Category: journal

11/2018

There used to be this notion that a widow/er had to wait a specific amount of time after their spouse died to date again.  I’ve contended for about a decade that the only two people who truly understand a marriage are the two people who are in it.  Alongside that, when that marriage is over for whatever reason, the choice if and when to date is solely up to the individual.

I never set out to get into another relationship after Kevin died, but I never thought I’d meet anyone like my Sweetie.  He’s a wonderful man and wasn’t scared off by my widowhood label.  We enjoyed each other’s company and were kind to each other.  We’re still that way, but as time passed, we fell in love.

About a year and a half after Kevin died, I began to have a new thought when cuddling with my Sweetie:  “Marry me.”  I knew that there was something more to that thought than wanting to be a wife again.  There had to be–I knew that I didn’t want to get married again (still don’t).  I was finally finding autonomy and was just starting to comprehend how obligation in a relationship was a breeding ground for resentment.

As those thoughts kept happening over the next few months, I started to take note of them and see if there was a pattern.  There was–in that moment,  I felt bliss.  I was starting to build a new life with my Sweetie where I didn’t have to give up anything.  I could love someone without having to amend my true self, and I was offering the same kind of love in return.  I felt content, loved, and happy to a degree I never imagined feeling after Kevin died.  I didn’t want those moments to end.

Upon further introspection, I realized that “marry me” actually meant “I’m so happy being with you in this moment and I want to capture this feeling forever.”

I extended that thought a bit more–is that why so many people rush into marriages that end up failing? It made sense. The notion of romance is alive and well, and we love a good fairy tale. Who wouldn’t want to see a movie of a woman who had a tumultuous relationship with a genius, lose him to suicide, and meet someone again who helps her heal and they get married? I might. But willingly choose that path? Nope. Fiction can be tinkered with to near perfection, but time goes by too quickly for that luxury.

11/2020:

Well, I was kinda surprised to find this draft. I’d completely forgotten about this draft that never got posted. I think back then, it was a little bit too personal. Or I simply forgot about it, as I got a job a couple days after I started the draft.

Marriage is a different thing for me now. I’d love to get married, but the kind of marriage I’m after isn’t available in my country. For now, in addition to Sweetie, there is Darling. We’ve got this neat little Triad going and it’s going quite well. It would be ridiculous to think of only two of us marrying each other. It’s tempting to want to make a test case of plural marriage, but that’s a battle I’m not willing to fight. My relationship is not a test case, but a relationship, and I don’t want to attract attention because I feel like society has to legitimize my relationship. We’re so not there yet as a society, unfortunately. Expanding domestic partnerships to more than two people is a start. That would be huge in giving people in poly relationships legal protection without having to string together the proper paperwork.

1/2021:

Laughing at myself for not posting this yet. I’m learning that it’s better to get the thoughts out as coherently as possible, rather than to let something sit and never get expressed. I started writing again because I loved it and I missed it.

Sitting on the couch, listening to Birdland, Weather Report style. Low key dancing because I want to write, not move around.

Widowhood Season #6 is coming to a close. It’s the time I allow myself to be a little more pensive about Kevin and that era of my life.

Ah, Goodbye Pork Pie Hat is on. I haven’t heard a lot of Jeff Beck, but I’ve loved what I’ve heard. Something about talented musicians getting into a recording studio and having fun makes for delicious music.

So yeah, the Season. It hasn’t been too bad. I’ve accepted that I’m gonna be a little moody and certain songs may prompt anxiety or tears. That happens when one spent nearly half her life with someone and ended up being the only surviving being from that time. I know that’s a big deal, but then I look over to my Sweetie, who’s shown me what true love is, and I shrug. Kevin didn’t want me to dwell on my life with him. Now that I have a full time job and an apartment, there’s less time to dwell on memories.

Sweetie and I decided to go for a drive in my Miata with the top down. Be it ever so native SoCal resident, we went through the local In-N-Out drive through. There’s so many ways to get anywhere around here, so I drove a completely different way home. Was a bit surprised to find a sobriety checkpoint, but those are easy when one is sober. 🙂

I do miss Kevin still. I’ve found myself wanting to share stuff with him and Golden Ears lately. I decided to watch the Hash episode of Barney Miller again because I missed them both. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe they’re both gone, along with too many others. Did Devo call it? “The lucky ones are gonna be the first to go.”

