Irony

I have been hesitant to write about this, because there are some things that deserve privacy. The things that are only between a husband and wife. I have been debating whether this is one of those things. Would he mind me telling you what I am about to tell you about him? I am not 100% sure. I’m pretty sure, though, that he would tell me to do whatever seems to help, so I’ve decided to go ahead. Hopefully he would understand that me revealing this part of him doesn't make him any less of a great person, any less of a man - it just makes him HUMAN.

In a marriage as long and ultimately successful as ours, you figure out how compromise an awful lot, and agree to disagree about the things that don’t really matter. We had done that about everything except for one thing. It was the only thing remaining in our marriage that could still cause occasional friction, the sole thing we had not yet come to full compromise on. What was it? Whether or not we needed to always know where the other one was, so we knew whether or not to worry. He said yes, I said no.

To even begin to understand how big of a deal this was to him, you have to know about some things that happened over twenty years ago. I don’t remember the exact sequence of these things, but they all happened within a short period of time. One was a very bad car accident in which a friend of his, Joe, ended up in high grass in a deep ditch off the Thruway, below the eye level of other drivers. It was a one vehicle event that no one witnessed. Joe lived alone, and so no family member knew he was missing. He was very badly hurt, and could not get out of the car. He stayed trapped in the car without help for over 24 hours until a trucker who was up high enough to see the car called the police. He barely survived, and was in the hospital for months. Kirk visited him almost every day – long after everyone else except Joe’s family had moved on with their lives. He saw the slow and painful recovery Joe went through, and understood more clearly than most how narrowly he had escaped death. The second event was the death of another friend, Eric, from cancer. Eric had suffered from a very upset stomach for quite a long time. He worked for Kirk at the time, and Kirk pressured him pretty hard to go to a doctor. Finally, he did, and was diagnosed with stomach cancer, with not very good odds of survival. He was given only a few months to live. The only hope was a treatment regime that included surgery, which was performed very soon after the diagnosis – I think a week or two later. There were unexpected complications from the surgery, and Eric died within a day or so afterward. Kirk was extremely distraught – he blamed himself for Eric’s death. He felt that even though the cancer would have led to his death eventually, by persuading Eric to go to the doctor, he set in motion a chain of events that cost Eric the last several months of his life. The third event was the sudden death of another friend, Pat, who died in a car accident. His wife barely survived the accident. It happened after they fell asleep at another friend’s house, then woke up and decided to go home because they had a new puppy and didn’t want to leave it home alone all night. They had not been drinking, and felt they were fine to drive. Like Joe, they too were not found for some time. Pat’s wife watched him die while they were trapped in the car. Kirk’s sadness and distress over the deaths of Eric and Pat lasted for many months.

These three events so close together had a profound impact on Kirk. First, they significantly compounded his fear of death itself. He had always been uncomfortable with the topic of death – he never wanted to talk about it or plan for it. He was actually superstitious about it. These events made his fear of death much worse. If there is perhaps any “blessing” in the manner in which he died, it is that he had no reason to anticipate it. If he had died from a long illness or something that gave him time to contemplate the end, I know it would have been a very fearful time for him.

Second, and most significantly, these three events caused him to develop a hyper-awareness of the randomness of life. All three of these friends suffered something terrible that happened suddenly and without warning. Even Joe, who survived, was saved only by the fact that the trucker looked over at just the right moment. Had he not seen the car when he did, it is virtually certain that Joe would not have survived much longer.

The impact from these experiences was that for the rest of his life, Kirk thought about accidents and death a great deal more than the average person. He knew from personal experience that things change on a dime, that life is fragile and can be snatched away suddenly.

For quite a while after these events, the fear almost paralyzed him – he worried constantly. Not that something would happen to him. His fear was always that something terrible would happen to me or the kids. Over the next few years, the fear eased somewhat, but it never fully went away. Within our relationship, it manifested itself by him needing me to keep him informed about where I was and when I would be home. Having a sense of this reassured him that he need not worry. If I failed to call when he expected, he would call me. If he couldn’t reach me, he would worry.

