Wife and I always celebrated St. Valentine’s Day, although it never was a huge thing for us. I think we saw it as another opportunity to celebrate being together and to do something a little special for the kids.
I dropped the ball this year and let the day creep up on me. I know my kids are all old enough that they no longer need a heavy dose of sugar from their dad. But I still remember the day and the celebration of close relationships that it represents.
Happy Valentine’s Day, all.
I went to the bereavement support group for the second time today. There were about eight women and two men. That told me something right away (well, a couple of things actually). They asked me to introduce myself, so I did. Same for the other male.
The coordinator had a couple of printed packets she wanted to work through. So, she started and then gave each person there an opportunity to say something regarding each topic. She asked people if they’d done their homework.
Some of the widows there are quite close to their loss. Many of them lost their loved one a couple of months ago. A few of us are farther out. I think all of us are trying to accommodate our new status.
We shut down after about an hour and a half. The women gathered about to visit. It is the way of women to deal with their grief by sharing it in this fashion. Most men prefer to deal with grief in private (where it’s safe) and by doing things. That’s one of the big things I learned in my reading.
I’m also a lot farther down the road than most of the folks there. I don’t mean that to be bragging — because I don’t have it all together. But I did the work to address my loss and am still doing the work.
As I left, I thought “This really isn’t for me. Maybe it would have been six or nine months ago, but not any more.” I still have work to do and I have a good idea where that work is. But I don’t think I need the group to do that work. I just need to keep my eyes forward, deal with my grief when it rises, and continue working out my plans. I think it’s going to be more about deciding what I want and then executing that from here on forward. I can do that.
Edit: Since finishing this piece, I got started thinking again. I left the meeting this afternoon feeling pretty good — as in buoyed. I wondered about that in the context of what I learned by going through this second meeting. I finally figured out that what made me feel good was making a life-decision. I decided not to attend more meetings. They aren’t the right thing for me to do.
Then I figured out that when I make a life-decision that is both logical and feels right, I feel better. I get a boost from making a decision… taking an opportunity that I perceive to be moving forward. This is a good thing and I’m glad for the little boost.
I think my Girl and I like walkies the best. Well, maybe… We both like our walkies — she lives to run on the trail of “wabbits” and I love the sun, the air, the walking, and watching her.
When the light is good, I make images. I seem to carry the D300 more often than not now. I like the Tamron 80-210/3.8 zoom in my collection. It’s adequately sharp for images that aren’t too critical. It’s a great range of focal lengths. It focuses reasonably close so that macro-like shots are possible. It’s fast enough that the optical viewfinder is bright enough for daylight work. It’s fast enough to get some separation between subject and background as well. So, the Tamron is often on my D300.
The afternoon I made the capture of the Girl was a Tamron-based walkies. She ranged out and back, like she does. Part of the time we play a game called “Come find me!” If I can’t see her, or suspect she can’t see me, I’ll call out “Come find me! Ki, come find me!” and then watch and listen for her.
I usually see her before she sees me. Her “flag” is her tell. If she doesn’t see me, I’ll call again “Come find me!” so she has a chance to get direction with her ears. When she sees me, her ears and tail drop, and she will race in to me, laughing that doggie-laugh of hers. When she nears, she’ll either break off and turn to range out again or will blow past me a full speed, sometimes showering me with sand and gravel. It’s a great game and I think we both like it — a lot.
That afternoon I made the capture was pretty late in the day, probably 1530 or so. I knew the sun was going to drop behind the Carson Range in a few minutes. She had ranged out 20–30 yards and turned to look back at me, probably in response to my call. That’s the expression I see when she tells me “C’mon, you… you’re lagging!” I love it!
Of course, I love my Girl. She rescued me as much as I rescued her. The inter-species relationship fascinates me. Without speech, she tells me many things. Many of them are simple needs — food, water, go out, play, cuddle… However, she can communicate some things that are more complicated. “Take me with you!” is a favorite. Another favorite is “You’re taking me with you, right?” The latter really is a question. Her body language is different for the demand and the request. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
She is my terrible terrier. She is as manipulative as any human female I’ve ever been around. She knows my attachment to her is very strong and she uses it. I am sometimes shunned when I leave her (because I have to). She’ll camp out with Young Son and I get The Look. She’ll sleep on the sofa instead of with me.
