Today, It Feels Lighter

So we had the remembrance for Sandy yesterday, or maybe it was a celebration of life or maybe it was a service.  Whatever the official name, it was getting to say a few words in front of her Friends and Family, and four of her Siblings got that opportunity as well.  Having done it now I realize just how hard that can be, I am so proud of her siblings getting up and saying a few words about their Sister.  I am also VERY appreciative of them, and one of Sandy's friends from grade school, supporting me by being here. 

Then I got up, thanked the folks who have supported me at the funeral home and the Chaplain, as well as some words for the Navy folks who played taps and presented me a flag.  I said a few words of thanks for everyone who supported me through this and how I have been lifted up by so many amazing humans I have bumped into along the way.  I also shared my gratitude for the gift of getting to spend 38 years with my best friend. 

I also talked about refusing to be sad about any of it, Bride literally gave me the best part of my whole life.   And closed with some words about not having any idea what my next chapter looks like, and that I am certain the universe will lay it out for me when the time is right, it always has.  After that I alternated between telling my own funny stories and sharing those I collected.  I think the biggest revelation was hearing the origin story of her nickname Sam.  I never called her that but most in her family did.

It was hard to get there, I probably over anticipated that though because once I got to reading the funny stories it became easier and the further along I got the easier it got.  I also started to feel some of the burden of grief starting to ease up as well.  That was a pleasant surprise, and much welcomed.  When I was done speaking, the USN navy presented me with a flag.  I always get choked up at the playing of taps and watching the presentation of the flag.  This felt even more emotional because today I was accepting that flag as a symbol of the gratitude of the nation for her honorable and faithful service while taps was played.  It was a powerful emotional moment.

We wrapped up, some of the folks I work with came and I shared some words of appreciation for them coming, it was a bit of a blur as my brain was going 1,000 miles an hour.  Things I should have said, or something I should have said differently, a story I should have told and wondering if Sandy would have liked it.  One thing I should have said is a bit of the eulogy Jackie gave for Ned Devine, or Michael O’Sullivan and if you don’t get the reference, watch Waking Ned Devine.

It would have gone like this – The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the person who is dead.  What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral.  To sit at the front and hear what was said, maybe say a few things yourself.   Sandy and I grew old together.  But at times, when we laughed, we grew young.  If she was here now, if she could hear what I say, I’d congratulate her on being a great woman and thank her for being my friend.  And we laughed A LOT!!!

We even laughed about maybe writing some words for our own funerals, eventually tried a couple of times but it seemed so weird.  Maybe I will do that now for me, haha, she’d think that was funny. 

When I got back home that evening, sharing space with her siblings and close friend, I started to feel a great wave of relief.  I liked it but it felt weird, a lightning of the load I was not expecting.  As the evening went along, I started feeling tired, almost exhausted.  I thought maybe because it was a day I stressed over, to the point of taking one of her Xanex on my way to the service.

I finally turned in, and I slept like a baby.  Not a single wake up to pee or even a roll over, I woke up in the exact position I was in when I laid down.  That was the first night I slept like a baby since April 20^th, my last night sleeping next to my Honey.  I woke up feeling lighter, feeling  well rested and ready for the day.  I have not woken up like that for a bit.  Not sure what any of that means but life feels a bit different today, and I fucking like it!

And maybe that is enough of an answer in this moment.  I don’t need to understand it, maybe just noticing it is enough.  The weight shifted and eased the load. the air feels a bit crisper and for the first time in a while it does not feel like I am bracing for what ever comes next.   Feels more like I’m figuring out how to carry this awkward load rather than being crushed by the weight of it.   I know I will still have days that hit me in the mouth, but today didn’t.  Today felt like a gift and I am grateful for it.

Ya know, if I am being honest, today feels like something she’d be happy about.  Not the hard, not any of the shit really but the idea that I am still getting my feet back under me, laughing a bit more, and even smiling a bit more, and trying to figure out how to be in this next version of life.  The more I sit with it the more it feels less like a moment and more like something inside me is recalibrating, to compensate for the changes, kinda like the adaptive correction circuit on TV transmitter exciter.  It ain’t fixed, but it does not feel as broken either.  And for now, that’s progress.  Not perfect, but ill take progress over perfection every damn time.

BTW, the recording of the service will be on the site tomorrow in case ya missed it. Sandra "Sandy" Smith - Roper and Sons  share a memory while your there as well.

The Ocean, Sunrise, Sunset and Doing the Hell out of Everything in Between

 I left Florida for Oregon on January 20^th 2015, or 4,156 days ago.  While I miss with all my heart the friends and chosen family I left behind, being so close to the ocean is a very close second.  My connection to the ocean began when I served in the Navy.  The immense power, the immense isolation, the immense size, are all deeply felt in my bones, something that was awakened in those early days as a Sailor.  Living close to the beach in Jacksonville was a blessing as I could go there pretty much any time I wanted, although I must admit most of my trips were bright and early.

My #1 Zen spot is sitting in a cheap plastic Adirondack chair with my feet in the sand, or ocean, and watching the sun come up.  #2 was the Ponder Porch looking down at Cedar Creek, or Smith River I liked to call it.  At the beach, it was actually that hour and a half before the actual time of sunrise.  That is when the show happens, the sunrise itself is somewhat anticlimactic.  I could not even begin to count the number of times I watched the sun come up on the beach.  It was pretty dang cool watching a sunrise from a ship in the middle of the Atlantic as well.

Sunrise for me is not about the moment the sun breaks the horizon.  It is about the long quiet negotiation between blackness and the daylight that happens before most are paying attention.   The sky trying on colors before it fully commits to what it will wear for the day.  It is felt before it is seen.  The air changes, the sounds of the pelicans and sandpipers start to grow.  It is the part of the day that does not ask anything of you.  No expectations, no scorecard, just possibilities in that short window of time.

