope, WOULD NOT DO IT.  I told myself that it was foolish.  Although June 9 changed everything, I didn’t want that date to paralyze me for eternity.  Yeah, go ahead and shake your heads.  “Denial” is more than just a long azz river in Egypt, right?  Somehow I thought that I could actually control the dates upon which I felt the most pain.  Riiiiiiiiiiiight. I was even so bold as to tell my therapist that I wasn’t counting the days since MrTDJ passed away.  I’m a liar.  A naïve, well-intentioned liar, but still a liar.  Little did I know that I’d have not the teensiest bit of control and would be at the mercy of my calendar.   I have not taken an actual calendar and marked off the days since his death, but my mental calendar is clicking and ticking.

I keep a personal journal and thank goodness it is the only witness to the daily arc of my thoughts.  It’s clear to me now that I was altered and unable to honestly acknowledge that there was a connection between my waves and the 9^th day of each month.  I awoke this morning at 1:41 and was compelled to pull out my journal.   Hmm, me thinks maybe there is a pattern.  On July 9, I had a dental appointment for a crown repair.  Ugh, bad day, no wonder I was in such a terrible mood.  Riiiiiiiiight.  August 9 found me calling into work because I’d barely slept two hours in the three previous nights.  I cancelled plans with friends at the last minute on Sunday, September 9 because I just didn’t have the energy.  Although October 9 came on the heels of Columbus Day and a three-day weekend, I simply couldn’t get it together to do or say much to anyone.  And now, it’s 3:23 am on November 9 and I can’t stop crying.  The 9^th of each month has done just what I unrealistically denied it could do – slam me against a brick wall and send me spiraling down the rabbit hole.

I know not how to change the course.  It’s as if I build myself up from the 10^th of the month and then subconsciously, my defenses weaken around the 7^th of the following month and by the 9^th, I’m drowning again.  I think of my husband hundreds of times each day and the good memories have not yet tempered the stinging ache of having lost him.  That’s not to say that I don’t smile and laugh, because I do.  Undoubtedly as the 9^th approaches, my efforts to sustain a sense of normalcy seem to be in vain.  At some point today, I know that I will drift off in the middle of a conversation, stop watching during the middle of a television show or completely check out during a meeting at work.  During that time, I will relive, with laser like precision and accuracy, the last 2 hours of my husband’s life.  Those 120 minutes run through my mind in about 7 or 8 minutes.  The moments play like snapshots in a photo montage and then there is a pause.  The pause makes way for our last, laughter filled conversation as we awaited the arrival of the paramedics.  Snapshots again.  Then another pause for MrTDJ’s last interaction with LittleTDJ.  And then the FEELING.

I’ve never blogged in detail about the events of that morning and I doubt I ever will.  I’ve journaled them and talked to my therapist and inner circle about them.  What I will share is the FEELING that I experienced.  I was standing on the front porch of our home when my husband made his transition.  At that very moment, I KNEW.  Minutes before a paramedic came to update me on his status, I KNEW.  Well before we traveled to the hospital and he was officially pronounced, I KNEW.  We’d shared a heart for 2 decades and gone through too much for me NOT to know.  I FELT his spirit pass through my body followed by the gentlest of breezes blowing across my cheeks.  I KNEW because I FELT the essence of him hug me tightly, and then release me.  I was absorbed in the stillness as I FELT him float to the heavens above me.  The tears didn’t come until much later.  Dare I say that the moment was both heart wrenching yet peaceful.  It’s hard for me to express in words.  When I think of it, a line from the Sarah McLachan song, Angel, passes through my mind.  “In the arms of the angels, fly away from here”.

I feel him all the time, but on the 9^th, everything deepens.  The 9^th marks another month that I’ve had to survive here without him.  Maybe someday, the 9^th won’t send me straight into darkness without passing go.  Tonight, I’ve got plans with friends and I’m trying to prep myself to hold it together.  I know how I’d like today to go, but the universe has offered me no assurances.   Five months into my new normal and it still seems like I’m living somewhere in the Land of Oz.  And even the Land of Oz would be ok if MrTDJ could get here.

When I got home, I would sit on the front steps, relieving my mother of the duties and letting her get warm in the house. She always liked to sit on the porch, lights on, and watch the kids come up for the candy. Personally, I sat on the steps to the house, a cigarette in one hand, candy dish in the other waiting for the kids to come. Since I was a parent, I made sure mom and/or dad got a candy bar too because why should only the kids have fun.

It was kind of the same when Dayna and I got together but after all the lights went off, and all the kids went home, she would do her Solstice ritual. She would go off into the back yard, candle and some other things in hand and do whatever it is she did. Seems as though I can now relate to all that because like usual, I went outside under the light of the full moon, incense in hand staring at the beauty of the moon and basking in the light it gave off as it shined on the house where she lived.

Hard to believe sometimes that it’s been a year since she left because on some days, it seems like yesterday when she was here and on the other hand, it seems like an eternity. There was no visits to the Halloween store this year and no new “scary” things coming into the house.

