THANKFUL FRIDAY

Chris turned fifty three on Monday. I tried desperately to not pay attention or say anything about it, but spent the day continually checking his Facebook memorial page to see if any one had left messages. Then I swallowed my ball of hypocrisies and posted nothing, leaving it with plain old lurking. Today marks eleven years since his passing and it has always felt like an extra layer of cruelty that we celebrated his birthday and said our final goodbyes all in the span of one breath.

Tiffany asked me on Monday what age Chris is to me, like is he the same age as when he died, younger, older? In general, Chris is at various ages in my head. I am surrounded with pictures of him during our life together, along with pictures of a much younger Chris before me. Those images make an impression. Mostly though, Chris ages with each birthday. I imagine him now with a bit more gray in his hair, particularly around the temples. Chris, even though he had Lasik years ago, needs readers now and it has become a big joke about how often he loses them on top of his head. He’s a little thinner because he took up running. He likes to run up to the coffee shop at seventy fifth and Wornall and he spends half his day there typing away on his laptop. There’s a comic book nerd guy that hangs out at the same coffee shop with his computer and he and Chris have become comic book pals. Chris has settled in here, found a group of his kind of people. He’s taken to smoking a pipe, not really because he likes the tobacco, but because it is ridiculous. Sometimes he replaces the tobacco with soapy water. You can imagine.

Chris is still Chris.

This, these anniversaries, it is not any harder today than it was last year or the year before that. That doesn’t mean it is easy. Like a habit, missing him has just become a way of life. It is just like the parts of my body that now ache when the weather turns suddenly from tolerable to freezing. It is a dull pain like all the other pains that come with an aging body, that I just live with. This is how I am now. Like the other day at work when I was hot. I am always cold at work, but the other day I wasn’t and I said out loud that I was hot and I didn’t know if it was because the room was being heated or if this is just how I am now. There is gratitude in accepting the things that I cannot control or change. Because while I cannot change the fact that Chris is gone, I can still imagine a life where he is still with us.

Imagination: the ability of the mind to be creative or resourceful.

The number of times I have heard someone say to me “I just can’t imagine…” My reaction was always “why would you even try to imagine?” Now I wonder if imagining a life without Chris would have actually prepared me for the inevitable. I have become more creative and possibly more resourceful, but not delusional. I don’t go home at the end of the day and expect to see him sitting on the couch, Empire Strikes Back playing on the TV while he pokes around on his computer. I no longer keep a chat window open for our daily random chats. Because while I can imagine all of these things, I know it is all just a practice in creativity and Chris was all about practices in creativity.

I am no longer mad at Chris. Releasing the anger has allowed me to see the gifts that he left me with.

THINGS AND STUFF

Yesterday, I had my hairdresser cut all of my hair off really short. It is so short that I have a tiny bit of remorse when I look in the mirror. I have looked at my reflection and thought “Cindy, maybe that’s too short.” Then I shrug and tell myself my hair will grow. Give it a week and it won’t look so short. After our haircuts, I made Michael drive me to Ulta and I bought some temporary silver hair dye, but I didn’t have any disposable gloves in the house. I have to wait until I can snag some gloves. That is okay because even though deep down I know that silver dye on my non-bleached hair is going to make little difference in the color, I am still a little nervous about my hair turning out really silver.

That is not going to happen.

Maybe, deep down, I want something shocking and drastic.

March fifteenth, 2021 marks ten years working in my current place of employment. I feel like that is a milestone. In my line of works, labs are shutting down and laying off all the time. Research scientist is not as stable a position as some would think. Funding for science is highly competitive and that funding can make or break a lab. So ten years in one spot feels important. It is also coincides with Chris and I’s wedding anniversary. I had to do the math for this one, but it would have been twenty three years. This feels like a lot of years and not a lot of years all at the same time. That is probably because in reality we only got fourteen years when we should have had a whole lot more years. Often, it feels like I was jilted.

I am a glass jar filled with numbers, all of which are significant.

I wonder if my photography would have improved to this current level if Chris was still around. I wonder if I would still be writing this blog of Chris were still here. I wonder if I would care about either of those things. Every time I set up for Zoom yoga, I think about how Chris would have geeked out and purchased professional lighting and a real microphone. I wonder if we would have a cat or if Hooper would still be us. I wonder if Chris would have finished some substantial piece of writing by now. I am filled with questions about what we would look like today.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

So, I says to Mabel. I said...