Yeah, she works me emotionally very well. I know it. She knows it.
Her intelligence is different than mine. Her skills are physical and perceptive. She solves one-step problems well, but two-step problems are more challenging for her. She is devoted and protective, just like me.
She is my best friend. It doesn’t matter that she’s a different species. She’s still my best friend.
This afternoon I realized another thing I miss about Wife. My work has been fairly stressful the last few weeks. The forensic project I’m working on is quite a challenge. A lot depends on my ability to figure out what happened.
Wife and I shared a term about stressful situations. We would call it “spinning up.” Both of us did it over our joint life. We learned to be a buffer for each other, providing a calming influence instead of adding fuel to the fire.
I realized, late this afternoon while walking the Girl, that I miss that. It was something Wife helped me with, when I have to deal with a difficult problem or a stressful situation. She provided a buffer to calm me, tell me it will be OK, and allow me to vent.
I don’t have that anymore. I miss it.
On the third Saturday in January 2013, one year ago, Wife died. The lymphoma finally took what remained of her, after taking all the best parts weeks before. Although the date says one year tomorrow, for me her passing will occur on the third Saturday of January.
Yesterday was the last day of my year of firsts. In many respects, I’m glad it’s over.
I haven’t been writing much, here, although I worked my journal pretty hard. Early last week, as I prepared to travel to southern Nevada for fieldwork, I contracted bronchitis. So I delayed my departure that Thursday morning and drove to the Walmart walk-in clinic to see a medical provider. I know my body. When I get bronchitis (usually a viral infection) I am susceptible to a secondary bacterial infection that will keep me sick for a month if I don’t receive treatment. I learned to seek treatment early and take a round of antibiotics. Then I avoid the secondary respiratory infection that nearly always happens.
We made the trip and accomplished the tasks set before us. It’s another story; maybe I’ll tell it yet.
The last week was spent trying to recover from my bronchitis, trying to catch up after missing part of the weekend (to do chores), and working on a project with a hard deadline. I finally figured out what happened for my project (it’s a forensic project) yesterday afternoon. This is a good thing. Now I’ll finalize my report and supporting documentation and get it done.
In my off-time, I reflected on my life with Wife and read through my journal from a year ago. From my current perspective, I know how it all turned out. I didn’t at the time I wrote my journal. However, then, even a few weeks before she died, I knew things were not going well. I could see her energy ebbing as the days passed, despite the medical team’s effort to get the lymphoma under control. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.
Over the last year, I wrote several times how I hate that the lymphoma took her voice and ability to interact with me. Our joint life revolved around time together and talk. I loved to interact with Wife and that’s the thing I miss the most. We spent many hours over breakfast solving all the problems of our lives and the World’s.
I wept a few times the last week as I recalled how it was all winding down a year ago. I knew this watershed approached and wondered how it might feel — whether it would be like the passing of a birthday (“Do I feel older, nope…”) or if something more substantial would occur.
Well, yesterday was the last day of my year of firsts. I wept a few times as I recalled Wife’s last day. We knew she was dying soon — the hospice nurse told us three to five days. (Wife lasted another twelve hours.) When she took her last few breaths and tried to interact with us, it was very hard. Those last moments will haunt me forever. Then she was simply gone. Well, what was left of her… a trap that kept her spirit here but locked away from her loved ones, that died and her spirit was finally released.
Wife’s death was the hard part. Then all of the busy-ness that follows a death happened and was dealt with. In many respects, that activity is something good because it provides a focal point for doers to keep busy. I’m a doer… I needed that activity.
As I reflect on my activities, I believe I did things mostly right. At the very least, I did the best I could. I gave Wife everything within my power to give. We did our best to get a cure for her lymphoma. When that failed, we gave her time, attention, and our love. We saw her through to the end. It was a mix of joy in having known her and of sadness for our loss of her wonderful presence and spirit.
Make no mistake, Wife was no saint. She had her flaws, as do we all. But there was an inherent goodness in her that I believe derived from her faith. She shared that goodness freely with almost everyone who came into contact with her. Her faith was shared in what she did, not in what she said. As a result, that circle of people around her lost something big when she died. Those of us closest to her lost the most. But everyone in her circles lost something.