I’ve been told that Solstice is where the curtain between worlds is the narrowest so it’s easier to come back from wherever one goes. Over the years, I’ve heard from my mother, my father and from Dayna twice since she left and she told me that she heard from her father after he passed. Normally, if I tell someone that they look at me like I’m nuts but I remember my mother telling me that she saw my father after he died. She was sleeping in the chair and awakened to see him at the bottom of the stairs. He told her to remember to close the back door of the house. She got up, went into the kitchen and noticed the back door was, in fact, open. She also told me that she was late in getting up for church once and was awoken by my fathers pants hitting the floor, the belt buckle shattering the silence of the room.

Everyone has their own belief system and sometimes, I think that’s what sustains us. I may believe in something that you don’t but that doesn’t make one more correct than the other. It just makes us different. You hear a lot of that especially from people wanting to get their point across regardless of how loud they have to speak. If they don’t like your point of view, they cut you off to the point that you can’t get your completed thought from the brain to the lips without shouting. Is that what we’ve regressed to?

Life sometimes reminds me of an old Saturday Night Live skit with Jane Curtain and Dan Aykroyd doing “Point/Counterpoint”. Jane Curtain would put her views out there as Dan Aykroyd would sit there looking at her like she’s nuts only to say “Jane, you ignorant slut.” Then he would go about putting his point across. The only thing that differs that from today’s debates is that neither one of them talked over the other. You see that now a lot and all it does is tell me that intolerance runs ramp id here.

So before some of you get your panty’s in a bunch over Halloween remember this. You probably went Trick or Treating yourselves when you were younger so don’t read anything more into the ritual than what’s needed. The holiday is, of course, Pagan but to kids, well, it’s a night where they can get into a costume and get a lot of candy. We don’t need to be politically correct all the time and kids need something to make them smile in a world that we once enjoyed immensely when we were that age.

So, don’t eat too much candy or your get sick and nobody wants you to miss school. Let the kids have fun and pick your battles with the heathens without ruining something kids actually enjoy. Happy Halloween everyone and for those who celebrate, a joyous Solstice.

I think of when my grand daughter was little, going into places where Halloween decorations were sold and pointing to the witches saying “that’s my Nana.” Last year, before Dayna got sick, I told my grand daughter she had nothing to worry about because witches only eat little children at Halloween. Dayna was annoyed beyond belief until she figured that she would make gingerbread men cookies for Halloween and her and the grand daughter would have a feast.

When she was at work, she didn’t say much about her practice but once she got into her Jeep with the crystals hanging from the mirror, her true self came out. She aligned herself with people who believed the same as she did but practiced in solitude so, no Coven here at the house. The house is still full of Dragons and Wizards, along with other things that most people would put out for Halloween but then take down. I tell people I’m one of the few out there that has purple furniture and burnt orange walls but it seemed to work at the time.

It’s becoming the time of year where I see intolerant people out there because I heard as late as today that “witches don’t exist.” As I think about that brief statement, I chuckle thinking about my Dayna saying that if she could turn people into frogs, there would be a lot of frogs out there. She never defended her position or her religion because she always thought that everyone had the right to practice how they wished.

She had a friend back east that she spoke to on a consistent basis about philosophy and religion and she seemed rejuvenated and sometimes exhausted when she got off the phone with him. Funny, they never met in person and I don’t remember how they found each other but I figured, it was the Internet. Dayna taught me many things in the years we were together and I think I taught her a few things too.

The biggest thing she taught me was tolerance. I think that I have an open mind about a lot of things but she would explain things in infinite detail whenever I asked a question about her religion. We had many a conversation about philosophy which I miss horribly. It’s getting to the time of year that she liked. The air conditioning is off, the breeze is cool and the temperature is below that of the sun. She can drive with the Eagles on the stereo, windows down and her hair flying in the breeze.

The silence is almost deafening here in the evenings and the darkness has overwhelmed the lights that were usually on in the house. I still wait for the garage door to open and close in the afternoon and look over my shoulder at 2am waiting for her to pass by for her “shot of milk.” It’s funny now that some of those who said that I need to “get over things and move on” are now faced with that exact thing. I wonder how they’re going to fair in the quiet of the evenings.

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting Ronnie and Lamar Tyler, the creators of the site, Black and Married with Kids.  I’d been a reader and fan of the site for quite a while.  Once Ronnie and I chatted, it seemed that I might be able to offer a unique perspective to the BMWK audience.  I’m honored and humbled at the opportunity to share my love.  The post is something that I wrote in July, about a month after my husband’s death.  I’d love if you’d head on over there and check it out.  If you’ve already read it, read it again.  =)  While you’re there, browse the site and I’m sure you’ll find other great things. 

“The Intersection of Grace and Grief: How Grieving for My Husband is a Daily Struggle”

I lived in Cleveland Ohio in the early to mid 1980s and one evening, when I didn’t feel like sleeping, I went downtown because the news people said there was a movie being shot. So, I got in my truck, drove downtown and walked to Terminal Tower Square just to the left of the Higbee’s Department Store. Much to my surprise, the windows were decorated like the windows of stores in my youth. I stool there, looking at all the people looking in the window and thought how great things were when I was a kid.

Now, since I didn’t have cable until 1994, the thought of that appearance at the side window of Higbee’s on that cold night never entered my mind until I turned on a movie I’d never seen before. Looking closely at the movie, I was happy that the cable station showed it more than once so I could verify that I was actually in the opening shot of a cult classic (according to Dayna). I told her the place looked very familiar and when the movie came back on again, I stood close to the television, looking intently at the screen when all of a sudden, Dayna looked and said “oh my God, it’s you!”

