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!!