Atomictumor

My first year as a widower is over.

I’ve thought a lot over the past year about what I’d have to say today, what kind of insights I’d have, or what my state of mind would be. I’ve questioned my ability to make it, in those early months, not in the “I’m not going to survive until then” way, but in the same way that the parent of a newborn, screaming like a hellion at 2 in the morning for the 4th day straight, questions whether the day will ever come that that kid will get his own cereal or drive a car.

I find that its not what I expect.

I remember being terrified of THIS, of normalcy. I was terrified that I would forget what it was like, or that I’d have to constantly remember my loss in order for my loss to continue being tangible.

And I have. I mean, I can look at pictures, or reread her old posts, or reflect on things together, but it doesn’t put her by my side. That was my fear. I was afraid that by that happening, I’d be letting her down, or letting her die, or something. Theres a lot of guilt involved in losing your wife, I’ve learned.

So I guess thats one insight.

But the thing is, I didn’t expect what happened to happen. I didn’t expect to discover that I’m not really troubled by the fact that I can’t ‘place’ her by my side, or that I can’t feel her out in the wide world. That I can go a whole day only thinking about her in passing, and with that thought being painless.

Looking at the past year, it seems a blur. The one year mark has been a big one for me, in that I remember so many people who commented, or emailed, telling me that for the first year, they were lost. That it went by like a blur. There were so many sleepless nights in November and December that I stayed up, laptop on the bed, lights off, reading the emails and comments, and trying to glean everything I could from them, like they were a manual. I guess in a way, they were.

I can say with perfect humility and honesty that I would not have coped as well if I hadn’t had the enormous support that I got. I would have made it, sure, because thats what you do, but it would have been hard. I never felt alone, even when I was lonely, and thats amazing. My family, my friends (so many that I’ve made, that are a huge part of my life today, were made in the past year), and you guys on this little website, who prayed for us, or cheered me on, or sympathized, or advised (even when it irritated me), or just lurked affected me in such a profound way that I never could explain it. I needed you, and you were there.

Its never been easy for me to lean on people. I’m a very, very hard headed and self sufficient guy, probably to a fault. I have a hard time properly expressing gratitude, or explaining what it means to me, so I prefer not to have help. Guess its a guy thing.

I’ve looked back at the posts every once in a while, particularly in the last 3 weeks, almost like a rubbernecker at a traffic accident, and it occurred to me that I was seeing it from your perspective, because I’m fulfilled, I’m secure, I’m loved (and in love), and I’m safe.

Guess that means I’m doing a lot better than I thought I’d be in a year.

Thanks, everybody.

Mighty deeds are done
The old house has been emptied
Just needs to be cleaned

We are both weary
Early mornings and late nights
Loaded 15 trucks

Thats just this weekend
As in the past two days, mind
Thanksgiving deadline

Flammability.
I set my hand on fire
But it didn’t hurt.

As she moved the fish
From the tank to the bucket
I started to think

That screwed their world up
60 gallon existence
Is the world limit

When we poured them in
After the tank was set up
I had to wonder

reincarnation?
Or something like that, hell man
I’m too damn tired.

I love you, GAC.

Its been a long year, like we all knew it would be.  Like I told G, the next day was Saturday, and the day after that was Sunday, the world kept turning.  Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, they all creeped on by, slowly at first, and then with the normal pace of life.

I tried like hell to reach you.  I went outside every night, and tried to force my mind through the veil of the meaty, physical world, into wherever you were.  I was so afraid that you needed me, that I had to help you through something, that you were all alone, afraid, sad, lost.  Sometimes I got through, like that first Sunday, when I was in the bathroom alone and heard you so clearly as we talked.  Remember?  That was when I asked you to look over your parents, told you that I’d be OK, and you did.

The strange coincidences involved in those situations, the kind of stuff that its so darn easy to believe as coincidences, or dismiss, seem so natural now.

I wish I knew where you were, and what you are doing.  PigpenJuicebox and I had a conversation on the way to school one day, and he suggested that maybe you have a special TV that watches us.  That’s cool.

Thanks for dancing with me in February.  I was down, honey, it was a hard day, but I felt you so clearly holding me, and telling me it was OK.  It lifted me up, and sent me another step forward to where I am today.

