HEAVY

It happened last week. I was lying face down on the chiropractor table and heard a snap that did not come from body. It wasn’t until I was sitting up and about to leave that the source of the not-human snap was discovered. Dr. Fran collected Chris’s ring, my scooter charm and my now broken chain from the table and said “Oh no! I know how much this means to you.” She poured the chain and other items into the palm of my hand and at first I couldn’t register what she was talking about. I exclaimed an “Oh no!” right back at her and then I shrugged as if it was no big deal. I think I even said “no biggie.” My insides did not reflect my outsides. That feeling of cutting open a palm or finger and watching the blood pool up and then that lightheadedness that comes just before passing out, those were the feelings that washed over me. I walked out to my car with shaky legs but with a smile plastered onto my face.

I pulled myself together and then felt silly for having a gut wrenching reaction to a broken chain. This is fixable. I didn’t lose Chris’s ring or my scooter charm. It’s a good excuse to walk into the Tiffany’s store (I thought had closed) and on Friday, after subbing a yoga class, I scooted right on over. My Elsa Peretti olive leaf ring has been sitting in my jewelry box for ages. I caught the ring on my car door and seriously bent it out of shape, lucky to have not ripped my finger off in the process. I plonked the ring down along with my chain so that both could be repaired and polished. While a sales rep filled out all the necessary paperwork to ship my things to the New York store, I thought for a moment about just buying a new chain. I said something about this out loud and the sales rep stopped me. She said “Tiffany’s is no longer making that style of chain. The new chains are much thinner. You’re going to want to keep this thicker chain for it’s sturdiness.” I leaned back in my chair, slightly disappointed but remembering clearly the day I purchased that chain. The sales rep then had been equally attentive, making sure the chain was sturdy, yet elegant.

That happened almost twelve years ago to the day.

Exactly twelve years ago, Talaura and I, along with Kizz and Amber, took the very first boat out to the Statue of Liberty. We were the first people on the island on the 4th of July and our mission was to leave some of Chris’s ashes somewhere. We found our spot, a rock on the other side of the fence that surrounds the island. If I’d taken a picture from the water, it would look like Lady Liberty was looking down at a little pile of Chris. I didn’t get that picture. In fact the picture I did take just looks like some ashes on a rock. There is nothing in that picture to clue you in on the location. The Statue of Liberty was the first pancake of ash dispersals. A few days later, I walked into Tiffany’s and bought the chain that has been holding Chris’s wedding ring ever since.

Now it’s broken and Chris’s ring is sitting on my jewelry box and not resting on my sternum.

I had a fleeting thought that maybe the broken chain was a sign that it was time to stop wearing Chris’s ring. It is a heavy ring, chunky and sometimes painful if it hits me in the face during yoga. I do feel lighter. I picked up the coffee can that holds Chris’s ashes so that I could clean there recently and I noticed that this can feels lighter. It doesn’t have the heft it had at the beginning of all this and I might be able to fit Chris into a smaller coffee can. I took an empty 15 oz Cafe Du Monde can to pick up Chris’s ashes and was kindly told that I’d need a bigger can. Amy and Chad went on a scavenger hunt for a larger coffee can to put Chris in for his Celebration of Life service. I think Chris would now fit in that Cafe Du Monde can. So…things do get lighter and I bet Michael would be thrilled if I stopped wearing Chris’s wedding ring. It is something we do not talk about, but something mentioned years ago leads me to believe he wouldn’t mind the absence.

Except…

I don’t like the way this particular lightness feels. It has been six and half days without the weight and comfort of the ring resting near my heart. I don’t want to get used to the feeling of being without it. There is no relief in this weightlessness. I am a helium balloon that needs that metal ring tied on the end of my string to keep me from simply floating away. And I will be floating for another two to three weeks. What I am realizing is that while some parts of my loss feels heavy, it is a heaviness that feels like a weighted blanket. It is obviously not a struggle to be carting it around with me. I’m more than strong enough. The weight of it all brings me comfort.

So when you see me standing with my hand on my chest, positioned with my palm pressed against my sternum, know that I am just holding this space. This is the temporary metal ring at the end of my string, a very poor place holder for the next weeks.