I gave myself a year to heal and to figure out what will be next. That year is finished. I’m not healed, but I’m better. I’m not happy and have not yet figured out what will make me happy. So, I think I was ambitious to believe I could figure out what’s next during my year of firsts. I decided, during my end-of-year time of reflection, that I need another year to figure out what’s next. That is, provided God gives me another year.
Regardless of whether he gives me another year or not, my plan is to use 2014 as a year for rebuilding. Last year was a year to mourn and process all the material things left behind after Wife’s death. Most of that is done. Most of the financial impact of her death is dealt with. As my friend Jim suggested, “It still sucks, but it doesn’t suck quite as badly.”
My intent is to work this year, plan ahead financially (for retirement, full or partial), and see Young Son through another year of college. By the end of this year, he’ll be looking to go to university somewhere. That means he’ll be moving out of my house and out of my daily provision. He’ll be taking on responsibility for his support and relieving me of that. I will be released from the last of my family responsibilities.
I’m giving myself this year to figure out what is next for me. I might elect to continue working my current engagement. I might elect to make a career change. I’ll make a mid-course check in June to determine whether I’m moving toward a new life that will provide some happiness. But this year will be a time for me to figure out what I want and where I want it.
I think I’m OK with that. I suppose I have to be OK with that.
I miss you Old Girl. I think I’ll miss you forever. Those of us who knew you, we each have a poorer life for your loss.
Edit: I think I miswrote. Today is the last day of my year of firsts. I suppose I just want it to be done.
Excuse me while I refill my whiskey glass… I’m going to write this and then go pack my camera gear. I head out in the morning for southern Nevada to do a site visit for one of my projects. The Girl and I will drive down there tomorrow and do a little light field work in the afternoon. We’ll probably stop for a couple of geocaches on the way, then drive into Pahrump to spend the night. Friday we’ll be in the field with the client. Then we’ll spend Friday night again in Pahrump to drive home Saturday. I plan to drive through Death Valley on the way home, do a little geocaching, and make a few images. I am looking forward to the trip.
I think one of my mistakes is not taking a weekend a month and driving somewhere. The road time is good for my head. The sights of new places is good for my eyes. The Girl is good for me. I have no idea what she gets from our relationship, but she obviously gets something from it. She seeks out my time and attention (except when she’s pissed at me for whatever doggish reason — hmmm… sounds kinda like girlish reason, doesn’t it?). She wants to go when I go and stay when I stay. I don’t exactly understand, but it doesn’t matter. The relationship works.
A few days ago we walked up to the community mailbox to retrieve the mail. While I was there, I noticed this fallen rubber band, either lost or discarded. I don’t know which. But the shape of it reminded me of the traditional heart-shape we use in our culture. The light was fairly interesting. The only camera I had with me was my Moto X. So, I made the shot with a phone-camera. The camera you have with you is the best camera.
I posted this on my social accounts. DiL commented she would have noticed the heart-shape too. She’s an artist; I’m not. But I loved the comment anyway.
I titled this “Found, Lost Love” or “Lost Love, Found.” Both work, I think. The only post-processing was addition of the vignette to draw the eye to the geometry of the rubber band.
But the reference goes much deeper. A year ago we were in the thick of it. Wife had been sent home by her medical team to die. They did what the could. The cancer did not respond to radiation treatment. There was nothing left to do. The stress on Wife to make the 82-mile journey everyday was telling. She was losing strength daily. She had lost her ability to speak and most of her mobility. It was not a good place to be.
She didn’t want to give up. I know her. I know how she thinks. Surrender was not an option. But, although she didn’t want to give up, she knew she wasn’t improving. In the end, when asked, she said “I want to go home and rest.”
I think those were the most difficult seven words I ever heard. It broke my heart to realize that this was it. All the work, the travel, the hope, and the fear peaked in those few words.
The staff came by to say goodbye. They knew. They have seen it all before. Everyone leaves their care at some time. Some go home healed, completely or partially. Some go home to die. It’s part of the gig. But they were sincere and compassionate and it was an honor to see them salute Wife’s effort to get relief from her disease. We brought her home that afternoon, all of us quiet, reflecting on what we learned and what was coming. And so the vigil began.