Now, the appearance in that movie has never dampened my mood at the holidays but it’s kind of funny that every year, for a minute, I can see myself in a cult classic movie. I guess I’m in the class like Rocky Horror Picture Show, or Young Frankenstein or something like that. Dayna and I bought that movie along with National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and the unrated version of the Coen Brothers, “Bad Santa.” We use to watch Christmas Vacation and Bad Santa in the summer when we needed a little cheering up and then around the holidays to try and get in the mood for yet another holiday season.

When Dayna was younger, her son would go to his father’s house during the holidays leaving her alone. Since she lived in a smaller town, there were no restaurants open during the holidays and most of her friends either went home to their families, or left town. Needless to say, she wasn’t too thrilled about the holidays herself.

The kids got older and were home for Christmas so we bought the tree, put up the lights, made the cookies and goodies, bought the presents and did the Christmas thing but it was then when we started our own tradition. Dayna and I would go shopping in the middle of the night, do all the shopping in one trip then stop at a local restaurant that was open all night for some hot chocolate and quiet time. She and I would make Christmas dinner, we’d sit back and watch the kids do what kids did and be happy the day went off without a hitch.

As the kids got older, we would watch the movie to get a glimpse of me, standing outside a window on a cold winter night in Cleveland. When we went on our trip in 2010, I made sure we went to Terminal Tower Square so she could see the remnants of a pretty cool place. Higbee’s was gone but there were things in the area like the Old Stone Church, some Gothic poles, and other items that caught her interest. When we left, our journey took us to our son’s house then to Niagara Falls.

The last Christmas we were together, there was a brand new tree, new lights, new skirt, new everything except the ritual of the movies. We had ham for dinner with everything associated with it. She made the potatoes and vegetables while I made the ham. We sat down to a quiet day and was thankful the day ended. New Years Eve, the tree and decorations came down and were boxed up and put away for another year. Nobody knew that it would be the last time they would go up in the house because it was quiet last year, doors closed and the house almost dark.

This year, I’ll watch the movie once again, smile when I see myself almost thirty years ago when things were tough but not as tough as they are now. I’ll look around to see others in worse shape than I am and be glad I live in a town where I can go somewhere to get dinner and not have to be in contact with a lot of people. I found out there are many out there like myself that are glad when things are over for one reason or another. I put on the glad face for many years and hopefully, I’ll see my movie more than once because it’s shown for twenty four hours.

If you want to see what I looked like almost thirty years ago, I’m in the opening shots of A Christmas Story when all the kids have their noses pressed up against the glass at Higbee’s. I’m one of the tall ones to the left of the glass and you can see my reflection. My one minute in the spotlight, shown every year for many years and probably many more to come.

Today, October 20 would have been my husband’s 37th birthday.   As you read this, I’ll be about 2300 miles from home allowing the sun, sand, blue water and wind to have their way with me.  The idea of tackling yet another “first” made me sick to my stomach.  I knew that I would not be ok if I didn’t do something a bit outside the box during the period surrounding his birthday.

I’ve always loved my birthday.  Growing up as an only child, my parents always went above and beyond to make sure that my day was extra special.  When I met my husband in high school, he didn’t quite have the same love for his birthday.  Say what???  Hmph, so it became my mission to make him love it.  I started right away by decorating his locker when we were in 12th grade.  Got ‘em and he was a birthday fool after that!

Throughout the years, we celebrated most holidays rather modestly, regardless of our financial picture.  But, when it came to birthdays, we tended to give those a little extra pizzazz.  Before his passing, I had not yet made any concrete decisions regarding what to do for his birthday, but knowing that it would be on a Saturday, I toyed with the idea of a weekend away.  After his death in June, my birthday in July and our anniversary in September, I was firmly set to travel for his birthday.  I could not bear the thought of the encroaching sadness for a day he would never get to enjoy.

Day by day, I exist by counting the seconds and minutes until an hour has passed, then another and another.   I’ve been grieving and pressing forward in my own way.   This weekend, I’m embracing the peace of getting away and breathing.  I’ve not “stopped” for very long since June and I haven’t allowed the stillness to settle into my being.  I have no agenda bar the single activity that I will do as a salute to my hubby.  He had a love for motorcycles and ATV’s, so I’ll be off-roading on an ATV as a birthday shout out to him.   I surely wish that we were riding together, but I’ll have to settle for his memories.

Most of you folks remember him for his songs “Cats in the Cradle” and “Taxi” but is library fit an entire spectrum of thought process. One of his songs, The Last Stand, is something I’ve done a time or two and was done as recently as Monday night. When a situation is about to come to its logical conclusion, and you know there is nothing else that can be contributed, that’s when you make the last stand.

Years ago, someone asked me if I believed in God. Now, I’m not a religious man but I am a spiritual one as I believe that no walls are necessary for me to pray. I can sit outside, look at all the nature around me and make my case. Do I believe in God? I believe that there is life after death because I’ve actually seen it. I’ve been mysteriously calmed in my most frantic moments of despair and have come up to solutions for things when there was no solution. There are times I’ve charged in to fix something with my “patented” just get it done attitude and there were times when I’ve sat back and watched, jabbing when I could.

Always though, when the job was finished, I would sit on the back steps of the house, coffee in hand and a cigarette just to take in the night air. Monday night though, the situation was entirely different as I made my last stand when it came to my faith.

Just like Harry said that all my life’s a circle, there are times when you throw caution to the wind and stand your ground. Now that the job is finished, I can concentrate on things that were put aside for a long time in the taking care of things at hand. Now is the time to have the sit down I need with some folks to make the plans on getting the rest of the business done. Since I’ve kept my word over these many years, I”m not going back on what I said and I will remain there for those who are important to me, doing my best to ensure things remain normal.

Last night, the steps were replaced with the crappy plaid chair but the coffee was there. The night air was replaced with the baseball game where snow flurries were flying just sixty miles north of my home town and instead of cream in the coffee, Baily’s Irish Cream was the substitute. There was an overwhelming sense of calm that covered me like a blanket and some sadness that Dayna couldn’t be here to just be after an exhausting time. Something told me however that she was right there yesterday and Monday trying, in her own way, to ensure that everything would turn out for the best.

Maybe the best isn’t what I think it is or the opposing side but that’s all anyone can hope for and I think things will line out. The job is finished and I’m still looking at that pack of cigarettes on the desk but I think I’m going to settle on putting my Harry Chapin CD in the stereo of the Gold Durango and head down the road for a bit, just happy being me. There are sometimes no winners or losers in situations and I’ve seen my share of those. There always doesn’t need to be winners or losers in a situation, just an ultimate solution so doors can close.

And so, my friends, the last stand,
The last song from the last band,
The last note from the last man,
But you gave it all you can.

His vocab doesn’t yet contain the words bring or keep, so he uses “take” to represent all three concepts.  Lately, he has been using it to refer to photos of his dad.  Once we’ve completed our nighttime routine and we are preparing to get into the bed, he will grab different framed and unframed photos and say, “take it with us.”  The first time that he asked, I was a little shaken.  He and I got into the bed, along with a pic of our family of three.  I know that he misses his dad and it’s a struggle for him to express how he’s feeling.  That was the first night of many that MrTDJ has “joined” us and whenever he does, our son falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Hmm, I realized that Little TDJ was on to something good.  I’d been trying to find my own way to keep him with me. Regardless of what else is going on, thoughts of my husband are never far from the surface.  And yes, I am still carrying his wallet.  But, I’ve been wanting something else; something tangible.  I know of many who get tattoos in honor of their loved ones.  I debated on that for about three nanoseconds.  Aside from being completely freaked out by the thought of pain, I simply don’t like body art enough to get any on myself.  I’ve seen bumper stickers and back window decals, but I don’t really dig those too much either.  License plate?  Nah.

And then I discovered Posh Mommy.  BAM!  Found it!  My necklace arrived last week and it is perfect.  MrTDJ and Little TDJ in one place.  I touch, rub and twirl it all day.  I am amazed at the sense of calm that drifts over me when I do.  I’ve found my own way to “take it with us”.  Thanks to Little TDJ, a little dude that is wise beyond his years.

***The opinions expressed in this post are mine, and mine alone.  I received no compensation or incentive to write about Posh Mommy Jewelry***

And yet . . . the death of a pet, no matter how beloved, is not the same as losing a soul mate. Nor is the trauma of losing a brother or a mother the same as losing a long-time spouse. The only thing that comes close is losing a child. (My younger brother’s death hastened my mother’s death. She died a year after he did.)

I understand there are all kinds of grief, and I know they all have to be honored. Grief of any kind that is not processed can cause additional problems. (Or not. Some people seem to do quite well walling off their grief.)

My concern has always been for those who have to deal with the death of a spouse, whether a life mate or a soul mate because that sort of all-encompassing grief is more than most people can comprehend. I thought I understood grief — after all, I grieved the deaths of my brother and my mother — but until the death of my life mate/soul mate, I never even knew such profound grief existed. During the past two and a half years, I have met dozens, maybe hundreds of women who have lost their mates, and they all mentioned the same thing — they had to hide their grief because no one understood. That is unconscionable. (I didn’t have this problem. I’m a quasi hermit, so no one was around to see me mourning.)

The truth is, it’s the very prevalence of grief that makes people uncomfortable with the profound grief of someone who lost a soul mate. People figure they got over their grief, whatever or whoever it was for, so you should, too. The trouble with losing your mate is that your grief is not just emotional, but also physical. In addition to the unimaginable agony of loss, you have to deal with shock, a blizzard of hormonal reactions, changes in brain chemistry, an incredible level of stress (losing a mate is considered the most stressful thing a person ever has to deal with; many people end up being treated for PTSD). Your death rate climbs 25% for all causes.

Added to that are all the horrendous “death” chores you have to deal with such as planning a funeral and filling out all the official and financial paperwork involved in “removing” someone from the world. As your emotions begin to stabilize, you have other griefs to deal with since a soul mate is more than a spouse — he’s also a best friend, companion, sometimes even a business partner, and all those losses have to be processed. You also grieve for the loss of yourself, at least your coupled self. And then you have to deal with the restructuring of your life. Your dreams are gone as are your plans for the future so you need to find new reasons to live. Sometimes you have to leave your home. It takes years to sort out all the losses so you can process them and begin again.

I don’t mean to belittle anyone’s grief. But, as I explained in my post, Why I Write About My Grief, people who have lost a mate deserve a lot more consideration and understanding from their family and friends than the assumption that their loss is comparable to the loss of a beloved pet.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the conspiracy novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+

Isn’t it amazing that people dress the way they want to dress as opposed to dressing appropriately for wherever they went? In my day, if we went to church, a tie was in order unless it was summer. If something was formal, then the attire matched the occasion. Now, I never wore a tie when I played football or baseball and I have been known to wear a suit when I entered a bar but you get the general idea. Just like washing your face and hands before dinner, people use to dress for dinner when they were out.

When we went to places like proms, or got married, we actually rented a tuxedo. What a concept that someone would actually go to a store, get measured and put on something that would make them look good. There was nothing like pants falling down around someone’s ass because that was considered something that happened in the jailhouse. Only people who couldn’t get a belt (usually because the guards thought they are a threat) would have their hands in their pockets, holding up their pants as they walked. That is also called the ‘jailhouse shuffle.’

I haven’t been writing much lately because I’ve been thinking about stuff in general. I found out last week that my cousin was killed in a hunting accident and last week marked the first year that Dayna’s been gone. I talked to my brother-in-law over the weekend and told him I wanted to talk to him about family because it’s time to get the ‘other’ stuff done now that the legal things are finished. It’s amazing how everything is reduced to business decisions and legalities when someone dies but I guess that’s the way it needs to be done.

Today, my daughter came in with the bi-monthly groceries and the kids. I asked my older granddaughter to do me a favor. With almost a look of disgust on her face, I asked her to sit in my crappy plaid chair, take the lap top computer sitting next to it, and do what she does to a computer to make sure I fixed it right. That brought out a smile and she did just that. I told my daughter about getting the ‘other things’ done and she threw a line at me I use to use at work all the time.

Without a hesitation, she said “it sucks.” I cocked my head, looked into the kitchen and asked “what sucked?” Now, when I use to say that at work, my boss use to say I could say that but I had to say ‘it sucks because’ and give a reason. She said it just generally sucks because there are many times she wanted to pick up the phone and just talk, or have lunch, or go to the fabric store or ask advice where it came to the kids and she couldn’t do that anymore. I think it was the first time she ever just came out and said what she felt where it came to her mother.

She told me that she knew it was worse on me and that probably her uncle has realized that this actually happened and things have finally hit home. I know I miss her chili, her salsa (which I hardly ever got because the kid and her would eat it til it was gone), the great times we had making Chex Mix by the pan load, and just being with her. It saddened me to hear those two words from the kid this afternoon because of why she said them.

We all have to think about things and I’m happy in knowing that I can think about Dayna in such a good way. I pity many folks that just put a family member in the ground, visit the cemetery once a year and don’t reflect on the impact that person made on their life. I take comfort in knowing that after a few tries, I found someone that I could love unconditionally, influence my life in the way she did, be able to agree to disagree and have a pretty good life despite all the problems life has to offer. There are many out there that can’t say that or chose to just bury it all and think of only themselves.

Burgess Meredith said in Grumpier Old Men that when you die the only thing you take is the experiences of life. If that’s the case, Dayna and I have a hell of a lot to take with us.

I’ve experienced things in many way, shapes and forms. Through my life, there have been experiences when I was called because of one tragedy after another including things like my best friend committing suicide, auto accidents, illness and death just like everyone else. Through all these experiences, there have been accidents I’ve witnessed that were so horrific that once, a person flew over the car that hit him, over the car in front of me and if I hadn’t turned into the median, would have landed on the hood of my car. I’ve seen people fall apart after shooting deaths and little children with there eyes so wide with horror from what they’ve seen, I thought they would never recover from the experience.

Then I experienced the ultimate of experiences because it was personal. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not loved by all and my personality most of the time rubs many the wrong way but, when you teach and then try to figure out why something within someone’s work isn’t working, there is no time to stand on ceremony. Unless you’re a hermit, you’ll experience the loss of someone you promised to love forever, someone who woke up with you everyday, laughed, cried, experienced the good and bad times with until one of you left.

This is totally different than losing a parent, friend, relative but I don’t think it’s anywhere near the pain of losing a child. When I talked to my brother after everything happened, I equated it as life being a department store where you and your spouse had all of your prior experiences before marriage and all your memories stored for everyone to see. The people you knew would visit there to share memories, maybe look for inspiration or share an experience or two. Then the inevitable happens when one of the partners dies and the memories catch fire. Oh, they are still there but the person remaining knows there will never be anymore memories with the one they love more than life itself.

Now, the dynamic is different for most people but if you achieve the level of life most aspire to, the loss is almost unbearable at first. Just like last year at this time, the first time I got into the Jeep, drove out to the nuclear testing grounds, got out and screamed until I couldn’t talk anymore. When things happen like this, I equate it to standing across the street from your store of memories and watching it burn. The doctors and nurses try their hardest to put out the fire that has erupted in your life and you, work as hard as you can to keep things together.

Like I said the other day, I revisited where the memories resided to find only the fence that remains of what Dayna and I built. All the memories are still there but they are stored away from people and the only thing that remains is the cleared area of business that has been finally concluded. It’s funny how when tragedy strikes like death, or divorce, a persons life is reduced to business. The business of clearing up the marriage, clearing up the departed one’s debt and everything is reduced to paperwork. When the judge drops the gavel and says the survivor did their job by taking care of the departed one’s business, everyone thinks it’s over.