Sunrise is not about a fresh start every day as much as it is permission from the universe to try again to be a better version of yourself.  Not a single win is ever guaranteed in a day.  But for me, watching the majesty of a sunrise is the win, my eyeballs popped open and I got to experience another one.  The sunrise is also a constant for me, a steady reminder that time keeps moving on, the earth continues to rotate through the days.  Regardless of whether we are ready for them or not and that in and of itself is a cherished gift.  No sunrise promises a good day, it only promises a chance to make one. 

Sunsets are much different for me, I love them as well.  Sunsets are more about an accountability check.  That moment where the day gets to ask me, what did ya do with me?  What difference did make with me?   Sunsets are where the noise dies down, and whatever is left is the truth of our day, and our lives.  Where our life’s intentions meet reality, a score card of sorts that hopefully leaves us with a smile that comes from meeting that day and doing the hell out of it.  Sometimes the scorecard leaves us uncomfortable, even a little dissatisfied with our day and a reminder to do better tomorrow.  And to make sure we are giving ourselves grace on those days we fall short.     

Sunsets are more a harsh critic, they do not care what I meant to do today.  They only see what I actually did today.  Sunsets are also a reminder that every amazing thing has an ending, they are predictable and just part of how the universe drives all of this.  One day at a time they say in lots of ways, I guess that is a silent reminder to let go in small increments, micro dosing our way along.  We don’t get to give permission for the day to end, it just does, every day just ends.  We can’t hold on to it, we only get to live inside each day while it’s here.  That is a reminder that every moment we have is truly a gift.

Watching a sunrise or sunset in the presence of the ocean just adds a massive layer to the experience, at least it does for me.  The ocean cares not about our plans, same as the sun cares little about our pace.  But together, they help give me a frame to measure myself against, and that is pure magic.  Sunrise reminds me I get a shot, sunset reminds me of how I did with that shot.  And the ocean, it just sits there reminding me how small I am and how small my problems are, and how damn fortunate I am to simply be playing the game.

I mentioned it had been 4,156 days since I left Florida.  That number sounds big, but most of those days, most all days really, blur together if I am honest.  What sticks are the ones where I actually showed up for them and made a difference.  And try to make sure I have more of those days than not.  That does not mean I was absent of sunrises.  I watched a great many of them over Mt. Hood, and various places around Oregon.  And I got to watch a great many sunsets over the pacific, but the lesson was never about where I was standing.  It was about whether I was paying attention to how the day began and how I finished it.   

I say all of that because I am excited to be heading to Florida next week for a 2 week break from all the things.  I am so looking forward to some beach sunrises and St. John’s River sunsets.  Some time to reflect on life, on where I am, on where I am going and what my next steps are.   And to sit with the ocean again, while it gives me that same reminder, the days are mine to live, they are not mine to keep, and that being part of the rhythm of the universe is a blessing and as good as it gets.

I am fortunate to be able to travel to Florida to sit with my old friend the Atlantic, sharing space with each other and listening for what might come next for me, whether I am ready for those answers or not.  And, of course I will get to hug the necks of friends I have missed for far too long. 

I Love Ya Damn it

Bride and I had lots of little things we did on purpose.  I have been thinking about some of those.  They say that a couple should never go to bed mad, I cannot recall any times we did, but I am sure there was a time or two.  One thing we did do, every time we parted ways, even for a quick run to the store, was to kiss each other and say “I love ya.”   It was just what ya did before ya walked out the door.  We said it again first thing in the morning, and again when we went to bed, I always kissed her in the morning and said Mornin Beautiful.

I always thought it funny when she’d ask, do you just say that now or do you mean it.  Funny because I knew no other way to be but in love with her.  It never felt like words we had to remember to say.  It was said with the simply act of making her coffee in the morning, putting way more cream in there than should ever be in there because I knew that is how she liked it.

I remember she entered a contest once that a Jacksonville TV station was doing leading up to Valentines day.  I wish I could find that note she submitted to demonstrate how much she loved me.  That was the contest, the morning news hosts would pick the best story of love from all the submissions.   The basic story was about making sure I had the best of anything, the example she used was coffee cups.  If we had two coffee cups and one had a chip in it, she would give me the unchipped cup and then she would take the cup with the chip in it.   Well, she won the contest which included a hotel on the beach for a weekend and a shit load of Peterbrooke chocolate goodies.  After that, I bought a new set of coffee cups.

Phone calls always ended the same way, I love ya or I love ya damn it.  Sometimes quick, sometimes dragged out a little bit just to be annoying.  When I spoke to her at 1:10pm on the day I lost her, she told me she was feeling puny and was going to lay down and take a nap.  Taking a nap when retired was nothing out of the ordinary.  The last words she heard me say were, I love ya damn it.  And she gave them right back to me, the last words I will ever hear her say were, I love ya damn it.

It was never about saying it for us.  It was all the small things done without even thinking about it.  It showed up in all the little nearly meaningless things we did to make each other smile, or make each other happy.  Like me randomly doing laundry.  Seems like that should be a split duty thing, but back in our first house we had to go outside through the carport to a very scary little room with our washer and dryer in it.

She made the mistake of telling me that if I could figure out a way to give her an indoor laundry room, I would never have to do laundry again.  Never was her word, not mine and I laughed, pulled out the saw, and chopped a hole from our dining room into what became an amazing laundry room.  We joked about that over the years, but she kept up her end of the deal, and was always very appreciative when I did do it. 

I sure do miss her.  I would trade every clean load of laundry just to hear one more I love ya damn it. 

