The boys went down to the Blueberry Farm, and, as I said, Pigpen got to pet a cow. They also got to do other cool stuff, like ride a horse. Check it out:
—
They’re doing fine. I talked to G a little while ago, and they’re doing well. He sounded tired, and Pigpen was asleep at Jenwrights house down the yard.
He said that Pigpen had been a little fussy, but I couldn’t get much elaboration from him. I asked him to make sure that he’s OK, as much as he can, and to let me know if Pigpen needs to come home. Or he he did, for that matter.
—
Can’t really talk about my day, because I’m mentally exhausted. I can’t put it together in any kind of interesting way, so I’ll just do some facts. Here comes, watch out.
Left hospital roof
(realized I forgot to mention that I stopped by Cemestos Gardens to give Eaves some stuff)
Decided to swing by BJ’s folks house, after talking with them. Stayed there, talked for a while.
Headed over to Mojo’s and superT’s place, and drank some beer. She told me a story about BJ that I didn’t know, that was really cool, but that I’m not really here enough to relate. Remind me, and I’ll tell it later. It was really cool.
Came home, read an old journal of BJ’s, talked to her a little bit more, went numb.
Kinda sick of the numbness.
So, I’m installing software on the laptop. Got the work stuff working here, so I’m officially mobile. Woot.
I really miss her, but its so distant. Its like turning on a flashlight in the daytime. I’m not hurting, so to speak (except for my damn throat, this cold is pissing me off), but just blah.
Kinda sick of people worrying about me too. Understand it, tho.
I’m the roof of the parking garage right now. This is what it is.
I’d like to thank Al Gore and his internet for making it possible for me to be right here, at this place, and write these words. And whoever has an unsecured wifi connection here, they’re helping too.
—
I spoke with Dad. He said that Pigpen got to pet a cow, which he was really, REALLY wanting to do. He’s “in hog heaven” right now, and last I heard, was playing with some toys.
MastaG and KatyK were running around the farm.
Its therapeutic, and will be a big help.
—
I spoke with BJ’s dad a moment ago, and he’s heartbroken. We couldn’t complete our conversation. He wanted to check on the boys, and on me. I envy him, that the grief is real. I don’t feel like I’m letting her down by not falling apart, but I feel like it’ll be good to do it.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
—
I’ve been dry eyed again.
But I’ve talked to BJ.
I told her two secrets, the only two I ever kept from her. I told her its embarrassing to admit, and I know you would have kicked my ass in real life if she knew. I told her I’m so sorry for keeping them from her, even on her deathbed. I asked her if she can be at peace with that.
I was open to a sign.
I sat down to the living room computer, to a picture of her that I didn’t know was there. Her smiling, in her “dumbass” sorta way.
I take that as a sign.
She’ll always be with me. I love her with an undying passion, a love that can’t stop, or smother.
I know the intensity, and the pain will fade away. I will always be her soulmate, however, and I will await the day we’ll be complete again.
—
Its cold, and I didn’t have the sense to bring a jacket (only 45 degrees, but my canadian hybrid blood can go down a good 7 degrees more before it becomes too cold for me), and I really have to pee.
I’ll leave the roof, and GAC’s memorial.
—
OH YEAH, I almost forgot, I’m aiming to have the celebrations and wakes and whatnot on Saturday. BJs party will be at Barleys, I’ve talked to em, if all works out it’ll be at 6ish in the banquet room upstairs. We’ll spring for pizza, you get your own beer.
—
Baby, I love you so much. You know that. Now you finally might know just how much.
—
Edit - 5 minutes later.
OK, one more picture. This is the view that Pigpen liked so much.
We got up, I played with the kids, we got packed, we loaded up in the car, and we went to Hardees for breakfast. Dad in his car with MastaG and KateK, Mom in her ‘nox with Pigpen, and me in BJ’s van.
We ate, we embraced, and they left.