ONE FOOT IN, ONE FOOT OUT

It was one of those rare Saturday mornings where Michael was up at the same time as me. So I talked him into breakfast at You Say Tomato before heading downtown to the Asian food market. We had not been to You Say Tomato since well before the pandemic. They closed for a while and went to a meal service business model. Now they’re open on Fridays and Saturdays for breakfast and lunch. This place has always been one of my favorites. It was an early find and Chris and I would go there almost every weekend. We fell for the eclectic and cozy feel of the place because it reminded us of Portland. This was one of the ways we justified our move to Kansas City instead of the Pacific North West. We explored the city and hunted up all the little Portland like pockets. There are , surprisingly, quite a few.

Chris and I would be celebrating our twenty fifth wedding anniversary in March. When Randy and Katrina had their twenty fifth, we all went to Vegas and watched as an Elvis impersonator officiated their vow renewal. It was a great trip. I wonder if Chris and I would be doing something like that, though I don’t see us as the vow renewing type. I bet we would trade Vegas for some place like Costa Rica or Paris. Twenty five years…that seems so strange. I think about that while two different members of our framily are currently having their marriages crumble tragically down around them. Is this another thing that would be happening if Chris were still around? Would Chris and I still be the example we were to others back before it all ended? An example I strive for now in my current relationship.

This is a contract renewal year for Michael and I. We will have been together for ten years in June. Early in our relationship, he said something to me about if we lasted as many years as Chris and I did, he might ask me to stop wearing Chris’s wedding ring around my neck. I wonder if he remembers asking me that or my non-committal response to his request. It is very possible that this relationship might last longer than my last one. The effort I make in my desperate attempt at being in this layer of time is visible and puts me in the not quite the ideal category for a partner. That might be the thing that ends us. He might just get tired of settling for what I really am and not what he wishes I was.

One day he’ll get fed up with the number of times I might mention Chris’s name.

On this particular Saturday, Michael and I sat at opposite ends of a table. He gave me space to write in my Fortune Cookie journal while we waited for our food, then moved closer to share the pecan roll I had ordered on impulse. I was two bites into my egg croissant when I realized Fields of Gold was playing in the background. I paused and drifted back. When that song ended, the next in the line up of Ten Summoner’s Tales started playing. The restaurant was playing the album that played on loop in Chris’s dorm room while we were having sex. I know that playlist by heart. When Michael and I were done with breakfast, he asked “You ready to go?” and I replied “Yes. I’d like to leave Chris’s dorm room now.”

And we left.

IN ANTICIPATION TO PAIN

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Jul 25, 2017 at 8:40pm UTC

5 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram

Ten. Twenty. Fifty. The number of times I catch myself holding my breath in one day. Forgetting to breath or just not able to remember the last breath. I don't know which. I notice it happening when I'm driving. I notice that I do it while setting up a photo. I even notice it while sitting doing nothing at my desk. It is like I am bracing myself for some sharp pain. Like that moment at the doctor's office when you know that you are about to be poked with a needle. You know it's coming. You know it's not life threatening, but you brace for the sting of it. Bracing for impact. That is what this feels like. I am bracing for the inevitable impact. Of what, I don't know. But my body is tensed and ready for it. 

While I am bracing for whatever sharp pain to come, I've been picking at old wounds and letting my thoughts fester in my brain. Every thing makes my eyes prickle with tears. I saw a couple I know at work interacting with each other the way Chris and I used to and the memory of similar moments pierced my heart. I had to go wait out the pain of it in the stairwell. People in the office started a discussion about that baby with the genetic disease that keeps him from breathing on his own or even moving and I have to throw on my headphones and ignore it. I can see it from both sides. I've been on both sides. No one knows more than I do about that desperate feeling of grasping for any hope for some magical cure for a loved one. But I've also been ready to give up all the pain meds to ease suffering. I did not feel like throwing my two cents into this conversation. 