Thanks for being with the boys.  There were so many nights that I felt you rubbing their heads, as we said our nightly prayers (we started doing that after you died.  Ironic, huh?), looking after your sweet boys just like you did when you were here.  I know you walked every step with them, and you still do.   They honor you, those kids are amazing.  They manage to have your loyalty to friends, your open heart.  Sometimes, but just rarely, I see your face in them.  You know, tho, I’ve always sucked at telling who looks like who.

I found love again, like you figured I would.  I remember telling you that I couldn’t love anybody but you, and you said that’d be asinine, or something like that.  Those bedroom nighttime “what-if” conversations that I guess everybody has, turns out you were right again.  You’re a pretty smart cookie.

Its nice, because I get the feeling that she loves you too, in a way that I don’t understand.  She certainly isn’t bothered by you, and she’s gone to tears over what happened between you and I once or twice.  She loves me, and thats what you wanted.  More importantly, she loves our punk kids.  She’s a little nervous (and she’ll probably end up reading this, so this is kinda weird) stepping into such big shoes.  I’d tell her that her feet are bigger than yours, but I don’t think that’d help.

Its a testament to you, my little cookie.  You got your family off to an amazing start.  You picked me up, and taught me how to love.  You made me what I am today, and I’m very happy with what I am today.  You helped make those boys the amazing things they are.  They made it through this unscarred, full of the childhood enthusiasm and happiness, they’re not stunted, they’re not angry, and I think that’s because of who you were.  Sure, I guess I had a little bit to do with it, but thats probably because of how you molded me over those 10 years, baby.

You will always be honored and loved in my family, little girl.  You hold such a beautiful spot in my heart, and I will always love you with fervor and intensity.  The beauty of that is that I’ve learned that you can love two that way.

Still kinda wonder how the whole thing works when all three of us are dead, if its some kind of weird heaven love triangle or something, but I’ve been told by wise people that that sort of stuff works itself out, and I guess maybe you already understand how.

That reminds me, I’m envious in a way.  You KNOW.  All the questions, all the wondering, all the theoretical conversations and theories we had over the years about what happens after death, whether enlightenment, nothingness, or something in between, you’re already there.

You’ve convinced me that theres not nothingness, but in that dream I had where you were sitting on the end of the bed, talking to me, and I asked you “What is the secret?”, your smiled at me, turned your head, and left.  That was totally you, you punk girl.

You always liked keeping a good secret from me.

I love you.  Its been a good year, honey.  A hard one, a weird one, but a good one.

Nice talking to you.  Come visit anytime.

So, the other day we were driving around down, Pigpen, MastaG, and myself, and we were talking about something that led to something else that led to the ‘Tuma.  Now, MastaG is aware of the ‘tumor’s existence, and doesn’t really care.  Pigpen, being 5, understands that I type on the computer, pictures of him show up on the computer sometimes, and he gets called Pigpen.

And he doesn’t like that.

He got that name when the ‘tumor started, we were cutting down a tree or something at Cemestos, and he, being 3, enjoyed playing in the dirt under the swings, and getting to the point where theres the cloud of dirt around him, and Bos was on a big “Peanuts” trip, so the name kinda magically appeared.

I digress.

Anyway, we were out, and MastaG called Pigpen “Pigpen”.

Pigpen: “Don’t call me Pigpen!”

MastaG: “Well, thats your name. Its not a bad name”

Pigpen: “I don’t like it! I don’t want to be Pigpen!”

And it went for a bit.  So, I started calling him “Juicebox”.  Not sure why.  I also started calling MastaG “Butter”.  Not sure why there either.  Pigpen liked the name Juicebox, and insisted on being called that all day.  Furthermore, he insisted on calling G “Butter”, which provoked complaints.

I kinda like the name “Butter” for G.

Anyway, abracadabra, Pigpen is now Juicebox.  I’ve filed all of the necessary change of names paperwork with the Internet, and Al Gore has responded stating that we’re ready to roll.

I like the name Juicebox too.

Earlier this morning, Bos was working on removing some molding at the base of the bathroom wall.  We recently bought a new vanity, and it needs to sit flush to the wall, so the molding had to go.

So, about an hour ago, I heard Bos jump up and yell, “turn off the water, turn off the water!” to which I replied, “I don’t know where to turn off the water!”  A call to the Water department solved that.

What happened that required the emergency shut-off of water?  The guys who installed the molding in the bathroom a few years back nailed it through a pipe.  So, when James removed the molding and the nail - voila!  there was a bubbling brook in our bathroom.

Grumble.