Chapters with Missing Pages – Keeper of The Stories

Last night I was watching the sun go down on the back porch, just sitting with it all.  I had nothing else to do, nowhere to be, and just sat watching the sun go down.  In the stillness of that moment, I was reminded of my belief that life feels more like a train ride than anything else.  We get on, we start moving, and we really don’t know where the hell we are going or when we are getting off. 

We like to think we are in control of our lives, or even have a tiny ability to control the ride, but at the end of the day, we don’t.  I think that is the biggest missed opportunity in our lives, to get stuck thinking we do have some form or sort of control and operating under a false pretense the whole time. 

The universe spins on with a cosmic time clock, and it cares little about our brief time here as individuals.  Of course, the universe is using a cosmic clock that takes 13.8 billion years to spin around.  I find that perspective helpful, that we don’t matter in the grand scheme of things in relation to cosmic time.  I think that is a good thing for all of us to remember and ponder on every once in a while.

On our journey, I like to think of it as a train ride, we have people who join us on our ride, sharing a bit of the journey.  Some folks are only on for one stop, others a few stops, a precious few stay for years, and then there are those cherished few who ride along with us for decades.  Again, in the cosmic scheme of things, the odds are that number of cherished riders are always pretty small, I like to call them the one handers, because mostly you can count them on one hand.   The ones who when they call and need you, you go, period, and be with them. Like many did for me.

I also think each of us on our rides is playing out our own story, the story of our lives.  Or at least we are trying to play it out, the universe always has a say whether we like it or not.  So, at the end of the journey we have a book, full of chapters and hopefully full of adventures with all those who were on the train with us, regardless of how long. 

Our books hold our memories of those who rode with us, we are the keepers of all those memories.  We are also the keepers of our shared memories, as they are of ours.  When we lose someone, especially one of those one handers, you become the sole keeper of those shared experiences.  The first time that happened for me was when Alison Bodey died, I had known her since I was 4.  The next one was when Lyndon Boyer passed, I met him when I was 5 or 6. 

There are memories that I have that no one else has.  No one else knows them.  No one else knows the stories or the shared experiences.  I consider that a sacred honor to carry those, to reflect every once in while on those shared experiences.  To tell those stories to others can help me carry the weight of that responsibility.  Each of those for me, and there are others, was hard to pick up, they were heavy, and it is my honor to do that for them.

With Bride gone now, I feel an even larger responsibility to keep those memories alive.  I will start writing more about her on here, to be memorialized hopefully as long as the internet exists.  I feel like we had just gotten into our Midwest adventure chapter, it was just getting interesting, it hooked us.  And then all of the sudden, it stopped.  Not paused.  Not slowed. Stopped. 

A harsh reminder that I am not in control of any of this, no matter how much I think I am.  The rest of the pages in the chapter were ripped out, never to be read, experienced or shared with her.  Pages we didn’t even know we were going to love yet.  Actually, it feels like the rest of the pages in the book were ripped out, end of story.

But I know, the ride still goes on, the universe is not quite done with me yet, at least as long as my eyeballs keep popping open each day.  The universe has another chapter for me, even though I did not even get to finish the one I was in.    A chapter without my honey.  A chapter with no direction, no terrain maps, no weather reports, just the unknown.    I want those missing pages back damn it!

In many ways it is terrifying.  In many ways it is exciting.  In many ways I don’t want to take that first step or read that first page of this chapter.  In many ways, I cannot wait to take that step, to dive into the next chapter.  I don’t really know how to do either though, yet.  In the meantime, I wake up every day, write my three things down.  I keep taking steps, although not many feel like there is any forward momentum, yet.

Right now I am mad at the universe.  Mad that it does not care.  But maybe that is the deal, the cost of getting on the ride in the first place.  It was never going to care.  The clock keeps spinning, and I am still here, staring at a chapter I didn’t choose, wondering what the hell will come next.

The Oddest Things Happen When Our Person Dies

The oddest things happen when our person dies.  The aching pain remains the next day, the day after that and again the day after that, at least through the last 6 weeks, which is where I am at right now.  There have been 42 sunrises and sunsets.  There have been buses taking kids to school on 29 of those days, and I have paid some number of bills over that time.  The universe continues on, the earth continues to rotate, and life, for many, goes on.

One of my three things I am still writing down each morning now includes “say it out loud, she is gone and you are going to be OK.”   Some days I believe myself, and others it is harder to say out loud.  Those hard days, my stomach convulses and I almost feel like I am going to throw up.  Like most things, saying it out loud sounds different than just reading the words, a Brother from another Mother reminded me of that a couple of months ago. 

There is a tension in that sentence, she is gone, and you are going to be OK.  I don’t know how those two things are supposed to live in the same place.  One feels absolute, and the other feels nearly impossible.  And somehow, I am expected to carry both.  In some ways, I want to be OK now, and in others I want time to stop.  

It seems so odd to think about my person, my Beautiful Bride.  It always seemed like wife was sort of a role, versus a presence.  Beautiful Bride for me was always more than just wife, that is such a limiting word, at least in my opinion.  Sure, it encompassed that, but she was also my partner in crime, the one who would still do whiskey shots with me until we were properly polluted. 

She was my closest confidant, my wisest counsel, my best friend, and the one who knew more about me than anyone else ever could or will.  And I knew those things about her, she called me Gorgeous Groom, at least when she wasn’t calling me Smit.  For those who have found the love of their lives, you can probably understand why wife or husband does not fully encompass what your person means to you.  I wish and hope everyone can know what that feels like because it is the most amazing thing ever.  

And every morning, I remind myself, out loud, that she is gone.  I fucking hate that that is on my to do list every day.  The physicists say time does not work the way we think it does.  The past, present, and the future aren’t as separate as they might feel.  Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s not.  But because part of me is still back there, with my person and part of me is here, paying bills and watching the school buses go by, I am not sure which is the truest. 