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In the very early morning hours on Thursday, well before my alarm went off, I had a dream. Chris was in this dream. He just showed up and he was alive and well. The two of us were in Portland at one of their food truck halls. Someone placed a crepe with ice cream and fruit down on the table in front of us. I looked at Chris and asked “Did you order this?” He shook his head and replied “Nope.” So we looked around and noticed the people at the crepe place were waiving at us. They had sent it over to us for free. We smiled and waived back then dug into the crepe and we were talking and laughing as usual. Then I said “Wait. How is it that you are here?” Chris shrugged and said “I don’t know. I’m just here.” I nodded my head and said “That’s cool.” We took a few more bites from our crepe and then I said “Oh my gosh! We totally forgot to tell Todd that we were in Portland. I’ll text him and tell him to come meet us.” Chris said “Okay.” and then left to find the bathroom. Todd showed up while Chris was in the bathroom, so I said to Todd “Okay, listen. This is going to sound really weird, but Chris is here. He’s alive and everything and we sat here and ate on this crepe. He’s in the bathroom now, but I’m serious. Chris is really hear.” Except Chris never came back from the bathroom. So I was left trying to convince Todd that I had not completely lost my mind.

By the time I woke up, Todd still was not convinced that I hadn’t gone totally mental. Usually when I have dreams that involve Chris, I wake up crying or angry or both. This time I just woke up. I did want to text Todd and tell him “no I’m not crazy; Chris was here.” I refrained because I know that you should never send a text or email that obviously proves you are crazy. That way it can not be used against you later. Like in a court of law or something. This dream did not leave me feeling sad. Actually it was probably the best dream involving Chris that I have had since he died. I don’t remember what he said or if he actually really did say something, but it felt like he was talking and we were chatting about just regular stuff. Chris has never just chatted with me about regular stuff when I dream of him. He pretty much says nothing at all and the dreams are not pleasant. I also did not walk away from this dream and spend the rest of the day clouded in sadness. Though I did harbor a craving for crepes with some ice cream and fruit for the rest of the day.

On March 14, 1998 Chris and I said “I do” in front of my parents, Stephanie and a couple we knew from college. The ceremony took place at the Chapel of Love in Las Vegas. That was twenty one years ago. I like to think we had a good run while it lasted. Sure, his hoarding tendencies drove my insane and I could get really frustrated with his lack of action. I tried to be more understanding with the later because I know that most of his inaction was due to self esteem issues. We are our own worst critics. But for the most part, we listened to each other and were equally matched intellectually. We spoke the same language and felt comfortable saying what we meant to each other. Our marriage was such a stark contrast to the marriage I was exposed to growing up. It almost didn’t seem like we were married so much as we were best friends who happened to have sex with each other and lived together. So, I guess I’m glad I let Chris talk me into getting married.

I do miss him.

I’m not crazy. Chris was here.

GRUMBLE GRUMBLE

Winter is more resilient than I.

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Remember that skirt I told you about with the elephants all over it and how I had to send it back and get a bigger size? That skirt showed up yesterday and it was even smaller than the first skirt. It was also a different material than the first skirt. I was just starting to feel pretty good about this body. My pants fit me, pants I've had for three or four years. In yoga class on Saturday, I felt positively svelte and popped up into headstand like I had made that pose my bitch. Sure, I've had a thing for melty cheese the last couple of days, but who doesn't when it is cold and snowing. When I tried that skirt on last night, I felt like a fatty fat fat. I tugged the zipper up as far as I could and then cried "what is wrong with me?!?!?" because of course my first thought was that the company had not made a mistake. My first thought was that I had gained even more weight since ordering that skirt. Then I thought "how is that even possible if my clothes still fit?" I laid awake last night thinking about foods I will stop eating and vowing to ride my bicycle to work as soon as the weather allows. 

I sent that skirt back this morning, slapping the free shipping label onto the box with disgust. Then I looked outside and it was snowing and I hated all things. Except cheese. I am a prickly pear and it took me half the morning to figure out the real reason besides hormones for the my prickly pear syndrome. It is March 14th, the day before the Ides of March, the day Chris and I got married because it was Spring Break. We would have been married nineteen years today. The prickly pear syndrome comes from not wanting to remember or acknowledge that I would have been married for nineteen years. It is symptom of trying hard not to acknowledge a past life because I have moved on to a different one. 