Over time, this evolved to a rhythm that for the most part we could both live with. The communication routine pretty much constituted calls in certain situations. On workdays, a call late in the day with an estimate of when I would be leaving work. If I didn’t call him by about 5:30, he would call me. I would call him again if that original estimate was going to change by more than about 30 minutes. And then a call when I got in the car to come home. On non-work days, if I was out running errands or at the movies or something, I would estimate before leaving the house when I would be home. If I was gone for the bulk of the day, I would usually call and check in somewhere around halfway through. Then a call to him when I was on the way home. He always communicated the same way to me. There were many times when I remember him calling to tell me where he was or when he would be home and I thought to myself that although I was happy to talk to him, the “report” was completely unnecessary. But I learned for the most part to set aside my frustration at the need to check in with him, and came to see it as just one of the things you do for the person you love, even though you think it’s unnecessary, and (to be very honest) somewhat of a burden to have to think about.

Once in a while though, maybe twice a year, it would flare up between us. It was always precipitated by me slipping in my commitment to call him. Usually it was that I hadn’t called toward the end of the day with a time estimate, and then didn’t answer when he called me (usually because I had stepped away from my phone, or had forgotten it was in silent mode). Or when I had given him an estimated time I would be home, and then ran way later and didn’t call to tell him. If this happened a few times he didn’t get upset. But once or twice a year, I would get lax and not call several times in a period of a few weeks. Inevitably, I would come home eventually to find him upset with me. I can still hear him. He would always say that he asked very little of me (true), and that he was okay with whatever time I came home (also true) as long as I just called him. He would say it’s not too much to ask (true again). He hated that he needed me to do this, but the fact was he did. I never argued back, because I knew he was right. He never yelled – he would just say over and over “Just CALL me. That’s all I ask.” I would be frustrated that he still needed this, but I would agree to be better. And I would be – for another six months or so. Still, it seemed so irrational to me.

Turns out he was right. Life is random. Things do change in an instant. We all know that right? I certainly knew it. So why am I so shocked that it actually happened? Because this time, it was us. Until now, the terrible randomness of life had touched people we cared about, and we mourned for them. But we remained untouched, in our little cocoon of safety and love and normal life. He knew all along, though, that we weren’t completely safe – that it could happen to us. If one of us can’t find the other for four hours, terrible things actually may have happened. The fear that the person who hasn’t called and doesn’t answer the phone is in the hospital – or worse – is not completely irrational at all.

I don’t believe that it was destiny, or that he had any foresight. I think it’s just ironic. Ironic that the very thing he worried most about happening is how he died, despite the fact that we all would have reassured him that his fears were ungrounded. Ironic that although he was right, he was also wrong – he wasn’t the one who needed to worry. He was the one who wouldn’t come home, not me or the kids. And ironic that his fear of something terrible happening is exactly why I knew something had. Given his diligence at communicating, I knew very early in those four hours that for sure something was very wrong. When the neighbors all thought he was just hung up somewhere, this is how I knew they were wrong. There was NO WAY he wouldn’t have called. His respect for the fragility and randomness of life was too powerful, too much a part who he became as a result of those earlier tragedies.

If it had been me in the accident, for four hours he would not have known if something had happened to me, or if it was just me being insensitive to his requests again. That four hours makes me understand in a whole new way what he went through when I failed to call, or pick up the phone when he called, every six months or so. His goal for all these years was that he wanted to know whether or not to worry if he couldn't find me. In the end, what he accomplished was ensuring I knew that I should worry when I couldn't find him.

Deep Thinking

Let me start by saying that this is not a sad post. I suspect sometimes you can’t quite tell what my mood is when I am writing. Right now, if I had to describe what I am feeling it would be “observing myself with amusement.”

I have an outside these days that has no relation to the person on the inside. I work, and am back to doing as good a job as ever. I run errands, and interact with people as if I were ordinary.

That’s the outside me, who functions and smiles and works and buys milk. To observers, she looks in control and relaxed. The inside me, though, is in a crazy state of turmoil all the time. Not always bad or emotional turmoil. Just a constant state of thinking – kind of like a massive bee hive. This is the me I am laughing at.

I know it probably comes as a surprise to no one that I am in this state. My friend Cheryl, who also used to be my boss, used to call me her “deep thinker.” Probably a very nice way of saying I can make a science project out of the simplest task. But grieving has launched this deep thinker into warp speed. While the outside me has the illusion of normality, the inside me is in thinking overdrive.