The Missing Future Tense

Over a month into this new part of my journey, one of the things I have been stumbling over now is what tense to use, what words are right in different situations.  For almost 4 decades, it was always “we.”  Not a choice, just the way things were.   We’ll check on those dates, we’ll get back to you, we appreciated it.  It was not something I ever had to think about, it just came out that way, it was automatic.  It was simply a part of we and us.  Now I am singular, me, myself, and I.

Now I find myself pausing, editing in real time, mid sentence, and as you can tell, I suck as an editor.   What I am noticing is the pause that wasn’t there before.  The sentence used to just came out.  Now, there is a moment where I have to decide who I am in it.  I have also found myself being deliberate in saying we, because that still feels more honest to me, even though I know it’s not.  I think it is simply muscle memory, a reflex built from years of repetition.

Being a Trekkie, who is currently rewatching Star Trek Discovery, I have been framing these thoughts about tense through the lens of time travel.  You know, she is, she was, we are, and so on.  Tenses in language have rules, past, present and future, clean lines around all of it.  Language expects things to stay in their own damn lanes.  Turns out, grief is more like a drunken sailor, weaving all over the place while shooting a bird at the established rules around tense. 

Some days she is, in the habits, in the voice in my head and the way I reach for something that is all her.  Some days she was.  And any thoughts or sentences with she was just land harder and hurt more.  Right now, I live between the lines, in one moment she is, in another, she was.  The one that is missing, is the future tense, she will, or she might.  That is the one I notice is gone.  I fucking want my future tense back!!

For example, when talking to the folks at our credit union when I removed her from our accounts, when we wrapped up I said, we really appreciate your help.  I did not correct myself because by the time I realized it, the conversation had already moved on.  From outside, nothing changed.  From the inside, I felt it.  In the grocery store, going down the aisle where the cherry mashes are thinking she’ll want a couple of those.  Or this morning sitting out on the porch admiring the growth in the bed we ended up planting full of wildflowers thinking she is gonna love this.  

In this moment, it feels like I am using language to navigate around the edges, where words break down and don’t fully describe things.  Every choice, made in real time, in the moment, the I, the we, the is, the was does not seem like just grammar anymore.  It feels more like selecting which version of reality I am standing in at that moment.

She was the grammar queen.  And if I am being honest, she’d probably be correcting my tense right now.  I think she’d insist that “we” is the right word.  And I’d let her correct all day long, just to hear her voice one more time.  She would also understand why I am living between the rules right now. 

Tough Couple of Days

It’s been a tough few days, and it started when I called her phone so I could listen to her voice message just to hear her vice again.  When I did, it sort of put me in a spiral, sorta feels like an out of control carousel that I have not been able to figure out how hop the fuck off.  I never liked carousels, and even less the last few days.  The loneliness has been a bit louder, and I am not a fan. 

Not hearing her voice, not being able to kiss her, not being able to touch her, not be able to hold hands, not be able see that little smile she would give me when I kissed her on the cheek and said “Mornin Beautiful”.  I don’t get to thumb rastle, I don’t get to touch each other’s fingers when we were looking at the TV, not being able to pinch her butt when she was cooking or doing something serious. I miss staring into her eyes and telling her I loved her and spooning when we went to bed.       

The loss of touch, of intimacy, not necessarily the sex part but the closeness part, has been the hardest part so far and the last few days have been particularly difficult.   I think because it is finally sinking in, maybe I am coming to the realization that my life is something very different now. 

Our life together was comfy, cozy, and deeply known to each of us.   It was hard to tell where one of us started and the other one ended.  We were one with the force.  It was not the kind of comfy that was missing any sort of adventure or excitement.  It was more like the comfiness of just knowing how she would show up and just be her in almost any situation, and her knowing the exact same thing about me. 

That intimate understanding of my favorite human, that comes with 38 years of knowing each other.   We knew all of it about the other one, the good, the bad, the ugly and the simply amazing.  And she had the amazing part dialed in, it was not something she had to do, it was simply who she was.      

Maybe this is the part where my new reality really starts to sink in.  Maybe this isn’t just a moment I’m trying to get through, maybe this is the life I am going to have to learn how to live.  I don’t just miss her, I miss us, and it fucking sucks!  

Dogbert and His Routine

Larry O, star of the show, sure has been missing his Momma.  Or, as I called him, Handsome Petey Kabuki McPants McGillicuddy.   We had many names for him but those were our favorites.  Bride and I never agreed on that, so I called him all sorts of names, just with the right tones.  Dumbass was my favorite, with the Red Foreman tone from that 70’s show.  He never really listened or paid attention to any of them anyway.  Now, at 15, he is getting hard of hearing, so I will holler anything to get his attention, he still ignores me. 

He was Momma’s boy for sure.  Bride always called him Daddy’s boy but being his Daddy, I can tell ya with certainty that he was a Momma’s boy.  He would follow her around, sit with her, cuddle with her and nap with her.  He also slept on her side of the bed.

He has been more clingy than before, follows me around more, sits with me more, leans in closer than he used to, and takes his naps with me.  I still make him sleep on the other side of the bed at the foot, I don’t like him pushing on me in the night.

I saw all these behaviors before, when Bride would go to Texas or anywhere else.  The most interesting thing I noticed is how he handles eating and drinking.  He would slow it down.  Stretch it out across the day, not anything dramatic, just… different.  It was like he was adjusting for me being gone during the day.  And then she’d get home, and voila, right back to normal.  I always laughed about it, and she never believe me, not even a little bit. 

It was the same after she passed.  He regulated his water and food again.  It was not quite as extreme this time.  I was home for a couple of weeks, and even now I am back to work, I am only like 8 minutes away.  I still come home for lunch, something I did before so we could sit together and talk about the nothings of the day.  I miss those moments more than I expected.    

I have been watching him lately, and am starting to see him shift again.  He is returning to routine.  Not exactly the same as before, but something steady.  Something that looks like it could be a new normal for him.  And that makes me happy, and it crushes me at the same time.   

I wish I could know what was going on in his head.  Does he know she’s not coming back?  Is he still waiting for her?  Does he miss her in the same way I do, or in some simpler, quieter way?   Bride was his world since he was 8 weeks and I know he loved her. 

And like life, I see him moving on with it.  Is he moving forward, without asking permission and without overthinking it.  In some ways I am profoundly saddened by that.  In other ways I am encouraged. 

He loved his Momma every bit as much as I did, I know that.  If he can, in his little doggy brain, start to move forward, into his new Dogbert reality…  then maybe I can too.

And that hurts!  He figures out his new normal without thinking about it.  I just wake up and feel the weight of mine, and it feels more acute today.

I took this the night before she passed.

The Second Weekend Alone

So this is my second weekend alone, and without Bride.  I was blessed to have folks here,  and even more who volunteered to come if I gave the word.   As I have mentioned, I felt like I needed to face some of this by myself.  Giving myself time to sit with things is hard.   The time we would be hanging out, watching stupid TV or sitting on the back porch, or playing games, that’s when it hits the hardest.  With no distractions, I am forced to face my new reality.  I can tell you this, I am not a fan!!

The evenings are hard and the weekends seem brutally empty.  Last Sunday I attended my first “loss of a spouse grief group session”.   I have worked with therapists before, but this was my first experience in a group setting.  Again, not a fan.  I understand the mechanics of how it’s supposed to work, you sit in a room with people who understand the pain, the loss, and try to figure out how to keep going without pretending.  Sounds simple, but like most things involving the heart, it just ain’t.   

I came away from that session more shaken than when I went in.  Listening to one heart breaking story after another was a lot and it felt heavy.  I don’t know if it was just too soon for me, or if that kind of group is just not for me.  When I got home, I googled the purpose of grief groups.  What I found was, breaking isolation, normalizing what feels abnormal, giving language to things we can not name yet, sharing coping mechanisms, creating safe space to feel the loss fully, and rebuilding a sense of meaning and identity. 

The one that hits me the most right now is breaking isolation.  I feel that one in my bones.  I feel all of them, but I don’t think a group is going to help me with the rest, at least not now.  I am blessed, truly blessed, family, chosen and actual, who have been carrying me in all the ways that matter.  These posts, writing this out, this has become my safe space.  This is how I am giving names to the things that don’t have names yet.

I do need to rebuild my sense of meaning, that part if real.  But do not need to rebuild my identity, Bride helped shape who I am, trying to rebuild that feels like it would be a dishonor.  So instead, I’m going to do my best to stay true to the man she helped build. 

A few of things I miss, holding her hand wherever we were walking.  Reaching over in the middle of the night just to touch her.  Surprising her with a few Cherry Mash, that candy thing she loved.  I miss giving her crap about how much true crime she watched, we called them kill shows.  That was not my thing, even though I would watch with her sometimes.  I preferred stuff that showed the inherent good in people, not the worst.  We had shows we watched together, then we each had our own. 

I miss all of that, last night I watched one of hers called Cold Justice.  That show always made me cry.  Last night I cried because I miss my honey.

I miss kissing her on the face, “flush on the lips” she’d say, no idea which one but that came from some show or movie.  I miss how she’d get when she won at cards, cocky when she was winning, annoyed when she wasn’t, never for long, but long enough to make me laugh. I miss calling her, just to check in.  I miss thumb wrasling her to settle disputes, anywhere, at diner, at a table, didn’t matter.  Whoever won would say “LOSER,” and throw up a hand shaped like an “L” to our forehead.  She cheated all the time and I didn’t care.  I miss all of it. 

It was not just a life we built, it was a thousand little things, and every one of them is louder now she’s gone.

Another Weird Thing - A New Mattress

So just a bit over a month without Bride and everything still seems weird.  Weird to think about, weird to talk about, weird to type about, weird to adjust to my new norm and weird to go through the days without her by my side.

My new mattress was finally delivered this week.  It was hard watching them carrying away the last mattress we would ever pick together.  And then, in came my new mattress, smaller and softer than she ever would have liked.  I also realized, this is the very first new mattress I have ever bought by myself in my lifetime.  My parents bought them when I was a kid, the Navy bought those and we met while I was there so there was no mattress buying for me.

We had just ordered a new set of sheets for our bed to more closely match the room color.  I ended up sending those back and getting the same color in queen size.  I did not get a new comforter yet, she liked the more poofy fancy ones and I like the simply cotton quilt type.  We always thought comforters were too small, ours was a California king.  I wanted to see what a king sized one would look like on there before buying one.  Our old ones were transitioned to paint tarps and stored in the garage.  I pulled one out, washed it and tried it on, now I know that is the size I will get and the color will be like the one she picked.

I tipped the men who delivered the new mattress and took away the old one to carry that bedframe out to the garage.  As I was sitting in my garage ponder chair staring at that thing I remembered how much she loved that bed frame.  It was a massive four-poster bed that was our first full bedroom set purchased at the same time, it even had the rails connecting them so one could hang frilly stuff on.  It was also the tallest bed we every had, I made her a custom little step to help her crawl in.  Before that, we always had an eclectic mix of things.  Mostly random pieces we liked or that I built from a picture or drawing of what she saw in her head. 