A lot of my emotions rose when I saw the heart-shaped rubber band the other afternoon. I instantly made the connection of a lost-love, found. My love is lost, gone from this life forever. I want no other and as my year-of-firsts approaches its end, nothing is really changed. Wife is gone and will not be returning.
I still wonder what to do with that. My expectation was that I would retire, fully or partially, and we would do the things we talked about for so many years. With her demise, that’s changed. In this new life, I am moving to a second career as a photographer and writer. But no longer will I be husband and lifemate.
What does this mean? What does any of it mean? Is there anything of significance in this?
I’m not sure I have any answers. All I know is that I carry on. I’ll work a few more years in my current engagement, so long as enough work exists to keep me employed. Then I’ll move to a new phase of my life, providing my health holds, and take on a few engineering assignments that interest me. They will pay well. I intend to spend the rest of my time traveling to see my family and to make images of interesting places and things as well as write about my experiences.
I know what I believe. I am not a religious man. But I have faith. What I believe cannot be proven. That changes nothing about how I intend to conduct myself. Regardless of whether my faith proves true or false, I intend to live what I believe. My hope is that Wife and I will have “time” to talk again. I would love that. But I cannot know because it can’t be proven.
Today would have been my youngest sister’s birthday. Yes, she was born the day after Christmas. She didn’t have an easy life and died about four years ago. I remember you sis… Happy Birthday.
I didn’t get the post quite right in this image. I think the mid-tones are a little off. Yet I like the image because it captures some of the character of my Girl.
The terrier in her wants to be lead — the alpha. I accuse her of “following from the front,” just like I used to my children. She doesn’t really know where we’re going, although she knows many of our regular paths. She runs out ahead searching for “wabbits” I suspect, sniffing, peeing, and sometimes pooping to tell other passers-by “Ki was here.”
To keep her honest, I often call her back in with a “Heel!” If that doesn’t do it, then she gets a touch from the collar. That usually brings her back with a snort. I’ll tell her “Don’t you snort at me!” She often responds with what I call a “blow” — a strong exhale. That’s as if to say “Yeah, right.”
She is a terrier. I call her my “terrible terrier” many times. But she’s really not terrible.
If I wasn’t the leader, then she would be. That’s nature of alpha dogs, be they male or female. She doesn’t really challenge my authority, but she tells me what she wants. I sometimes accuse her of “telling me what I want.” Then again, I used to accuse Wife of same.
Speaking of Wife, I think about her a lot right now. A year ago we were really in the thick of it. With lymphoma cells in her central nervous system, she was scheduled for a marathon MRI study on Friday. I could tell it was bad, although I couldn’t tell her that. I think she knew anyway, although she generally kept her thoughts to herself. It became more difficult for her to interact — speech was difficult. It became more difficult for her to see as well. She complained of double vision.
I knew all this most likely meant she had lymphoma in her brain. The fever, nausea, and physical effects were apparent to me, whether the doctors would confirm or not. I knew Wife was dying.
It would be confirmed for me in a few days when the report of a brain lesion came back from the MRI study. The finality of her disease would be revealed in a couple more weeks. Although I couldn’t be certain, I knew what was happening. My sense of impending loss was heavy. I recall it so clearly now and I feel that heaviness. I suppose this is common, but it’s a first time for me. I am still in my “year of firsts.”
So, on this Christmas Eve I recall the events of last year. I don’t think my intent is to make myself feel bad. Hell, I already do that enough without any help. I think I want to hang on to those memories for they are a part of what defines Wife’s character and my character. They are watershed events that lead up to my change of status from husband to widower.
In a few more weeks I will complete my “year of firsts.” I wrote, I think poorly, about moving forward but not moving on. I am leaving behind my former life as husband and the husbanding of Wife. That is a fact. But I don’t want to move on — that has a sense of deliberation that I don’t have. That is, a sense of deliberate change as if I had left her. I did not. I would not. That is not in my nature.
No, I see this as a time to move forward. I was released from my responsibility as husband when Wife died. Almost all the things that needed to be done after her death are complete. The amount of things to deal with is reducing weekly. Eventually I will achieve my goal of dropping things that are no longer wanted or nor longer useful. I see that as the sign it’s time to move forward to new things.
That means it’s time to figure out what those new things should be. I have part of a plan assembled. It isn’t complete, at least not yet. But it’s a beginning. That will have to be good enough.