So what is occupying all this mental energy? Analysis, of course. Of everything, both large and small. Where Kirk is, what he is, why David Cook was driving that way, what do the dogs feel, how to help the kids, what will come next, how to invest the insurance money, why do I feel bad about the insurance money, whether David Cook’s parents have responsibility, should I have Lasik surgery, when will I want to dance in my car again, why doesn’t he give me a sign, how can I give back to everyone who has helped me, how am I going to remember the heartworm medicine every month, are people really upset that I haven’t called back, how will I ever be able to move away from this house, the pros and cons of buying the ingredients I will need for Thanksgiving now, who can I give his important things to that will care about and use them the way he would, can I handle washing the sheets finally, is the weight training I am doing too much or too little for me to handle, how can I find someone I can cry in front of and who can drive the boat so I can have one last day on it, why why why doesn’t anyone here ask about him, do I look a million years old, when will I be happy again, how much more do I need to save for retirement without his income, why the heck don’t I have any imagination about cooking, should I pay someone to clean the house for me, what car should I buy, what should I do for his birthday in two weeks, where do I want to be on our anniversary, are the massages I am getting worth the money and will they have a cumulative good effect or only the pleasure they bring while they are happening, should I have New Years Eve at our house like always even though everyone will be partnered up at midnight except for me, can I handle going to the wedding I am invited to, on and on and on… Every single one of these thoughts is accompanied by mental lists of pros and cons, alternatives, options, etc. The only break I get is when I stop long enough to laugh at how ridiculously analytical I am.

So why am I amused right now? Because I realized today that I was deep in thought about – maybe you guessed it - analyzing why I am so analytical :). I mean really thinking hard about it - was it my childhhod, is it innate, is it a coping mechanism to keep me sane, etc., etc. If Kirk can see me, he is laughing and shaking his head and wishing I would just RELAX a little. Whenever he looked at me and I was in heavy thinking mode, he would say “Stop it or your face will freeze that way.” And I would realize my face was all scrunched up. He was right, by the way – the deepest old age line I have is in between my eyebrows right where my face scrunches when I think hard. It really DID freeze that way. I predict it will soon be the size of the Grand Canyon.

My Aunt Marcia has a t-shirt that says “Does ‘anal-retentive’ have a hyphen in it?” I love that t-shirt. I am not anal-retentive, but I think my analysis problem is not too far removed. If anyone sees a t-shirt for crazy deep thinkers, send it my way.

Just a Stone

I just saw photos of his tombstone (like “died,” tombstone is another word I am only barely beginning to use). I wasn’t expecting them when I opened the email, and it was a shock. I knew the place that made it had installed it last week. They said they would send me a picture, but somehow I still wasn’t expecting it.

I don’t know how I expected to feel, but now that I’ve seen it, I feel confused and depressed that it is just a stone. Why do we call these “memorials?” How can it tell anyone anything about him? I wanted something very simple, because that’s what he would have wanted (and what I want, since I’m on it too). I specifically didn’t want anything with pictures or poems or fancy words in it – they work for other people, but they are not right for us. Yet now that I see it, I realize it doesn’t really say anything about him. I am not disappointed with the stone itself – they did a good job with it. Nor do I wish I had ordered something different. I guess I am just realizing what a limited way it is to capture a person for eternity, or to tell a stranger walking by anything at all about who he was. Somehow I had this expectation that once the stone was there, it would be a record of him, it would tell the world something.

Instead, it just says he was here, and that we were married for a long time. Not that he was smart, or funny, or a great cook, or a good son and father, or a friend you were lucky to have. Not that the long marriage that stretched between the years carved on it was better than we could have hoped for, or that this is the person I was/am crazy about.

When I go to the cemetery, I always notice the graves (unsayable word #3) that have lots of stuff on them – Yankee caps and photos and Happy Birthday balloons and toys and flags and flowers, and often you feel you know something about the person from what others have left there. I like that they make me feel I know something of that person. But ultimately I don’t care for those graves. They often end up looking messy and sad, because they are impossible to maintain. Sometimes they are tacky too. And what would I put there? I can’t imagine having his spot covered in taxidermy and golf clubs and fishing poles and Cowboys junk, and he wouldn’t want that either. But instead I have something that doesn’t tell anyone anything.

Maybe in the future, cemeteries will be interactive. People will scan a chip on the stone with their phone or something, and be able to hear audio about the person, or view pictures on their screen. Pretty soon there will be an app for that. It probably sounds awful to you, but I kind of like it. They probably already have audio for places where famous people are buried, but what about everybody else? This has made me realize that everyone has a story, and they all deserve to be told if someone wants to stop and listen.