It was funny when we moved to Smithlandia the ceilings were a bit low and had giant cedar beams and the posts looked weird and forced us to offset the bed from the center of the wall, her OCD was not happy about that misalignment, haha. 

So, one day when she was out, I literally took my old Milwaukee Sawzall and lopped them off.  I replaced them with a cheap white plastic cap made for a 6x6 fence post.  I had sprayed ceiling texture on them and then painted them black and glued them on.  I had all that prepped ahead so when she got home it was done, posts gone, decorative cap installed.    

Her initial reaction was shock I think but then seeing how the room looked she ended up loving it.  When we moved in here she did say she thought the posts would have looked good.  I laughed and reminded her we used them as firewood in the stove that first winter at Smithlandia, we had a good laugh.

So after pondering on it, I am going to cut that bedframe down from King size to a Queen size, which is what my new bed is.  Well, I am either doing that or I will be simply making some saw dust.  Basically that entails cutting a 16 inch chunk out of the middle and cobbling it back together without being able to tell.  At least King and queen are the same length so no adjustments in that direction, although that would be a lot easier to accomplish.  No Sawzall for this work, not sure on the how yet other than I know it will take some sort of jig to hold everything in place.

All of that was hard and I cried a lot.  That seems to be a trend of late, the water works popping on and off again just as fast.  The valve does not seem to care much about timing or any sort of regular cadence.  It meeting, crank it on, driving, crank it on, sitting back porch, sitting in my office, watering the wildflowers growing along the fence, the location matters little to whatever valves are controlling that flow.   Truth be told, I don’t mind at all.  It feels better than the first week or so when tears were harder, I think due to shock. 

I feel like I am starting to accept that this is just going to be part of my new path, at least for bit.  Along with all the other things that I have, and will continue to accept into what my new norm is going to end up being.  Still no idea what that looks like so it is still three things on a list every morning and one foot in front of the other. I know with certainty that it will start taking shape at some point along the way.  I have been starting to wonder what that shape will end up looking like.  I have also been careful not to force things.  I know it will present itself as I take those steps forward.  Bride and I tried hard to not force things, and I think the universe has a way of pushing back when you do.  

So, I am on the journey, can’t say I know where I am heading yet but I feel a tiny bit more like a willing participant vs trying to stay in this place simply because the love of my life is there.  Realizing she will be with me on the journey, even if just in my heart, she is with me and that is a comforting thought.  I feel like an infant, just learning to walk again without the parts of me that used to be her.  I just miss her and it all just sucks!!     

My Nervous System Is Getting Its Ass Kicked

So 28 days in, everything feels like too it's much, happening too fast.  It’s all too loud and too soon.  It feels a bit overwhelming and that fucking sucks!!  My poor nervous system can’t seem to decide between fight, flight, or freeze.  I did not have any words for any of that. 

Recently though I was talking with a Sister from another Mother who is a retired Veteran, and among other things, is a grief counselor, and she introduced to a word I had never heard before - titration.  It is a term borrowed by trauma therapists from the chemistry discipline – gotta love science.  It’s basically a way of adding something slowly, in controlled drops, to figure out what you’re dealing with. 

In therapy, the methodology works the same way.  You break down overwhelming experiences into tiny, tolerable drops.  Instead of letting the whole thing hit ya at once, you take it in pieces.  It keeps the emotional flood from wiping ya out and gives your nervous system a chance to catch up.

She shared that with me after I told her about something that happened on my first day back to work.  On my drive home, I hit a bump.  Not a real one, but one that left me pulled over to the side of the road crying my eyeballs out.

I always called Bride on my way home from work, to hear about her day and share about mine.  When we were in Oregon that drive was 50 minutes or so, here it is closer to 8, but we still did it every day.  My routine was simple, pull out of the parking lot, turn right and make an immediate left and mash the call Beautiful Bride button. 

On my first day back, I did it without thinking.  Turned right, made the left and mashed the button.  And that’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

The water works kicked on full blast.  I had to pull over and let all that come out.  After a few minutes, and a pile of tissues later, and eventually I made my way home.

After that first day back, I drove home a different way.  It took longer but I did not feel like I could go that way.  Truth is, I didn’t want to.  

That, apparently, was a microdose of pain.  I hit the memory, felt it, and then had to move on.  I literally had to keep driving.  I couldn’t stay there.  That was titration, whether I knew it in that moment or not.  This week I am going to start driving home that way again, on purpose.

I know I may still have to pull over.  I know I may still burn through the puffs plus.  But I also know that it won’t hit quite the same way every time.  So now, with this new word, this new understanding, I’m going to try to be more deliberate about how I do this.

Not avoiding it anymore.  Just learning how to walk into it without getting totally wiped out - controlling the drops best I can.   

Bride and Her Control Chair

Bride had what she called the control chair.  If you have ever watched The Big Bang Theory, think Sheldon’s spot, only he was an amateur at it compared to Sandy. 

I got to laughing today about it, which felt nice to do, so I thought I would write about it.  IT felt good, unexpectedly good.  I think the funniest thing I learned over the last few weeks about it was that none of her friends even knew about it.  This was evidently something only shared with me, but it has been a thing since we lived together in the barracks rooms at the Naval Radio Transmitter Facility, or NRTF in acronym or NavRadTransFac.  Our call sign was NSS9 and we were  right across the Severn River from the Naval Academy.

I will admit now that I am not sure I know all the rules that went into determining how a control chair was selected, but I can share what I do know.   So, every place had one, in our home she had four of them, each selected with purpose, I say purpose because room layout and décor were oft times selected based on the location of the control chair, I never did fully understand the full matrix.   