But it is more than just the Chris part of things. That's always there. Dad has been gone for three years now. I only realized it after Facebook asked if I wanted to share a memory of the camping trip we were on when Dad died. I was camping when Dad died, not in the nursing home three hundred miles away, with him. Sure, I'd already said my goodbyes and written my Dad off. He hadn't been my Dad in months. I played it off as if I was honoring Dad more by participating in an activity that he always loved. It was a selfish move. I was there when they pulled the plug on Chris's Dad. I was there during Chris's final moments. I didn't want to watch another person die. There was nothing peaceful or spiritual about watching the life leave a person's body. At least not for me. So I disappeared into the woods and roasted marshmallows on a campfire. 

Why the Hell was Dad in a nursing home so far away from any of us?!? I know the reasons why he was where he was and I understand that things moved too quickly to be choosey about distance. It doesn't make me fell less angry about it all or place blame. I feel the words 'never' and 'forgive' swirling around inside me. Not that there is anyone to blame for Dad's illness. No one poisoned him with Alzheimer's. I do blame myself for not being more involved or pushing for better information. I blame myself for trusting some of the information that came to me. All that doubt and anger causes me to roll my eyes at declarations from some that I can't image in a million years are authentic declarations. I have confrontations in my head, the words never passing my lips because it wouldn't make a difference. Nothing would change. I can't expect others to behave as I would or how I expect them to behave. I can only change how I chose to react to them. 

Maybe holding my breath is the best reaction right now. 

LOVE THURSDAY

Tic-tac-toe

"Tic-tac-toe"

Earlier this week I had a work related dinner and I ended up sitting across the table from one of the guys that works in our office, but not in our department. We were talking about cars and I  mentioned that I had finally bought a new car just a few years ago. I said that after Chris passed away, my old car just didn't seem safe. Brian, the guy sitting across from me, knew a little of my story, but he didn't know the whole story. So he asked me about Chris and I found myself telling the story of how Chris died for the third time in the last two days. My first thought was "holy goats! how can I still be telling this story?!?" I mean, come on. The whole me being a widow is so passe. My second thought was "man, this story has gotten really easy to tell."

When I was telling Brian this story, I could hear myself explaining Chris's illness and death in such a matter of fact way, like this is no big deal. People go to bed with Food Borne Hep A and wake up with inoperable tumors on their livers all the time. Except I could see Brian turning slightly red as tears began to well up in his eyes. In that moment I knew exactly what he was thinking. He had done the math. We're about the same age. I was married to Chris for almost fifteen years, the same length of time Brian and his wife have been married. He's thinking that this story could easily be his story. I looked directly at him and said "I have zero regrets. I cannot look back at a day with Chris where we did not laugh. We were happy and yes it sucks, but it is an unchangeable and unfixable event. I had a choice. I could give up on my life too or I could honor Chris's memory by truly living my life now. And then I met Michael. I fell in love and I am happy. Every moment matters."

I said those things to Brian for a couple of reasons. First of all, it's the honest to gods' truth. Every single word of it. In between times when life has been punching me in the face, I have had (still have) some beautiful, hilarious, happy moments over flowing with love.  My life has worked out in a very yin/yang sort of way.  Also, the poor man was on the verge of a melt down. He had not been prepared for the full impact of my story.  I was making an attempt to calmly and rationally extinguish that melt down. Maybe it was a little bit on the cliche side to say that every moment matters, but at the very least Brian went home to his wife and told her how much he appreciated the life they share. Without it being an anniversary or a birthday or some other holiday. 

I've said it before that I can not tell a story of how I came to this place without mentioning Chris. Terry pointed out Saturday night as we hugged for the millionth time while I was trying to leave the party, that all of this is because of Chris. The good parts and the bad parts. For a while there, I had to tell that story and end it with "it sucks, but I'm fine." Now I can tell that tale and tie it up with "I fell in love. I am happy." 