—
I left Hardees, embarking on just going where the wind blows me. It blew me to the hospital. As I drove down Rutgers, I cried. I sobbed, when I realized where I was going.
I drove up to the roof, like I did 5 times a day for the past weeks. I had something to see here. I didn’t know what.
They had finally built, as I guessed they would when they started jackhammering the curb near the roof door, a handicap ramp.
In the drying cement, somebody wrote GAC.
I sat down on that roof, the roof that I screamed and kicked and fought that first Friday night, when her exploratory surgery didn’t work, and her death became a very real possibility, and I cried. I sobbed.
May blessing and light shine down on whoever etched GAC into that step, at that place. The place where I first saw The Beauty. The place where Bos and I discussed God, and I told him that I understood something that I’ll never explain, and probably won’t get back again. Where I was allowed to see something that people don’t see in this world.
Where I walked out, alone, after BJ died. While they jackhammered that curb, that became the handicap ramp, that became her memorial.
Thank you. Thank you so much.
—
After who knows how long, I got up, and walked inside. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I walked past the chapel that I begged God for mercy on her soul in, and service was being conducted. Despite my Aqua Teen hunger force, 7 or 8 day stubble, wild hair, and empty eyes, I walked in, and sat down.
The sermon was about finding solitude. Finding time to be alone, to connect with God.
I stayed through the sermon, and through the prayer that followed, for blessings on the patients, family, and staff at the hospital. The sermon ended, and I lingered for a moment, but still ended up being the first one to leave. A lady patted my arm and thanked me for coming, but I couldn’t look at her. I patted back, and thanked her, and made my exit.
I walked the long, winding walk, past the same day surgery, past the fundraising poster for robotic surgery (now up to $595,694!), past the waiting rooms, hung a left, walked through the double doors into the Acute Care Unit hall, with the operating room doors where everything happened, and walked into the quiet room.
I sat for a moment, meditating. I don’t know what on.
I got up, walked to my left, into the Acute Care Unit, took the right split in the fork, walked up to the CCU doors with their magnet lock, and looked in at the pink wall of the last room of BJ’s life.
I picked up the red phone, and it dialed the number for inside, the number that I forgot to mention is the first four notes of Funkytown. Somebody who didn’t identify themselves picked up the receiver, and I asked if BJ was finished.
“Yes. They took her back at around seven o’clock last night.”
I hung up, walked back to the quiet room, and cried. I don’t know for how long.
—
Then I walked out, looked down the hall at that split, the entrance to BJ’s deathbed. I etched it into my memory, and then turned my back on it for the last time.
—
I walked out the fire doors that are closed to the public while the area is being renovated. No workers were there, and I wanted to be outside. I don’t want to walk that long hall ever again.
The door led me to the access road on the north end of the hospital, facing Tennessee Avenue, near a tiny little parking area they made out of the land availble, thats now being used for construction refuse containers.
I walked east, toward the parking garage, the van, and GAC’s ramp.
It was still, quiet. No cars were driving by, nobody was outside, but me, and another person. A woman, who I didn’t recognize until I got closer.
It was Kimberly. She was BJ’s nurse when we first went in, in the ER. The MMC’r of October, I found out later. She was one of the last people BJ met while she was still conscious, and relatively free of pain. When it was still just a bad case of the flu, and maybe dehydration.
She was there when it became acute renal failure, and our paths diverged when BJ was admitted, that Thursday night so long ago.
She had been up to visit BJ on one occasion that I was there for, when she was unconscious, but before we knew about the bleeds. BJ was starting to stabilize, and we were starting to think there was hope for her recovery. That first week.
Kimberly and I talked, and walked up toward the roof so I could show her GAC’s ramp. I thanked her copiously for her kindness, and her concern, and her love, and her obvious gift for healing that she shared with BJ and myself. She asked about the kids, and about BJ’s parents. I told her about them. I invited her to the wake, both of them. I don’t really care if she comes, but it might matter to her.