They existed in other people’s homes, and on back porches.  They existed in hotel rooms, and in beach chairs and they existed on airplanes.  She even had one in our front yard at Smithlandia, hahaha, in the middle of the wilderness that one always made me laugh.

One thing I did notice, although it was not a hard and fast rule, is that she was mostly to my right, we could hold hands and we’d thumb wrestle if something needed to be settled.  Which seemed odd because she was always on my left when walking because we deliberately decided those hands felt better than the other ones when being held.  We had reasons for all sorts of silly things.

She also slept on my left side, even in that barracks bunk bed we started out in.  Yeah, we snuck into each other’s rooms in the barracks pretty much every night, me at the top of the stairs and her at the bottom, boys upstairs and girls downstairs.  Hahaha.  I guess in some ways that was a control spot as well.

The control chair at the dining room table was always the one closest to the kitchen.  She even had control chairs in restaurants.  She would not have a view of the kitchen or the bathrooms.  I would not even be able to count the number of times we swapped tables.  Hahaha, she had high standards and did not budge on them. 

I have been spending time in her control chairs, and Larry seems to like that and it makes me smile thinking about what her reaction would be.  I do know it would include a look like this one, a look I’d do about anything to see again.  

       

I Did a Thing Today, It was Hard

I took the step today of donating Bride’s car to Southeast Community College for their auto body program.  Here is some more about the place and its auto body program auto body program.    

It is the 4^th vehicle donation we have made over the years.  Well, three we did together.  My   66 GMC pickup she donated, and I found out about that when I got home from work and she asked for my keys and title.  It was a program that was to train inner city kids as auto mechanics as a trade.  We did establish a new house rule after that, no donating vehicles without speaking to each other first.

That new rule led us to start to think more deliberately about what we each wanted long term.  That eventually led to documenting those wishes, and that led to thinking about way more than just talking about cars.  All of that eventually led to wills, power of attorneys, both medical and general, living wills, health care directives, as well as estate planning.  We both knew what the other one’s wishes were, both conversationally and legally. 

Having sorted out all that ahead of time has made this bit of my journey much easier, including donating her car.  That was not my decision, that was our decision and it aligns with our wishes.

I will say this, no matter what age you happen to be, do those things now!!  It’s even simpler now with online services.  Life is so fragile and we just don’t know when we are going to come home on some random day and find our loved one deceased.  TRUST me, you will have so many other things going on in your head and life that you will find it a blessing to not have to think or worry about any of those hard decisions.  Depending, it can also eliminate any issues or disagreements with family who may have other thoughts on their wishes. 

To be clear, that was not the case with Bride but I have seen that happen before.  DO. IT. NOW!!! If ya need, I’ll pay for the fee for one of those online services for ya and that is a good start.  

I cannot recall if I mentioned that she had a fender bender not long after the Title issues we had getting it registered here in Nebraska, story here Oregon DMV story.    She loved that car, it was small and was pretty peppy as she said.  That came from the V6 in it.  She felt safe in it and enjoyed being up higher than other folks.  I don’t remember what year it was but she wanted a back up camera and better Bluetooth.  She was pondering buying something newer, and the engineer in me simply said let’s put a new radio in it that has all that stuff.  She cracked me up when she asked, “you can do that”.   I told her between being a technologist, a car dude and pretty much all around handy guy I was pretty sure I could handle that. So did that, including a 10” screen for the camera and interface, she liked that size for the Google Maps.

It has been a great car, aside from brakes and batteries and tires and routine things like that the only repair I had to do was when the AC quit working.  I was expecting the worst but when my mechanic called I was relieved it just a bad O ring in the system, I told him to just go ahead and replace every single O ring in the system, which he did. It was cream puff, we bought it in 2013, it was a 2011.  It had 58k on it, it belonged to a sales dude who meticulously maintained it and most of that was highway miles.  Today it had just a bit over 100k.  So in the 13 years she had it she only put about 42k on it.  The dude at the school was amazed at the shape it was in as well.

When I got home and went in the garage, it felt so empty with the Escape not sitting there, that was harder than dropping it off.  That is something that I suspect will feel that way for a while.  I think when I am done writing this, I am going to go move the Galaxie 500 over to that spot.  It is the Girl Jalopy so maybe that will help me get past that empty spot.  That spot holds a story now, just not with a car in it.  

I will add this tag to the collection of tags I have from every car I have owned.

 

A Life Well Lived is Truly Built on the Small and Mostly Mindless Moments we Mostly Take for Granted

There have been many big things in my way since the 21^st of April.  They have been front and center, right there, rigidly resting on bedrock and firmly in my way.  They are known, most are hard, and very solvable with time and effort because they are the obstacle in my way.  To quote Marcus Aurelius, “The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way."  So, I am advancing through the action of doing those things.  They have been hard and many but mostly it has been a task driven list.   

The thing I have noticed the most over the last three weeks is how many small, unexpected little things I have been tripping over.  Tripping because they are not big enough to be an obstacle in my way.  I feel that even the cumulative effect of tripping, falling, and getting back up again is still not an obstacle.  It is just something we all do in our lives, stumble, gain footing, and continue on the journey without giving the cause much thought. 

The things I am tripping over now are much more than just a stumble, they feel like harsh reminders of how many silly little things I have taken for granted.  The things that never really made a list, the things that just lived in the corners, in the mundanity of life we rarely even notice, until they are gone.  Now they are gone for me, I am surprised when I trip over them and wonder how I could have not been cherishing those moments more.

Things like adjusting the air or heat before going to bed, she had a narrow comfort range.  Or making sure we always had plenty of supplies so she would never run out of soap, trash bags, razor blades, body wash, and a million other things.  OK, I will probably continue that, the Navy baked that into my DNA so…  Or texting her a picture from the car wash that simply said “current state” in either my car or hers.  Always making sure her car had gas, that she had Coke, sugar free.