And yes, the world is going to remember Robin Williams on Tuesday. I felt it fitting that I ended my Widowhood Season on his death day, because of how it felt to watch the world mourn his loss while I was mourning a similar loss. So cruel for him to get a brutal type of dementia. He never said good-bye to us, and that sucks. I think it would have been easier if he said that he was no longer the Robin we all love and he was going to quietly fade away from the public eye. I think we would have given him that. I would have. The jokes about karma alone would have been brilliant!

I’ve had a new apartment with Sweetie for three weeks. I’m still trying to get used to it.

Sweetie got a job in June while I was on vacation with him and Darling. It was a great opportunity, so off he went. That signaled that it was finally time to look for a place. (It also gave me alone time with Darling, which is rather rare, actually.)

At the very end of June, I mentioned to my sister that I was looking for an apartment. She told me that an apartment just like hers opened up two buildings down. That was June 30th. We got the keys for the apartment on July 11th. We’re not fully moved in yet, but I refuse to stress over it. I budgeted storage space along with everything else, so I know it’s covered as long as I need it. We’re still gonna need one of the spaces anyway, as I have a lot of stuff I want to keep and don’t really need.

Darling is here to visit for a few days. He was here for a few days two weekends ago. It’s so good to have him here! Finally, we have a place of our own that we can cook and control the temperature! We got some hand-me-downs for the basic household stuff, plus we’re adding in the stuff we already had. Sweetie scored a king sized bed! You really can’t have anything smaller for a Triad, anyway.

Naturally, we have fish again. One 10 gallon tank is the starter tank for Sweetie and Darling. They want to start rescuing interesting looking feeder goldfish, so there’s a couple of those and a nice koi that Darling really liked. The 30 gallon will be up and running soon so all those guys have more room to roam.

It’s good to have a place where I can be me again. It’s great to live with Sweetie again. It’s spectacular to know that Darling is going to join us permanently in the near future. The three of us have a place where we can love each other for who we are, freely. Where we can be who we are, honestly.

And that, in this day and age, is rare and I treasure it deeply.

Looks like Year Six of Widowhood’s gonna be pretty good.

I have my own 10 gallon with 9 neon tetras named Eric (Monty Python reference) and an orange and pink glow shark named Nymphadora (Harry Potter reference). I’ve wanted a lot of neon tetras for awhile, so it’s great to have them.

I have the old Ikea coffee table that Kevin bought right after I met him. It’s weird for it to be in a living room again. Hey, it’s still in good condition and a perfect start to a larger tank for the koi and goldfish down the road.

a·mour fou/ˌämo͝or ˈfo͞o/noun

1. uncontrollable or obsessive passion.

I was first introduced to this concept when watching The Sopranos with Kevin. Tony Soprano fell in love with one of Dr. Melfi’s other patients and had quite a tumultuous time of it.

I kind of had a feeling at the time I watched those episodes that my marriage was like that on a different level (we never threw food at each other). No matter how angry I was with Kevin, I couldn’t live without him. He felt the same way. Almost six years into widowhood, I know for certain it was Amour Fou.

When we were alike, we were perfectly in sync. Butter and garlic. When we were dissimilar, we were oil and vinegar. We didn’t want to be around each other or we didn’t want to leave each other’s sight. With some variations on the scale sprinkled in for good measure. 18 years of that was quite a ride.

As I’ve stated many times, sense memory sucks. The other day, I heard a song I hadn’t heard in a long time. It was one of the songs Kevin used to taunt me with if he was angry at me (or angry in general and I was the only other human around). I went right back to being in front of his room, knocking and begging to be let in while the song blasted. All those dark days mixed into one and back came that empty feeling I used to get when he would get mad at me. It’s like I’d lost a part of me and the person who had the missing part wouldn’t give it back.

I turned off the song because I was panicking and it was emotionally painful. I’ve felt grief a lot when listening to music. I wipe away the tears and go on with my day. But this feeling stuck to me and suddenly the prospect of finishing my work day seemed impossible. So, I asked for the rest of the day off because I wasn’t feeling well, and I was granted it.