Ki needs me. I think I need her more than she needs me. But it’s a good partnership and we have a great interspecies friendship. For now, it is Ki and me.
The other evening Young Son and I ate the last of our leftover pizza. While we were eating, we watched an episode of my latest addiction, Dexter. When the pizza was gone, Young Son retrieved a couple of cookies from his fiance’s care package and offered me one. I accepted, of course. I’m not stupid.
The Girl sat at my feet, looking at me with those asking/demanding eyes she can do. I usually share a bit of my food with her, not on demand, but like a good alpha when I feel it’s appropriate. So she got a bit of my peanut butter cookie.
The cookies consumed, we continued watching Dexter. I noticed the Girl sitting before Young Son. He got down on the floor with her. She was in her please sit. He got a paw and it was clear she was asking for something.
Finally, he said to me “What does she want? She gave me a paw. She’s asking for something.” I thought for a few minutes.
“Do you want a cookie?” I asked her. I got eyes. So I got up and got a couple of Girl-cookies from her stash and sat back down (Dexter was paused). She sat at my feet, nuzzling the hand with the biscuits. I held them, watching her. She worked and worked at my hand, trying to lick a biscuit from my grasp or hook it with a canine tooth. I talked to her and laughed while she worked, then finally relented and let her take one from my hand.
The other was still hidden in my paw. She finished the first and asked for the second, which I presented when she laid down on command.
Satisfied that she had her own cookies, she hopped onto the sofa on her mat next to me. Young Son came over and sat on the sofa next to her. She settled right down and we finished our episode of Dexter together.
She wanted her own cookies. She asked nicely. It took us less-sensitive humans a bit to figure it out, but we did.
When I began cleaning out things after Wife died, one of the big jobs was to sort through all of the holiday decorations accumulated over the decades. There were many things in those boxes. A number of them carried many poignant memories.
So, as I looked through those material manifestations of four decades of family life, I sorted them into four piles. One was to keep (quite small), a second was to be sent to Daughter, a third was to Older Son, and the final was to donate. The largest pile was the donation pile. Those were things that didn’t carry many family memories. The second largest was to go to Daughter. She will use some of them and curate the others for Older Son and Young Son as they establish their own traditions and want to include some of the things from their youth. I sent a box to Older Son with things I thought he’d find meaningful. The final bit was for me.
That part all fit into a single 30-gallon tub. I have one that is red and green — it’s perfect for me.
All the old artificial trees went to local charities. There wasn’t anything in the lot I wanted. So I gave them away.
A couple of days ago I decided to get out the Christmas decorations. I wanted to see what I have and decide what to put up. Without a tree, I looked at what Home Depot had to offer in artificial trees. I don’t want a live tree; the Girl might decide to eat it or drink the water. I found something relatively small but big enough to establish a holiday place. I brought it home this morning. Young Son and I set it up, then added some decorations to fill it out.
Decorating the tree and putting out a few other things was quite emotional. I knew it would be and wanted to give that energy a chance to vent. Trying to put it aside is not a good idea and is not optional. So, I remembered how Wife loved this time of year… how she loved playing the Santa role. I think it was the high point of her year.
Last year was difficult. She wanted to do it all, just as she always had. But she was just starting radiotherapy for her lymphoma and was very ill. She didn’t know it yet, but she was dieing from the disease. She already was showing signs of CNS involvement. But we had a path to travel and so we did all the way through to the bitter end. But, I digress.
She did a bit of shopping last year when she felt up to it. That wasn’t much. I finished it up for her when we had a short break from the daily trip to Truckee for her treatment. Mostly she dealt with her illness, her treatment, and rested. That was the right thing for her to be doing. The rest of us handled the other things.
So, it is with substantial emotion that I put up the tree this year. It won’t be the same without Wife. It can’t be. Life isn’t the same without Wife. But, life goes on and so must I. I will celebrate Wife and her love for the holiday. I raise my glass to her when I have a bit of whiskey or a cup of coffee. I salute her life and her fight.
Old Girl, we put up the tree for you… and for us. It’s our way of remembering your legacy as well as the reason for celebrating the season. We miss you and it will be different. But we’ll do this for each other and for you.
I love you forever…