I feel that way about all of the nursing staff, and the doctors who worked on her. They all deserve to come, if they feel it appropriate. If not, I totally understand. I wouldn’t go, but thats just me. Hell, I don’t really want to go to BJ’s, just like I didn’t want to bother with a real wedding (luckily, she wholeheartedly agreed with me, one of the reasons I would cite for loving her so much).
I will go, and even if I had a choice, I’d have to go. Just like I had to go to the hospital, and then like I had to come home and write.
—
Thats my plan for the next 3 or 4 days, when I’ll be alone. I’m going to be blank. I’m going to grieve, I’m going to listen, I’m going to meditate.
I’ll go when I feel the need, and I’ll stop when I feel the need. So far, this has found me BJ’s earthly memorial, and has found me a person I didn’t know that I needed to talk to.
—
As I drove down from the roof, I passed Kimberly. I rolled down the window and said “Y’know, don’t ever regret anything.” She nodded, and smiled. I drove off.
I regret nothing. Neither does BJ.
—
Last night, after I wrote that post about Pigpen, I felt BJ. I had a conversation with her, in my head. I layed back on my bed, and I felt her hug me. It felt just like her.
That date has always been the most important one to me. I mean, sure, November 22nd, 1996, when I became a Dad, and May 7, 2002, when G became a brother (and BJ and I congratulated ourselves on a planned child, somewhat of an oddity in our family) are high on the list, but neither are as important to my heart as February 16. October 14, 1996 we got married, but thats a piece of paper. February 16, thats something real.
It had been a long few months, that went by really, really quickly. I loved college life, way too much, and was completely screwing up school. I drank, and smoked the doob, and stayed up late, and got up late. I went to maybe 20% of my classes. Freedom had gotten over my head, and I was loving it.
I had dramatically failed many of my winter classes (but not French, ironically, the one I seemed to dump to hang out with BJ those times), leaving my Dad to consider inserting a foot into my ass, Red Foreman style, but I kinda got the feeling he was letting me sow my oats, so to speak. I crafted my first website. It was very, very unimpressive, and lost to the 1s and 0s graveyard now.
I occasionally wondered about BJ. I hadn’t heard from her, as I said, since dropping her off in college, although I had heard from third parties that she was back in town, at her parents house. I didn’t have the number, or the sense to look it up, although I did try calling all the numbers I has scribbled around in the dorm room a few times. I figured that she had gone the way of many new friends, that something more interesting came up, and she was pursuing that. More power to her.
I continued to work at the cafeteria, one of the few obligations that I fulfilled, probably because this obligation gave me cigarette and beer money. One of the student supervisors there was throwing a party with his 3 roommates down at some fancy ass’d apartment on Forest (or maybe it was the road past Forest) on 2/16/06, and I was on the list. It was going to be big, and cool as hell.
On that day, I finished up my shift at work (an lunch one, that got me off at about 4), and instead of wandering over to a friends house, I figured I’d dig some quiet time in the dorm. I sat down on the 386 and got busy with some minesweeper for the next 2 hours, which was not what I commonly did, but I guess I was charging my batteries for the party. I was interrupted from maybe my dozenth losing game by a phone call.
It was BJ, in the lobby.
My heart skipped. She had come to visit a friend on the girls side of the dorm, only she wasn’t there. She looked up my number and called me.
“Hey BJ, its good to hear from you! Hell yeah, I’ll be down there in a minute!”
I walked down, and saw a sight that will never leave me, and a sight that made me fall in love with her, completely, irrevocably, immediately.
She was stunning. She had been at home, depressed, for those months, over I guess the way life was going. She had been doing a lot of chatting on the internet (IRC, in its toddler years), made friends that way, and retreated from the real world on a peanut butter diet.
She was wearing a low cut sweater, grey, tight on her amazing chest, with bell bottom jeans that hugged her hips and flared out at her feet like fire.