Last week, I caught the tail end of an interview on NPR with Patton Oswalt. At the end of the interview he said "You know, you can say you're through with grief all you want, but grief will let you know when it's done." I wanted to tell him that it will never be done. You're going to think it is done. You haven't felt any twinges or leaky eyes in a while. You actually feel happy about your present life and then out of nowhere grief steps up and taps you on the shoulder. "Hey let's dance some more. I'm not done yet!" That's when grief turns into that crazy drunk guy you can't shake at the club. He may be kind of cute, but you're not interested and you're tired and ready to go home for the night. Yet, you are too polite to say no. You follow him back out onto the dance floor and think about ways to ditch him when he's not paying attention. You are not having any fun. 

Dates, numbers. They are too significant at times. Maybe if I focus on the irritating fact that I am sending a skirt back for the second time because it is too small, I won't notice what day it is. If I complain and gripe about how it is snowing in March (it is still winter, I don't know why I am complaining) I won't think about how our original plan was to get married on the fifteenth of March until we remembered Shakespeare and moved it up a day. If I spend enough time focused on criticizing my weight, I won't feel grief tapping on my shoulder trying to drag me back to that dance floor.

It has been five years. My feet hurt and I'm tired of dancing.  

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH

Fire pit!

"Fire pit!"

We had a really nice weekend with most of it spent outside. Yard work turned into attending a St. Patrick's Day parade in Brookside. We ate green cotton candy and pizza. The Cabbage played with the neighbor kids and then that evening we built a campfire and cooked hot dogs. Then those same neighbor kids and their mom came over and made s'mores. The kids and Josephine ran around the yard while the adults chatted around the fire which was nice because we got to get to know our neighbors. And I like her. And get this. Her husband is a ghost hunter. That's his hobby. He was actually in Tahlequah, OK that evening on a paranormal investigation. Nicole, the woman next door, had sort of grown up in that house. It was her grandparents and she said that she had spent every summer vacation there. Her grandmother spent as much time outside as she could tending to her garden. There's this large stone structure in the back corner that I have been curious about forever. Did it used to be a chimney or a well? Neither. Nicole's grandmother had a large Virgin Mary shrine set up there. I'm really sad that it's gone. We talked about schools and homes and teaching teenagers math and we talked about Chris. 

The next morning I was sitting on the couch with my coffee watching CBS Sunday Morning when they mentioned something about the Ides of March. A little bell went off in the back of my head somewhere and I said "Oh...yesterday was mine and Chris's wedding anniversary." Michael said "Wait. You were married on Pi Day?!" "Yeah...I guess I did get married on Pi Day." I had never really thought of that before or put the two together. At the time Chris and I got married, Pi Day wasn't a thing. No one cared about 3.14159265359 and how that corresponded with March fourteenth.  We had originally picked March fifteenth, but then remembered the Ides of March thing and moved it to the fourteenth. It was Spring Break. These where the things we were thinking about when we picked that day. Saturday, I gave zero thought to it. When I remembered on Sunday, Michael asked "Do you think that's why Chris's name came up so much yesterday? Like 'hey, hello, I'm here'?" It makes sense. 

I feel a little guilty that I forgot our wedding anniversary. This would have been sixteen years. Traditional sixteen year wedding anniversary gifts include a silver tea set, a flask or a fountain pen. I would have gotten Chris a fountain pen, feeding his pen fetish. Chris has been around in dreams lately in his usual way of just being present. Last night, I dreamed that he had started selling baked goods out of the garage. I remember that walking up to him in the garage was like seeing an old friend you hadn't seen in a while. We even talked to each other in the same way. I asked him how he was doing and said that I thought the bakery was a good idea. It was obvious that we'd both moved on to other things. It was sort of like the end of The Way We Were when Katie and Hubbell bump into each other on the street. We were happy to see each other but awkward because we'd both moved on. I woke up wanting a cranberry orange muffin and a little sad to not be the girl who ironed her hair straight any more.  

But I'm not that girl any more and it wasn't our politics and convictions that drove us apart. I had only one choice and that was to move on. Though I don't like the sound of "moving on". It sounds like I'm leaving things behind. I'm moving forward while respecting the past. At least I hope that's what I'm doing.