I talked a bit to those I discuss these things with, and pretty much stared at the TV for the rest of the day, trying to lose myself in familiar worlds. I did my best to cope. Only lamented the lack of access to benzos a tiny bit. (They have their purposes, but highly addictive, therefore difficult to obtain. Thankfully I had something that works just as well.)

That damned panic attack poked at many feelings and memories that I do my best to forget. In my mind’s eye, I had a montage of the worst of it. I couldn’t get it to stop. I hate every single one of those fights. I know a lot of them were the result of recurring bouts of failing to find fulfillment in the life I was told I wanted–combo housewife and office manager.

I can’t change any of it, therefore I don’t like to think about it. Who the hell wants to dwell on all that? Certainly not I. Yet it happens because it’s only been about three years since I began to understand the dynamics of that relationship. 20/20 hindsight, indeed. But I don’t know what knowing then what I know now would have helped all that much. Maybe avoided some arguments? But with Amour Fou, wouldn’t we have just found something else to argue about?

So, when you find yourself in a relationship that is one of those “Can’t live with you, can’t live without you” type things, be careful. As much as you think you can’t leave, you can. Then again, I’ll bet you know that but can’t bring yourself to leave. Believe me, I get it. It’s the nature of the beast, really. Just try to be honest with yourself in the “amour phase” and know that the shit’s gonna hit the fan again.

Also know that love doesn’t mean having to endure that kind of dynamic. It’s totally possible to love someone without having shouting matches on a regular basis.

The Miles David album “Bitches Brew” is about to turn 50, and I’m listening to it for the first time. I recognize a lot of the names of the people who are playing with him. I’m 3 minutes into “Pharaoh’s Dance” and I’m in love already. Exactly the kind of jazz I tend to lean towards.

I recently applied for and got a transfer to a different department at work. Took almost a month between me putting in the application and getting the transfer. I leveled up, and it’s great! I’m wearing all the skirts I picked up at thrift shops, and a few of the sweaters, too. (I tend to buy cashmere and wool sweaters only–those are the great bargains). I can still wear jeans if I want, which I do sometimes. I’m finding I need to get shirts in a few different colors now that I care more about matching. I also need to iron on a regular basis. I wear my hair down a lot more often, too. (I still put it up when I eat). I’m liking this level, though it feels like I really should have done this 20 years ago. I know why I didn’t–I’d just married Kevin and the internet heyday of great paying support jobs were starting to fade away because everyone kept selling their companies instead of going bankrupt.

I also got a TV upgrade, even though it’s probably the oldest TV in this house, it’s still a great thing. Part of moving out of the room I was renting with my Sweetie meant that the old Chromecast box was up for grabs. I happily took that, because it means I can really use the streaming services I pay for. I haven’t turned on the TV that’s beamed in for a couple weeks. I also personalized the slide show on the Chromecast to show me things and people I love. Reminds me of a company I did product support for over 15 years ago–they were one of the first digital photo frame companies. But this is a lot easier!

I’m turning 45 in 8 days. How did I get to my mid-40’s? It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I turned 40. As Kevin died when I was 39, I’ve always been a 40-something widow. I’ve known my Sweetie for all of my 40’s thus far, too. It’s just how life turned out. I remember sometimes during my caregiving days (32-29) when I was just about to doze off, the phrase “40 years” popped into my mind. Back then, I hoped it meant that I’d have 40 years with Kevin. Only got 18. What are you gonna do?

OMG! ZAWINUL plays on the song Bitches Brew! The album did kind of have a Weather Report-ish feel to it. Yep, my kind of Jazz!

I love having a Miata. I also love driving stick again in a small car with almost 50/50 balance. I learned the lesson from my 20’s–you’ll kill the clutch if you use it as a brake–and shifting into neutral is delightful. My commute involves several hills, and I often coast down them whenever I can. It’s also fun to coast down on a notoriously congested piece of freeway when I come back down from visiting my Sweetie. If there’s no traffic, it’s fun, and if there is, it’s kind of like driving an automatic.

Drove part of the way home with the top down. That was fun, especially now that I have a new route home. Mine is a common commute that can include going past one or two very popular freeway entrances/exits, one of which is next to a Mall. I also pass by an area with a lot of schools, which means taking side streets isn’t really an option. Sure, I do go a little bit out of the way, but it means not having to deal with traffic and I get to drive some winding roads. (Yet another thing I tend to do in neutral. If I time things right, I end up shifting back into 3rd at the end of the turn.)

This whole “Plague 2020” thing is more amusing than alarming. I’m no conspiracy theorist, but this is just the kind of thing that takes advantage of human nature. The majority of people who get the virus live. Illness taps at people’s insecurities and causes them to freak out and start hoarding things. I just hope it makes people take health care more seriously during the election cycle.

Speaking of which, it’s very hard for me to watch politics on TV these days. I re-watch The West Wing instead. It’s comfort TV for me.

I recently got told that my Cholesterol is too high and my A1C is at the high end of the scale. I can’t do Keto. Kudos to those of you who can, but bread is a staple I know better than to give up entirely. I’m making some changes to my diet that I can live with. I’m eating more veggies for lunch, and I’ve taken to eating cereal on my first break. I’ve cut down on pasta and am opting for cauliflower crust on pizza. Next step is adding leafy greens to lunch. I just added cottage cheese to lunch, using the small Snoopy thermos I got like 35 years ago. The rest of my containers are glass, as I want to try to move away from heating up food in plastic containers.

Ok, well “side 1” of “Bitches Brew” is over, and I need to eat more.

Winter, 2020 (specifically March 2nd)

Note: Written as homework for therapy.

SB,

It’s been hard for me to face the loss of you.  You were in my life for 46% of it up to the moment you died.  The cats were our kids, and you stayed alive for them as much as for me.  It doesn’t surprise me that you were dead 6 months after Brubeck died. Your death day was very close to the day your cat Damien died, back in 1993 before I knew you. You didn’t mention him much in the later years, but I think he was on your mind.  

You added to my abandonment issues by leaving the world so brutally.  You didn’t care that it would be a much tougher journey losing you and not having my family. At the end, you painted me and my family as horrible and alienated me from them. All we tried to do was love you and take care of you as much as we could for as long as we could.  I know a lot of times it was not wisely, but too well, but my parents did more for us than your father ever did. In fact, the best thing your father did was die, because I gained another level of understanding of you that helped us for the 7 years you were alive after that.  It still pisses me off just how big of a mess you left when you died; and it’s part of the reason there’s still a lot of emotional pain associated with your memory.  

I miss listening to music, our jokes, our cats, visits from our favorite clients, “cat TV”, making dinner, making love, the way your smile made my heart leap for joy, playing poker or 21 with the red Snoopy cards in your bathroom while you took a bath to try to make your back feel even the tiniest bit better, the different ways you’d tell me it was Bongload Time, when you’d call me Moniegirl or Lucky Charm, our dreams for the house, working on Minimoogs, the way you could cheer me up in the depths of depression, My Show, which was when we’d sit down and go through the folder you kept things you wanted to share with me (when did that start? 911? 2nd gulf war?), hearing you test out synths in front of clients and have them complement your playing, the nerdy as fuck projects you’d come up with, cuddling, hearing you say “I love you”.

Sense memory is still hard to deal with.  A lot of times now, it’s songs I don’t hear often but they’re ones that you loved.  A recent example is Journey’s “Send Her My Love.” It makes me anxious when that happens.  That anxiety often makes me worried about my present life. All that because I can’t bear to miss you.  I loathe, detest, and despise missing you. 

I think of you when I smell vanilla or plumeria.  I tell people at the dispensary about “starving lungs in Jamaica” when someone didn’t finish their dabs.  So many songs still remind me of you, but a lot of them aren’t as emotionally painful as they used to be. Like “Everything Counts” by Depeche Mode.  That used to be an emotional beating. Yet other songs are now emotionally painful because I’ve used them to process the emotional pain related to your loss.  The most notable is “Cousin Kevin,” from The Who’s Tommy.  The lines “Maybe a cigarette burn on your arm would change the expression to one of alarm” hits hard.  The scar from you aiding me in burning myself (even though I was not completely serious about actually doing it) has faded a lot, but oy vey, my soul mate!

Looking at your handwriting isn’t always easy, so I don’t do it too often.  But I just moved out of the place in Victorville in early February, which meant having to open boxes I haven’t opened in more than 6 years.  Evidence of the life we had together. The padded envelope that has all of our wedding stuff in it. All the CD’s and VHS tapes and cassette tapes.  And your pictures! I sent a bunch to Audrey, as I think it’s time to start making sure evidence of your existence is not only in my hands.  

The catalyst for finally forcing myself to deal with how painful it was to lose you was our friend Bruce’s death.  Losing Golden Ears was such a loss. He was a huge connection to you, and losing him was like losing you again. He’d be glad that his dying of cancer on 4/20 prompted me to grow as a person. 

I want to tell you about my life right now, because your death is directly responsible for the life I have now.  I know part of the reason you hung yourself was to free me from the burden of you. We both know just how much of a burden it was at the end.  You’d suffered enough, and I’m glad I was able to accept that at the very end. You said people would help me and take care of me, and it’s true.  My soldering and wiring skills have come in handy to a wonderful group of friends I have now. There’s this cool new event called Neotropolis, and I’m the repair tech for all the LED neon light signs and light bars.  I even have my own group, known as a faction, which I named The Light Nerds. I’m running a repair shop, so of course I need to pay homage to you. I made money selling the T1 boards, and the money often came in exactly when I needed it. 

I’ve been mending fences with my folks for about four and a half years now.  I always knew they never stopped loving me, even though you tried to convince me they didn’t.  They let me move in a year ago last December so I could get the job I have now, which was 14 months ago.  I just changed departments from Customer Service to Logistics. It’s a better position, though I’m not getting a pay rise just yet.  I’m still training, and it’s going well. I built myself a great reputation in Customer Service, which helped me get this new job. It’s a great place to work for, and the benefits are ones I longed to get when you were alive.

I have an actual relationship with my nephew Harry, and I’m so glad.  I’m the aunt who knows about stuff like memes and Anime. We get along and even had a dual birthday lunch last year.  He’s a great kid, and you were wrong–my sister and parents have done a great job raising him. He’s also got a stepdad named Danny who is by far the best brother in law I’ve had.  

In my romantic life–I’ve been in a wonderful relationship with Stephen for nearly 5 years.  We spent the better part of 4 years living and working together, and maintained a place together until recently.  Stephen is amazing. He loves me the way you claimed to love me. Yes, I’m not his wife, but he doesn’t try to make me into the kind of partner he wants.  He wants me to live my own life the way I need to. He lent me his car to go on the interview for my job, knowing it could mean me moving back in with my parents.  It’s not that big a deal, because they love him. He’s spent holidays with us, and has helped them around the house a bunch. He loves me and he knows that my parents are wonderful, so he treats them with the respect they’re due.  

When it comes to my relationship with Stephen, I’ve taken all the good things you did for me and combined it with the way I wish you’d loved me.  As a result, I know Stephen is the love of my life. It’s so easy to love and support him finding his path in life. I taught him how to solder, and we built those boards together.  That’s been a good source of income. There’s so much art he’s shown me that I’d never have known otherwise. It’s great. My not dealing with the loss of you has caused problems in my relationship with him, but now that I’ve figured out what’s going on, I’m determined to deal with feelings as rationally as I can.  

March 1st came and went, and I did my best not to focus on the fact that it was the 24th anniversary of me finding you on AOL.  I spent the weekend with Stephen, which was fantastic. I was sore from our outing on the 29th, and as we were in a hotel room, I opted to take a bath.  It felt very odd to be the one soaking in the tub and asking someone to load me a bowl. Then, on the way to lunch, “your songs” kept popping up in my playlist.  I skipped most of them, because I wanted to focus on the present. But it made me miss you.

So that’s where I am in life, in a place you probably knew I’d be in because of the tremendous faith you (usually) had in me.  I love you still, and a part of me always will. I just need to process this grief a bit more so I can move on. It’s not easy, but I need to do it in order to succeed at this new phase in life.  

I miss you, I love you, and I’m pretty sure you’d be proud of me.

Love,

Poodlefish