Sending pictures I did a lot.  Sometimes of her, once in the place where Larry gets groomed, I went around and hid behind things and texted her a picture of herself, having already moved to the next spot, hahaha.  She texted back “stop that ya dumbass”.   I sent her pictures of sunrise all the time.  She loved sunrise but hated getting up early more so she got plenty of pictures. 

Seeing someone that just needed to have a life story built for them and then subsequently be judged for the life we made up about them.  I saw a dude the other day on O street, I was sure he got his ass whooped in 6^th grade and would have enjoyed building out his life up to the point I saw him with her.

I am still making sure the shower curtains are just so when I get out and I am finding that I am closing the door to the pantry and cabinet doors.  That was something that drove her crazy when I didn’t.  I am washing my clothes in cold water, even though I never thought that made any difference anyway.  There are still a number of things she wanted to do to the house, I will go ahead and do those, even though I am not sure I will even stay in this house.  I have committed to not making any big decisions for at least six months so I got a bit of time.

Being in the house is hard, because of all the small things.  In case you did not know, I was not the picker in our lives.  Not of colors on the walls, not of furniture, not of stuff hanging on the walls, and not the way any of the décor was arranged or anything else.  I would do the work, painting, hanging things, moving furniture, swapping doors or installing new moldings but was not the picker.   Every room in this house has a 100 reminders of her, and that is hard.  My only reprieve from that is here in my office, that is the one place I did get to choose.   I have done nothing, except hang a picture and the story of H.O. Studley’s toolbox, and yes I built that frame.  I first read about that in Fine Woodworking magazine and was simply amazed by his talent.  Here is a bit about that H.O. Studley tool box.

That is also where I am right now, pecking away on a keyboard typing about my Honey.  All the small things feel like death by a thousand cuts.  I am a woodworker and old car mechanic so I have experience with that, but these cut a bit deeper and seem to not be closing up as fast. 

I go to my first grief session Sunday that focuses on the loss of a spouse.  I am both terrified and hopeful at the same time.  As I have said, I recognize I am on a new path, and I have no idea where its heading, no idea of the terrain, no idea of how long the path is or where it will end up, so one step a time, three things on a list every day is helping.  I am trying to make sure at least one a day includes forward motion and not just motion. 

Fuckity fuck fuck!!  I sure do miss ya BB

 

 

The Power of a Box

This is a repost from something I put on FB on May 4th over to here.

Last night I received the text and picture below from a Brother from another Mother, we talked afterwards. Damn dude, thanks for the cry and I love ya!  ❤️❤️

The Power of a Box

It is not only the label on a box that describes what is in it, it is also the quality of the box that represents the importance of what is contained within.

This is a beautiful box inside and out.

Outside the craftsmanship is up to the Smitty standard.

Inside the box is pure beauty, dreams, memories, great times, kindness, courage, boldness, love, laughs and beyond the Smitty standard.

The Power of this Box is beyond words.

Sandy Smith, The Most Amazing Woman Ever

I posted this on FB, I wanted to include this in the story of my loss.  I wrote this the day after and I did not edit it for posting here.

Sandy, my Beautiful Bride, passed away Tuesday afternoon.  She was the most amazing and courageous woman I have ever known, and she was the ABSOLUTE love of my life.

From the moment anyone met Sandy, they noticed the light, the spark, the thing that was immediately noticeable and unmistakably her.  She showed up in the world to play, fully herself and without pretense or filters.  As she loved to say, she would tell anyone exactly “how the cow ate the cabbage,” If they needed it, and at the same time she could do it with honesty, warmth, and always with a twinkle in her eye.

Sandy loved deeply and without limits.  She loved spending time with me, with family and friends, and with all the people she held closest.  She adored her seven siblings with her whole heart.  She embraced life as an adventure, whether that meant moving to Oregon for a Pacific Northwest chapter or heading to Nebraska for what she simply said “A Midwest adventure, we don’t have one of those yet.”

She lived life full blast, pedal to the metal all the time.  Sandy never held back, never let obstacles slow her down, and never installed a governor on any aspect of her life.  She laughed easily, especially at the chaos and absurdities of life, at smart‑aleck humor, and at the simple happiness that dumb ass Larry O brought her.   We loved people watching, building a whole life story for each person, then passing judgement on that made up life, based on nothing more than a glance as someone walked by.

Sandy was the bravest and most courageous human I have ever known.  She faced immense challenges with strength and determination, overcoming addiction born from prescription pain medication after back surgery, battling bipolar disorder with the constant chasing for the right cocktail of medicines to make life work for her, and enduring a series of serious health issues in recent years.  Every day, she got up, faced what was in front of her, pushed back the demons, and refused to let anything stop her, or even slow her down, from living her life on her terms.  Her perseverance was equal parts quiet determination, loud obstinance and relentlessness.  And it was all inspiring to those who knew her.

We met while stationed at a small Navy base in Annapolis, Maryland.  From there we built a life together that spanned 38 years, a life full of movement, laughter, and love. I spent every one of those years doing my best to keep her on a pedestal, where she belonged.  To me, she was beautiful inside and out, my Beautiful Bride in every sense of the word.

Sandy made rooms brighter just by being in them. She made people feel seen, told the truth with heart, and loved without reservation. Her life was a reminder to live boldly, love fiercely, tell the truth, and keep going, even when the road is hard as hell.

She leaves behind a love that was expansive, an absence that is immense, and a legacy of authenticity, courage, and joy that will continue to ripple through everyone who was lucky enough to know her.  She made me a better man, husband and friend

I will miss ya BB, till my last breath

Sandra Schwab Smith 4/29/1957 - 4/21/2026