Last night, my daughter payed me a visit and stayed until almost the time when her mother died which was around 1:50 in the morning. I don’t know why she was here for so long but I guess she thought I shouldn’t be alone or something but it was nice to see someone in the evening at the house and not have to leave. She sent me a text message precisely at the time her mother died, one year ago to say that she loved me. I sent one back saying that I loved her too and called her what I’ve called her since she was born and that was “kid.” Sometimes, one’s pain isn’t a solitary thing because there was little talk of Dayna last night but I could sense her presence all around me. Maybe the kid needed to get a little “presence” too. Regardless of anything, I hope my daughter felt better this morning than I did.

Tonight, once again, I will walk out on the driveway just like I did a year ago today, get into the car and take a drive north of town. I’ll get out of the Jeep, lean against the car to look at the moon away from the lights of the city. I don’t think I’ll shed as many tears as I did a year ago but there will be some but no screaming. Finally, I’ll get back in Dayna’s car, look at her school district ID card with her picture, tell her I love her and drive home once again. The garage door will open, the Jeep will go inside, the door will close and everything will be quiet once again.

Losing a spouse is very different than any other loss beside I would think, a child. It’s something we will all experience one day but most people think they have more time. I’ve found out through the years that time has little to do with infinity and jelly donuts.

Sorry about Tommy Uncle Gene and Aunt Lenore. I’ll be keeping good thoughts for him.

There are Wizards and Dragons all over from the bedroom to the bathrooms which are still there including the Wizard and Dragon combination sitting on my desk looking at me all the time. Over the past year, I’ve asked a few people about Dayna’s broom and what to do with it. Some have told me it should be destroyed on the anniversary of her death, some have said it should be passed down but nobody has given me an explanation of why I should do whatever with her broom, until today.

Last night, in basically a ‘throw a dart at the dartboard’ move, I went onto a website where people of Dayna’s beliefs congregate and discuss their beliefs. I went to the list of Nevada people and picked a person who had a name that I liked, blindly emailed her and posed my question about Dayna’s broom to her. Now, with most people, this broom looks like something that would double as a Halloween decoration and I bought it for her I think at Big Lots about 15 years ago. This broom has had a place near the front door of every place we lived since I bought it for her.

Now, asking someone about a broom would make one think they had a screw loose so in the email to this lady, I told her that I really wasn’t kidding and explained my quandary. This afternoon, I received not only an answer to my question but an explanation that was not only wonderful, but made more sense than anything else anyone has said over the past year. She told me that Her energy is in it, hence her love and protection. She also told me to keep the broom hanging upside down near the front door and it would serve me well.

It was then that I resigned myself to the fact that this broom wasn’t going anywhere. The broom that Dayna owned is going to stay in the place where she put it until it is taken down by someone in the family and put in their house, hopefully near the front door, upside down.

Not too often I ask for help and usually I get the “deer in the headlight” look when I ask a question. Tonight, as I sit at my desk, I find myself looking over my shoulder at the broom standing upside down, the moon rising through the windows of the office and once again, that calm feeling that comes over me during times of uncertainty. Tonight, as I drink my Diet Coke and think fondly of my Dayna, I remember her standing in the middle of the living room in better times, wearing her witch dress, her witch hat, holding her broom upside down with a confident look.

Tonight, after everyone I know is in bed, and the quiet basks over me, I can clearly try to come up with the next move. There is no fear of the phone ringing, the garage door opening or me having to walk out the door because of a call. I’ve been told that I should go to bed earlier but if I do, I miss out on this time of peace where I can close my eyes and let my fingers hit the keys on the keyboard. That is when I come up with most of my thoughts for this blog.

If you look at the times when my bantering is created, many of them are in the wee hours of the morning when most people are sleeping because they have to be up and going in four to five hours. Now, there is no agenda, just thoughts and remembering. I’ve been told from time to time to “get over this” and move on. Those are the people who have something to get up in the morning for beside Perry Mason and the Rockford Files. Today I was watching the race from the comfort of the bed with my feet up. There was no need to get up except to find a wonderful email in my inbox along with all the spam I get.

The words are quite true because when you’re young, everything is in front of you. There isn’t anything one doesn’t think they can do but as the years go on and experiences pile up, sometimes we get mired in our lives. In this time of year, politicians care about what you care about because they want you to vote for them. They hope you vote for them because they hope to occupy the office for which they are running. But nobody has to tell me how things are out there.

Today I talked to my daughter and she ‘reminded me’ of what today is. Right about this time a year ago, the Gold Durango was running every stop sign to get to the hospital because Dayna was sick. I didn’t care about anything other than that. Last night, I had dinner at a hamburger joint with the kids just like Dayna and I did a year ago. Nobody has to tell me how things are.

Over the past two years, our medical bills have topped $700,000.00. Yes, between the both of us, our medical bills came close to our lifetime cap. If we had any other insurance beside what we had, our payouts would have been between $70,000 and $140,000.00. Over the past two years, the household has lost 85% of the income and the only thing that has increased is the mood.

A year ago, I was on the phone with the kids reassuring them that everything was going to be alright. There was hope that because this was something “minor”, everything could fall into place. About this time last year, Dayna asked me if we could live on 80% of our income until long term disability kicked in. We were making plans for after everything was over and 2012 was going to be a year when she could get her PhD at the school she wanted in Missouri. We discussed that in detail before angioplasty.