I think I’d like to know the story of those who lie near him. They are kind of like his neighbors. There is a little boy buried next to him. That grave has a large stone, with a carving of the little boy and a big Elmo on it. When I go there, my first reaction is always that it’s nice that he has a little boy next to him. Then I realize that is an awful thought and I feel sad that a little boy died. There is a gentleman one row down from him who was a veteran - I met his granddaughter there one day. A few rows over are the father and the brother of one of Erika’s best friends. And a little way down from that the grandparent of Matt’s first girlfriend. Also nearby is the grave of one of Matt’s friends who died in a car accident about a year after graduation. Kirk coached him in baseball for many years, and liked him very much, and if they both have to be dead I am glad they are near each other. I will be buried on the other side of Kirk, and his dad and Sandy will be on the other side of me. A whole community of stories.

When I was trying to decide what I wanted the stone to look like, I looked at lots of other stones in the cemetery. The only one I really remember is one where the husband died long before the wife, and they had a shared stone. I looked at the dates and calculated that she had lived 22 years longer than he had. I was shocked and sad for her – I thought “How could she go on for 22 whole years without him – how hard that must have been.” It seemed like an eternity to live without the person you loved so much. Then I realized that unless I die in my 60s, it will be longer than that for me, maybe much longer. It makes me so sad and also makes me really realize that I actually do have to make a new life, a life on my own. 22 plus years is too long to just wait, too long to just pass the time, and too long to be lonely and sad.

I don’t like the idea that if there’s an audio/video story about me some day, there will be many chapters without him in it. Maybe the last line should be “And she loved him even more than she realized.”

Acceptance?

I am starting to use the hard words. Like “died.” I am trying to get used to saying it – Kirk died. Until recently, I couldn’t say it at all. I would say “the night of the accident” or “since it happened” or “since I lost him” or sometimes even “when he was taken” (that’s how it feels – like he was taken). Once in a while, in my head, I have even found myself saying “since he left me.” I knew that at some point, I needed to start saying the real word – died. I don’t like that word.

So why say it now? I think because I am beginning to accept it a little. Not “accept” as in it’s okay – just “accept” as in starting to believe it’s for real. The absolute inability to understand that this is forever may be starting to fade. I use the word “inability” intentionally. It is not an unwillingness to accept forever – I have actually been mentally and emotionally unable to comprehend the permanence of this.

I thought “acceptance” would somehow be easier than the initial shock and denial. Instead it is just different. It is more subtle, less of a roller coaster. The sadness is different – not as many tears, just quietly depressing. Even yesterday, the day I wrote about the night of the accident, was a relatively quiet day in my head – not as emotional as you might have thought from reading what I wrote.

If this is “acceptance,” it also feels more isolated. Lonelier than before – I think until recently I was so packed with rioting emotion that it took all my energy to get through a day, and the loneliness was there but was not the biggest issue. And because I couldn’t get that he wasn’t coming back, I think subconsciously the loneliness seemed temporary. Now as the extreme emotion becomes less demanding of my attention, I notice the aloneness more. I have known that I would eventually need to start new habits, new patterns, but so far I haven’t done too much about it because the time didn’t seem right yet. I think the time may be coming.

The really strange thing is that at the same time I begin to accept what has happened, I am starting to have episodes where I forget that he is gone. Before now, I didn’t grasp the permanence, yet I never once tried to call him or do anything else that indicated I truly forgot he was gone. I would think “I would have talked to him about that” or “I wish he could be here for this.” But I never actually tried to call him, or forgot he wouldn’t be there when I got home.

Now, I am starting to actually do things as if I thought he was here. Over the weekend, I was feeling so sad about everything, and I thought “I’ll talk to Kirk about it when I get home.” That made me feel better for an instant until I realized I couldn’t. This morning, I reached for the phone to call him. I remembered in time, though.

I don’t understand why when I couldn’t believe he was gone forever, I never forgot for a minute that I had lost him. And now that I am starting to accept that I have lost him, I sometimes forget he is gone. Grieving is the single most confusing thing I have ever done.

Nonetheless, I am doing okay right now. I do laugh, I do smile, I do not cry all the time. I sleep okay, I actually cook sometimes (the most popular question after How Are You Doing is What Are You Eating). Still no joy or deep down real happiness, but I am not a mess anymore. At least not lately.