FATHERS' DAY

Happy Father's Day

"Happy Father's Day"

Sunday morning, I sat on the couch watching the Father's Day episode of CBS Sunday Morning I had in the DVR because this week's episode seemed to be all re-run stories. Steve Hartman was doing a story about moving his dad out of the family home. It was right around this time when Michael wandered out of his room. He looked at the TV and then asked if there were any good stories on today. I looked at him wide eyed and attempted to squeak out something about not being able to talk and then a sob bubbled up and out. I dissolved into a puddle of tears, leaving Michael standing there with a what-just-happened look on his face. I pulled myself together quickly, but it would be hours and hours before I could tell him about Steve Hartman talking to his dad about the house he had built for them all those years ago and going through all the old memories that house contained, deciding what to keep and what to throw away. 

I didn't do a Fathers' Day post here like I did for Mothers' Day. Mostly the reason I didn't write then was because I was still on vacation. I conveniently used it as an excuse to ignore the day. I'd given Michael his gift last month. His bicycle needed a new wheel and seat and I figured the sooner those things got replaced the better. Riding his bicycle is his yoga. I wished Michael a Happy Fathers's Day that morning and then went on with my day trying not to be bitter about not being able to call my dad and wish him a Happy Fathers' Day too. Dad will be gone a full year in August, though more than that really if you consider how the disease took his mind. Fathers' Day is hard now just like birthdays and anniversaries. There's a part of me that scrolled facebook on that day feeling pitiful as I looked at everyone's postings of pictures with their dads. It's easy to become bitter and begrudge others' happiness, so I looked away. Really. I'm glad you can still celebrate Fathers' Day with your dad or at least give him a call and send him a tie. 

This is what I would have told my dad on Fathers' Day this year. After years and years, my whole life really, of hearing about boiled peanuts and seeing them in every convenient store during every visit to Mississippi, I have finally tried one. Michael kept seeing them at every gas station we stopped in starting around Memphis. He'd never heard of them and kept asking me about them. I told Michael that I'd never tried one, that the idea of peeling open a soggy peanut disturbed me. Dad, I told Michael about all the times people asked you if you sold boiled peanuts and how you would make a face before politely saying "no". I told Michael that you had always warned me against them, but curiosity got the best of Michael which resulted in all three of us trying our first boiled peanut. And Dad? They are awful. The worst. Weeks later and I still have the memory of the horrid taste in my mouth. You were right to warn me. You were right to convince me that roasted peanuts are far more superior than boiled ones. Even when I was trying it, I knew you were right, but I was setting an example for a four year old who has a hard time trying new things. I have regrets for letting her try it, but it was her idea. Once she saw Michael trying one, she wanted one too. So there. 

Dad, you were right about boiled peanuts. Also...I miss you.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The voices of negativity, complaint and anger have been swirling around me all week. Some of those voices are from others, but some of those are also coming from inside my own head. Honestly those voices have been buzzing around for longer than a week. I've been hearing them for quite a while now. I just think that with Dad's passing I've realized that I've had enough. The second stage of grief is anger and I've tumbled right on past denial straight to it. I am not angry at Dad or even at the disease that took him. I understand all of that. It's not like he was driving while intoxicated, playing chicken with a train or performing careless gun cleaning acts. I'm angry at other things. Circumstances. Reactions. People not behaving the way I would behave in this or that situation. What's worse is that when I hear some complaint or piece of negativity, I glom onto it and feel the need to respond in kind. I'm falling into old yucky habits. 

Yesterday, as I sat stewing over something I suddenly realized what I was missing. Compassion and patience. I'd tossed those two things aside and into the Goodwill pile ready for donation. I need to have compassion to those who have their own way of reacting and behaving. Even if it's not my way. Isn't this something we all learned in preschool? So, I told myself to have some compassion and some patience. Suddenly I wasn't stewing any more and I felt a little lighter. Such a simple epiphany, but one to be thankful for certainly. It made me feel inspired enough to pull out a complaint free bracelet. I also see a salt bath in my future this weekend. 

I have many things to be thankful for this week. We ate green beans fresh from the garden. The weather has dropped from what people around here call sweltering (90) to an easy 85. I have ridden the scooter every day. But the thing I am most thankful for this week is you. The kindness and words that you've sent to me and my family do not go unnoticed. Thank you. Here's to a restorative weekend and a truly Thankful Friday.