Tonight, a year ago, is when hope turned into disaster. Oh, there was hope up until the end but everyone knew in the back of their minds that something like this could and ultimately would happen. I don’t need reminders of how things are or how “hopeful” things can be with someone new sitting in a position who claims to be acting in my best interests. I’ve done that before and gotten burned every time.

I’ve been telling all the pollsters who’ve called that their candidate hasn’t given a shit about what I thought for the past 3 and a half years, why should he/she care now? I know that I didn’t do what Dayna did when I got sick because that pack of cigarettes is still sitting on my desk. There are many a day I’ve wanted to open it up, light one up and step out into the barren courtyard but, they are still here.

Tonight though, I’m sitting at my desk, thinking about how things were a mere 365 days ago, having a cup of coffee which is something I haven’t done at home in months, and thinking about the next move. When the hope pilot light is so dim, it’s difficult to see what’s ahead of you because even though I’ve been calling things right for years and as late as yesterday, that light is still dim.

Just like Bing Crosby reassured Barry Fitzgerald in Going My Way that the church would be rebuilt after a fire, I’ve stood across from that place in my life that was destroyed a year ago. The wreckage is gone, the fence is still up but there’s nothing left but memories. Since it’s late in the game, it’s going to be difficult to come up with a new opportunity to fill that void. Opportunities seem to be a difficult commodity in this day and age for anyone other than the young. Hopefully, they will take full advantage of the hope they have just like we did.

As for this piece, criticism of any kind, except rude, is welcome.  (And before you mention it, I know to be grammatically correct it would be “Until Death Doesn’t Us Part”, but that doesn’t have the right ring to it.)

‘Til Death Don’t Us Part

They’d sworn to never leave each other. He looked around the preternaturally neat kitchen which had been the heart of their home, once filled with laughter, smells of baking, children’s voices, homey clutter, sunshine and love.  Morning light filtered dimly through the blinds, creating the effect of dusk, though it was night in all the ways that mattered.

He could scarcely bear the thought of her, racked with pain from the insidious disease, smiling gamely through her drugged haze, all the way to the end.  He twisted the cap, tossed it aside.  The acrid scent of gasoline filled his nostrils.

You know the next move. It’s what you try and decide to do before you do it but you can never figure out if the next move is right or not. I wondered what it would be like to be normal. Most people consider themselves that but I never thought of myself as “normal” in the traditional sense. Dayna was certainly not normal in any sense but it seemed to work for us. I figure that being normal is just lacking courage. Deciding the next move use to be easy but in the past year, things have changed dramatically.

Last night, I got into the Gold Durango and drove north out of town to a quiet, secluded, dark place where I could look at the moon. After screaming until I was hoarse, I looked to the moon not knowing what to expect. I’ve been asking for answers or a direction to go but it seems as though every path has road blocks. When I think about doing something like maybe trading in one or both of the cars, they seem to tell me that they need something to the point where it would not be a good idea to trade them in. I had them looked over last time and the mechanic told me that I would be foolish to get rid of them because they were in great shape.

I’ve thought about selling the house but the market is in the dumper and refinancing was an easy alternative. Yes, sometimes the answers are there but as of right now, no clear path has been established. Knowing how things would have been if the situation was different is one thing but putting together the next move when there is nothing showing itself is quite another.

Back in my youth, I’d be in the car heading somewhere or burying myself in something that makes me happy but what makes me happy isn’t there anymore. I’ve had people in the past week or so play “matchmaker” for me and that reminds me of the movie Fiddler on the Roof. Age and health play an important part in everything I do anymore because that’s an obvious part of life now. I’m willing to take the risks but I’m not looking at the “long odds” anymore.

Back in the day, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, I use to like the long odds. The more impossible the task, the better I liked it. Last week I was told that I don’t do my job anymore and that’s correct. I told the person that I’ve worked my job for 40 years so I deserved to take a break from that. They seemed to agree and the subject was closed.

Tonight, once again like I’ve done for the past eleven months, I’ve lit a stick of Dayna’s favorite incense, stood in the courtyard of the house gazing at the moon as she rose, shed a tear or two and asked for answers. The dusk turned to evening as I stood there and the moon got brighter and brighter as it shined through the windows of the office where Dayna and I created so much stuff, shared ideas, laughed, criticized, and generally collaborated with each other.

What is the next move? I keep asking that question on a daily basis and things haven’t changed. I know most of you are saying that I have to make a move in order to get things moving but, doing it for so many years, I get tired of taking the lead in that. Funny, every time I think about doing something drastic, there are people out there saying I’m nuts. Over the years I’ve figured out that I’m not nuts, I’m just a carrier.

So for those who read this, please take a second to walk outside tonight, look at the Harvest Moon, think about someone you love or loved. Smile or shed a tear as you look at the wonderful light from the moon. You never know, things could be different tomorrow for you too.

I “get”  love, especially since I popped a bunch of kids out of my body. When they first laid that scrunched up little boy in my arms, gracious, it was like an altered state of reality. So God gives is His son, which he must have loved as desperately as I love mine.

Where did THAT eighteen years go?

Two years ago a giant hole was ripped out of my love life, all of you know that.

In fact, several holes were ripped into that particular canvas, and boy, was I pissed off at God about that. (I can just picture Mom, who blew out an artery in her brain last January, “Vickey! Watch the language!” Date of eternal relocation, January 8, 2012. The lucky gal. )

So I fumble along, trying to figure out who the heck I am in this new picture, anyway. In the last post, I mourned the loss of not really just a friend, but of an unsuccessful attempt to branch out into new territory.

In thinking about it though, something occurred to me. Jesus Christ once said “Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing.” I have found this to be true.

The day that Chandler did what she did, it was just like being catapulted into Loss Land all over again. Sure, their’s a huge difference in magnitude between losing a husband and losing a friend, but it’s loss nonetheless.

I railed at God, angry again about loss upon loss. Then, one of my very best friends for years showed up. Then another, then a third. Hmmm. Methinks I sense a pattern. All of them drifted through my office, all of them with the same message, “Don’t look at the blips, Vickey, look at the long-lasting things.”

Look at the people who have earned your trust. They’re there.

Look at the people who have loved you, even when you’ve been radically unlovable. Now THAT’s amazing, because I am a true pill quite often.

Look at how I am loved, for real.

Think about cutting off a tree branch, and just sticking it in the ground. What the hell did you think would happen, chica? Of course these efforts would wither and die.

I wept over the loss of Chandler for a few days. It took about six tries for my beloved Father to get to me, six different heartfelt, unconditional, years-in-the-making friends to come and sit in my office and eat M and M’s from my candy jar.  Or to call me from around the world for no reason. Or, the best one, a ten-year veteran buddy of mine who drove by and “just felt like” she should turn in, “for no reason.” I just love that. We had a great time.

In recent years, I’ve become such a cynic.

“Jesus loves me and has a wonderful plan for your life?” What BS. If death and suffering is part of this ‘wonderful plan’, count me out. I am beginning to think though, that I don’t trust enough. I am beginning to wonder if perhaps, just maybe, I’ll get my answers on the other side of heaven, not this one.

In recent days, my most common prayer has been “Oh Lord, Make it Obvious.” and His extravagant love rains down. To wit, in the midst of all this, a decade plus friend ‘appears’ with two tickets to Owl City on October second. Adam Young is coming to the Ogden.

Imagine that.

Much love,

Victoria

No problem, I’d leave the Jeep outside and put the Durango in the garage, take it to the shop in the morning after I did the school thing. The car was dropped off at the shop and I told the lady who takes care of me that I left a present for the mechanic who put the water pump on the car. I was going to give him back his 3/8″ Snap-On swivel ratchet which he left on the bottom end of the car.

My daughter and I went to breakfast, she took me home and as I opened the garage door to go inside, I noticed the Jeep’s tire was almost flat. When I walked back into the garage, the lady looked at me and said they hadn’t even looked at the Durango yet. With almost a pathetic chuckle, I dropped the keys to the Jeep on the counter, told her the right front tire was flat and I thought it may be time for new tires. She went outside, looked at when they were manufactured, looked at the tread and told me because the fronts were marginal and the backs had been on the car for six years in the desert, it was time for tires.

Both cars in the shop at the same time for different reasons. The Durango has to have the window put back in along with the windshield washers fixed (they didn’t work after the water pump was put on) and tires with an alignment for the Jeep. Great way to spend a grand isn’t it?

Tomorrow would have been Dayna’s 58th birthday and I’ve been wondering all week what she would have wanted for her birthday. Last year, I got her one of her favorite movies in Blu-Ray which was The Wild Bunch. We would have gone out to breakfast, then dinner since it was the weekend, and spent it quietly at home. She would have been at grandparents day at school today and I would have taken her by the hand, smiled and told her not to worry because I’d buy breakfast.

Last year at this time, she was texting me from the DMV because she waited until the last minute to renew her drivers license. I remember her telling me she was sitting next to someone who smelled and said she was about 50 people away from getting things done. When she got her new drivers license, she called and asked me what I wanted for dinner because everywhere we ate was on the way home from DMV. I think she brought home Gyros from our favorite Greek place and laughed about the DMV.

Later in the evening, we had popcorn and watched The Wild Bunch, then spent the evening talking and finally, went to bed. Funny how something so benign at the time is so significant now.

This afternoon, the cars will be done, I’ll go pick up one of them and have the kids pick up the other one when they get a chance. I’ll get the bill, pay it and go about my business once again. When this is all over, I’ll sit back in my crappy plaid chair, turn on Pandora and listen to some old tunes through the entertainment system. I’ll close my eyes, think about Dayna like I do everyday, tell her that the tires would probably make a decent birthday present and finally, around 3am, go to bed even though I didn’t sleep much last night.

Hopefully tomorrow won’t be like today and be less expensive than today. I’ll probably lie in bed, watch a western on television, drink what’s left of the Coke that will be opened before I go to bed tonight so I can choke down the battery of pills once again.

Funny, when I think about making a change, something always happens to dissuade me. This week I had thought about trading in both cars and getting something different. Now, with everything being done to them,may as well keep them for awhile again. Only costs me the insurance for the Jeep and the payment on the Dodge is almost nothing. No sense in getting upset or excited about anything anymore because regardless of what you do, it just doesn’t matter much to anyone outside your sphere.