Her skin was creamy, milky, with dark, flowingly curly hair that reached down to her lower back. Her lips were red, and young, and full.
She was a goddess that I was allowed to see.
I remember walking up to her, realizing that I did NOT see her as a friend, that now she was one of those unattainable, unbelievably beautiful girls. She was always attractive, but GOD. This was indescribable.
As I walked up, she gave me that sweet, warm smile, ran over, and gave me a big hug. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed that she had become Aphrodite while I was gone! She was the same, sweet, fun, BJ!
I couldn’t believe it. It was just too good.
—
We talked in the lobby, and walked outside to the courtyard. My blood was pounding so hard through my body that I don’t know how I managed. She didn’t seem to notice!
I asked if she was hungry, and took her to Krystal. As we ate, we talked about our love lives.
She had that nasty break up with her X, and valentines day a few days ago was ruined by it because he came to pick some stuff up. She was mad, but didn’t seem hurt. I told her that my girlfriend back home had embarked on a relationship with my roommate, unbeknownst to me. It truly didn’t matter to me, because the girlfriend really hadn’t meant anything to me in months.
I remember what we said next.
Me: So, do you have a boyfriend now?
Her: No.
Me: Well, I was thinking… if it was OK… I could be your boyfriend…?
Her: Sure.
She said it so commonly, like I asked her if she’d like a refill, or if she had a ride home. It was sweet, and sincere, but so… common. A lifetime, an entire life, by that one, sweet, pedestrian response. I hear it in my ears today.
I tried to restrain my joy, to match her common demeanor. I held her hand over the table, the first time. It was soft, and small, and warm.
Eventually, I told her about the party, and invited her along (or maybe I had done that before we professed our… uh… relationshipness. She came to the party with me, but I wasn’t watching anything but her.
At one point, I ashed my cigarette into an empty $5 cup, that I thought was mine. It was hers. She forgave me, but never let me live it down. Whenever that party came up in conversation in all the years to come, she reminded me of my faux pas.
She came back to my dorm room, and spent the night with me.
I went back to her house with her the next morning, after a tasty meal at Waffle House, and spent the next few days there.
She was my first, and only.
We listened to the White Album often, lying in bed together, holding hands, watching the sunrise, talking. We talked of dreams, and desires. Of memories, and futures. We talked of everything under the sun in the early light of those first mornings.
Eventually, I went back to the dorm room, but 30 minutes apart was a pretty big distance, and so, early that March, I packed some clothes and moved into her parents house. She never really asked them, and I never really met them. They were pretty damn permissive, but good people.
Those early days, wow. There was nothing but budding love. I had professed my love for her, without hesitation, very early, before I moved in with her, probably in the last two weeks of February. It took her a week or so to admit that she loved me too, but she had been hurt before, and I hadn’t. I was honest, I did love her. I knew it. It wasn’t just because of the ecstasy of the moment, it was that through all my life, the 18 years before, I had never had something so deep with somebody else. When we looked into each others eyes, something locked.
Our souls. I’ve wondered before, with love like ours, what the metaphysical origin was. I never thought it was just a coincidence, even in my most agnostic time. We’re two parts of a greater whole. Or we were.
I sacrificed my friendship with my roommate, and my family (at the time) to be with her. I happily tossed my schooling, and my own future, for the one that I wanted with her. Just a future that meant we would wake up at 5 PM, holding each other, skin to skin, every day, with our budding, but so deep, love. Locked in her bedroom, unless we went out for a few hours. We’d watch TV, we’d play solitaire on the computer together, we’d make love. Honestly, there was a lot of that. I was lousy at it, but she didn’t mind, and you know what they say about practice…
The days flew by in this blur. The outside world was forgotten.
Around April, she expressed concern that she was pretty late on her period. After a little while of denial, her Mom took us to the doc, and we both heard those two words you DON’T want to hear when you’re 18:
