Resolution

I'm finding it difficult to be resolute with plans in 2009, let alone have enough perspective to force some change within me by making 'resolutions.'

I have chosen one though: I'm giving up beer. And Regular Coke. And the reason is silly and materialistic, etc. I'm aging, and in order to stay in shape I need to control my diet. Right now I'm in really good shape everywhere but around my torso, where I am holding onto some beer and coke.

In the back of my mind I feel that my beer resolution is like rearranging chairs on the Titanic. Isn't there better things to do? Like steer the ship?

What are your resolutions?

Looking Back, Looking Forward

December 12Th, 2003.

I left Washington D.C. at 9:30AM with 12 CD's in the changer, all my clothes in the trunk, and a ring in the center console. My knees shook for the entire 12-hour drive to northern Indiana. The streets in town were dark and wet from a recent snow, and I pulled into the alley next to the house and walked to the door with the big ring box showing in my jeans-pocket. Ali was excited to see me; it had been since before Thanksgiving since we'd been together.

The last time we met, we rented a cabin in beautiful Moraine State Park outside Butler, Pennsylvania. I had already decided to make her my wife. I'd called her father on the return to D.C. When I asked if I for permission to marry his little girl, he said, "You just gotta answer one question Tom, do you like her?"

I told him I loved her. He said, "That's not what I asked. Do you like her?"

I said, "Well yeah, I like her. Of Course I do."

Ol' Dave said, "Well hell, then, yeah you can marry her!"

Great relationship advice from 'Captain Morgan.'

But this story is about proposing, not about asking permission. As I brushed off the cold in her mom's living room, December 12Th, I asked if we could do Christmas right then and there. Ali laughed, knowing that I can't keep surprises long. They kill me.

After exchanging gifts, I knelt down and asked her is she'd make me the happiest man alive, and be my wife forever. It probably came out rattly, meek, like a giant mouse, because I was as nervous as I'd been in my entire life. Not because I didn't know that she'd say yes, but because 'that was it.' The Step. The Promise. The Oath.

We talked about a date afterwards, and both coming from meager beginnings and barely pennies in our pockets, we decided to wed at the Justice of the Peace. We chose to use what money we did have towards starting our household, and buying a house at our first duty station. What exciting times!

So then we were wed, 5 years ago today. December 24Th, 2003. My mom was supposed to be the only one there as a witness, because we had plans to do another ceremony when the weather was nicer. But my little sister was a stow-away, and showed at the court-house against my wishes. Good thing too, because we needed two witnesses. :)

So here I am, 5 years later, reflecting back on what has been one wild ride, both fulfilling and heart-breaking. But I am also looking forward. Because whatever I am still here for, I'm going to be ready for it. I'm a better man for having loved Alison. I won't even try to guess what lies ahead. But I'm choosing to be optimistic.

That Which Goes Unwritten

Of all the things that we've written and said, so much more is being communicated with our eyes. For all of our attempts to control what we convey with our words, and for our struggle to be aware of our body language, our eyes simply betray us.

You cannot hide what you're feeling with them. They heat like fire when we're trying to hold back our anger. They reveal us when we're trying to conceal our pain. They have a shine to their own when a memory comes trailing in. And they convey love when your words fall short.

All we need is listen to them. Listen to our own, and hear what others' are saying to us...

The Path Ahead/Report Card

I haven't written much lately, but it's not because I haven't been thinking about it. I have thought of it a lot. I've been trying to find a way to catch the good ol' blog up with where I am. Finding a way to write my way out from under the remarkable tragedy that was August, and find a new direction to a bunch of words that have been about fighting an illness, harnessing love, and staying true. It can still be about the latter two. Harnessing the love that is in each of us, staying true to what is happening, what has happened, and the direction I want to push towards in the coming months and years.

So I guess what I'll do now is give you a report card of where I am.

In terms of my grieving process, I can happily report that I've come miles since August, miles since September. And I am elated to report that my progress has been paralleled by the changing of the seasons. Ice has not come over my heart, though it has my house, my deck and plants. I have found a way to keep the entire gamut of emotions. I feel what you'd think I'd feel, namely sadness. But I've found the other ones too. Excitement, happiness and love. I've rekindled friendships, made new ones, and found a way to continue to live with the same passion that I knew before Ali passed away and even before she was sick at all.

That doesn't mean to say I've forgotten. Certain things are crystallized into my mind and are still causing pain. But mostly that which has been crystallized are the lessons I've learned from the experience. I know I am a better person.

I have had some difficulties relating to family in recent weeks and months. I think it's exacerbated by each of our grieving processes. Everyone is going through it, and each is at a different spot. It takes time to find out where they're at. And even more to show where I am. I've been upset by their seeming ease with which they've taken back up everyday living. I've been upset at their excitement for what I find mundane. But I've also felt some of the same towards me, with others who are wondering how I can enjoy anything at all. Grieving is a personal process, and I feel like it may be like a Sine Curve, it never quite ends, but I'm hoping it lessens towards the limit.

So that's kind of where I am. Finding new joys. Rethinking the story, combing for the lessons I need to take with me.

In the coming weeks, I'll write less about my state of things, and more about what's happening, and my thoughts into other things. But it doesn't mean that I'm not in a process...I'm just taking a new direction. Tiring of writing about it.

Not Posting

I flew to sunny San Diego Sunday morning. Time to do a lot of thinking. I found myself sitting outside my room, gazing at the sailboats and palm trees, just lost in my own mind. Then I realized I what I was looking at.

Retrieving one's self from one's thoughts can be tricky.

New To Me:Self-Treat

I drove my Grandma to church Thanksgiving morning. She has a very nice Cadillac, and it made me remember my two previous 'Lac's. My 1986 Coupe De'Ville and my 2001 STS. Both of which I am digging to find photos of...

Well, let's just say the drive 'wet my whistle' for it, so I researched my dream car. Funny dream I know, but this car is perfect. It's long and lean, and the lines are perfect. It's smooth and powerful, and handles well. The seats hug you.

The unfortunate thing about the 'Eldorado' is that they stopped making them in 2002. So when I found this one with 52k miles on it, I went to see it. And then I made an offer, and then I drove it home.

This version is the ETC, Eldorado Touring Coupe. The way you can tell the difference between these and the normal version is that there is no chrome; the exterior is largely monochromatic. But it also has 300hp vice 275.

I know it's shameful, but I haven't been this happy in a while.

Thanksgiving and Motorcycle Accidents

In the split second that the deer impacted the side of the motorcycle, I found myself indifferent about the outcome. I flew over the handlebars thinking 'wow, so this is how I go.' I was okay with dying in that instant.
I don't mean to say that I wouldn't be sad for my family, but it would almost seem fitting to follow Ali out.
I felt content in that moment, content with every event in my life leading up to flying through the air in a suit and helmet.
I remember thinking 'what the hell...' and that scared me afterwards.

But it's about contentment, not depression. It's more about thankfulness for what I've had, not about being ready to hang it up.

I'm glad I didn't go just yet. It was a chance to continue, to live with passion and continue to enjoy the blessings that come to me. And today, I have new blessings, and old ones, and big things to be thankful for, and small things to appreciate.

Tomorrow's another day. If another deer has a vendetta tomorrow, I will fly just as willingly. But until that time, I'm enjoying every minute.

6 Things That Give Me Joy

This week I was tagged by Jocelyn to reveal 6 things in which I find joy. It took some time, because joy doesn't play like electricity, or like water; you can't turn it on or off.

So the source identification was difficult for me.

Here's what I came up with: Joy finds me instead.

It finds me through small things sometimes, and it clobbers me with big things in some others, and it doesn't always find me in the same place.

But it finds me all the same. So choosing six is easy. I chose a video format for my six:

Comedy.


Subtlety.


Therapy.


Indulgences.


Expanses.


Contentment.

Grocery Stores Are The Enemy

I have a new nemesis: grocery shopping.

My senses have returned to me. My situational awareness and skill in observation are keen again, and what I've sensed is that shopping for one bites the big donkey. I've been avoiding the grocery store for some time, but I couldn't hold out any longer.

As soon as I removed only two bananas I caught a glance from a lady that said, "shouldn't you be at the licquor store, bucco?" And then HOLY COW you should have seen the appraisal this lady with her son gave me in the Organic section. Her wrinkly eyes screamed "Shouldn't you just stick to Chef Boyardee?"

Even the cheese says "Kraft Singles" and then comes in two dozen. I prefer block cheese anyways, discriminators! Buns? Family size. Bread? Simply proof that 'just enough' is a foreign concept in America.

And there is a bit of sadness in all the hustle. My cart ends up costing 40 bones, and will last for a week. Everyone assumes that I am 1, a party-boy, or 2, dumped or kicked out by some girl or wife that is deservedly pissed at me.

So I implore all you shoppers out there, reserve judgment from dudes in leather jackets at the grocery store. You never really do know their story.

The Scent That Winter Brings

This morning as I left the house the familiar scent of Fall was gone.  The emptiness in the air hailed the smell of winter, a solitary lack of scents that distinguishes by freezing each of the little hairs inside your nose on its way to your lungs.  And as the air goes deep it wages a battle against the comfortable air inside, hesitant to evacuate.  

I almost forgot the smell of winter.

I find my nose controls my mind.  A scent is like the key code to a machine that overcomes time and space.  Just a small amount can take you back to a place, or put you beside a person.   It can carry you away to things you'd forgotten.  Or another can change your mind.  Change your perspective about the day.

I am frigg'n Tucan Sam,  soaking in the winter.

A Round Reflection of My Wishes

I get why the Greeks began by invoking the muse. Why they asked for help, and grace, and for their words to flow. I've been thinking about the following for a long time, but every time I begin to write it, the words and sounds get garbled, and I cannot write them in a cohesive string of letters and sentences. So here goes:

When Alison was in such pain, even before being diagnosed with cancer, I wished with every part of me to be able to be the sick one. I wanted to absorb her pain and relieve her. I wanted to endure chemotherapy for her. I wanted to be the one strapped in a chair getting blood for hours. I wanted to wear the mask in the machine. I wanted to bear the burden for her, and bring her peace.

Now... I am glad that I am the one left grieving.
It's a tough road.

I know in my heart that hers is better now, and that she is enjoying health and happiness, pain-free.

Her struggle is over.

Now I'm in my own.

But see, if I said that wrong, it would come out as 'I am glad she's the one that passed away.' And that's not true.

I wish she were pain-free here, and if we had to choose, I'd have chosen to be the one that died.

But I wouldn't want her to feel the loss of me. I wouldn't have her shed those tears.

So at the end of this story, I would choose to be the one with the pain, the one dealing with long hours and needles, I would die in place of her, and then grieve over myself on Alison's behalf.

I just want her to be the happy one. The care-free one.

She deserved to be the one with no worries.

Bright Spots Within the Impending Winter

Some of my friends look forward to Octoberfest Beer from Sam Adams,
others find pleasure in breaking out warm sweaters, but I have this to
admit as cheering up my season:

Specialty Coffee Creamers.

So my eyes lit up this morning, walking into the grocery store. There,
displayed so brightly, was a tall display of "Peppermint Mocha,"
"Pumpkin Spice," and "Gingerbread."

Ah, the little blessings.

Advice, Sound and Timely

I heard something this week that is profound and timely in my life. It
was the perfect thing for my ears, and I hope that it'll be the perfect
thing for someone else as I relay it. Here goes:

The Dalai Lama was being interviewed by an eastern psychologist for a
book, and the interviewer was trying to probe the Dalai Lama's feelings,
trying to paint him as a human. He asked if the Dalai Lama had any
regrets.

The Dalai Lama replied, "Yes."

The interviewer said, "For instance?"

The Dalai Lama said something close to this: "A monk came to me and
asked if he, the monk, could take on a particularly arduous practice as
he was certain that it would lead to enlightenment. I told him not to,
judging that he was too old for such a practice. The monk seemed to take
it well, bowed and left. I later learned that he committed suicide,
certain that he would be reborn and would be younger and able to do the
practice."

The Dalai Lama admitted his feelings of responsibility for the monk's
death. The psychologist asked him how he ever got over that. The Dalai
Lama looked puzzled and then said, "I didn't", with a certain amazed
surprise at the question. Then he went on to say, "I didn't. But I
don't caught up in it."

And I think that's a key to going through things, events like my wife's
death, or whatever has a very deep impact on you. Not to repress it,
but to be present with the pain. Examine it, but not be consumed by it.
Sounds as hard as it is, but I think I can do that. I think I can feel
the loss but rebuild a life. I can lose her but not lose the the color
of life. I can still live with passion and quality, zest and happiness.
Even if serious loss and sadness is there as well.

American Sycamore Leaf

The Weight of Carrying Secrets

The weight of secrets is cumbersome. I've never been a heavy lifter in that regard. As a young boy, I'd find something out and instantly tell. It was unbearable for me to hold onto. So I dropped each one. I let them fall to the floor, relieved to be out from under them. So there is an ironic quality to the following story:

In order to fulfill my love, I carried the biggest weight. I held the biggest secret with my untrained muscles. I carried it for miles and miles. For weeks.

I sat beside her. I knew full-well she was dying. In my heart I knew it for years. I was able to fool myself for some time, barely enough time to build up for the next carry of the secret. The doctor wouldn't give Ali a time frame when she was diagnosed. The signs would point in no single direction, and Ali didn't want to know.

But shortly after diagnosis and treatment, he pulled me aside and gave me the weight.

"She's got a year. Year and a half, maybe."

And it was a secret I wanted to have, but wanted to drop quickly. I wanted to tell her so badly. But she gave every sign that knowing would lessen her will to fight.

And so when a year and a half was over, in the course of our communication, addressing her concerns, I relented the secret. I gave back the weight.

She said, "I am so glad I didn't know about that."

And it felt good to let go. But I was given a bigger one shortly after that. And now I knew she didn't want to know. So I went to carrying.

And I watched her dying. I held her hand, I drove her around. I used kid-gloves with her. I watched her lose weight. I watched her change shape. I watched her smile change, but said nothing.

And on a Saturday after I returned from Washington, I enjoyed my time with her. We took our time getting ready for the emergency room. We showered. I washed her hair. We went to the store to get another pillowcase to delineate what was the hospital's and what was Ali's. We packed smartly, prepared-ly. We picked up some sandwiches and went to a park. I was bearing the weight of a new secret. She was bearing the weight of her pain. We admired a white gazebo, and thought about what it would be like to have a wedding ceremony there in the fall.

And we waited for news that night. And when it came, she denied it. Unable to bear the news and the pain. And it weighted me. It added to my secret. But I carried it. I carried it upstairs to the room. I sat with it next to me. I wheeled it around.

Those weeks in the hospital were glorious. Glorious and tragic. She loved going to an outdoor garden on the second floor of the building, sitting amongst the Christmas lights strung around the potted trees. She loved fresh sandwiches and sweet tea. She loved giggling and visiting with her family.

There was a night when I couldn't carry the secret anymore, and I told her that I had doubts. She knew what I was saying and exploded! "If you don't believe, how can I do any of this!" And she was all tears.

I picked up the secret and put it on my back.

She, by then, was sedated. Heavy drugs from the anxiety she had when putting on her mask. She was diminishing, and I was watching. I was petting her. Talking to her. Feeding her. Loving her.

Lying to her.

I watched her wrists get thinner. I watched her eyes change shape. I smelled her sweat change the scent that I knew so well.

When I placed her in hospice, I couldn't tell her. She thought she was taking a break from treatment. And I guess that's not an un-truth. She was bearing what she could. When she could bear no more, she got up. She disrobed.

We sedated her.

And then we watched her go.







And that's how heavy the weight of a secret can be. But it was my fair share. She had the pain. I had the secret. No reason. No regret.

I'd do it all over again. I'd do it better the next time.

So it was driving across some fields some weeks ago, revisiting some songs, when I heard Death Cab For Cutie's "What Sarah Said." When I first heard the song, it rang true for how it was to spend your life in an ICU. When I heard it that night, only 5 words rang true:

Love is watching someone die.






These words are me laying down the weight. I can carry it no more.

Three Months: Mind Projects

It's been three months, and three hours, and 12 minutes.

I am currently re-keying my mind. Trying to get out of it. Change it. Evolve.

Coming To Terms

Tonight was the night I'd mentioned earlier. Where each family hired sitters, got rooms at the Omni, dressed up in evening gowns, and hit the town.
I've been dreading tonight.
Before I went, I stopped over at my Sister-In-Law's, and she asked if it was hard without Alison. I said, "it's not that bad, really."
But what I meant was that I miss smelling her perfume. And that I can almost touch the back of her neck, with her blond hair pulled up. I can nearly see and feel her dress' fabric, and I miss admiring the shape of her legs under it as she sat with them crossed.
What saying what I said meant was that my game face was on already, and there was no way to allow those thoughts while I still had to attend and talk with the boys and such. 2 Marines asked where my wife was (having observed my ring). The problem is that it's almost worse to have everyone know. But 2's not bad right? 5 more asked how old I was. I guess the uni makes me look too young for such a rank.

The counselor I am seeing said that the only thing that can make me feel better is to have her back, and that since that is simply not possible, neither is feeling better.

Now I believe her.

What's worse is that I feel like telling someone. Namely Ali, though. I want to tell her how lonely I am without her.

If I die tonight, it will be because my heart can go no further.

I've Been Thinking Of This One...

Writing this sometimes seems pointless. But the pointlessness doesn't stop at writing. What's worth anything really? Admit it; we all think like this if we allow ourselves to really think. It's just like thinking, "well, this has been said before." Or "this has already been drawn." "Someone else has played this song."

And writing is like that.

The best I can do is get it in key. Right?
I can tune these words so they won't hurt your mental ears as you read them.
If I work hard enough at it, I can tune them fine enough to ring true.

But is a true note reason enough in itself to keep playing?
Am I losing you?

But then I think some more. And I think it's not a singular note that's true, but a collection, played in varying tones, at different times and in different lengths, at different intensities....
It becomes about the spaces in between the notes as well. What's not written.

And if it all comes together, it's a song. And if any one's listening, it could help them. A good song cuts straight to my soul.

But the singer won't hear the resonance of his song. The writer won't read how his words are read. And we all will not feel our effect.

But play we must.

Write, draw, breathe. Even when we're off-key and no one's listening.

Life As A Stream

If my life were a stream, it would echo the properties of the river I kayaked on Sunday. Largely, I follow the path of least resistance, erratic as it sometimes seems. My life's attitude largely reflects the circumstances or weather that surrounds me. Like a stream it's steady and rhythmical.

My life finds a way to keep flowing, even if a bit of pooling is necessary.

And as I kayaked this weekend, I learned my life is much like the river in another way I hadn't considered:

Over rocks, between downed trees, in fast waters, and whenever the water gets turbulent, whenever it gets creative to find a way to flow, the riverbed is amazingly clear for quite some distance. Below, the adversity has carried away all of lesser substance. The more significant things remain. That which is more significant becomes easier to see. Life becomes a sand bed, where there is clarity previously unknown. All the particles that fill up and dull down are gone. Only the important remains.

For that reason, I find it easier to see the importance of Alison. She brought substance to my life. She gave me significance. She brought richness.

And as I find a way to keep flowing, I'll reflect on her for quite some time. I'll reflect on our relationship, what it meant to me, the lessons I'll take away from it.

Turbulent Weekend

It was rainy, cold and windy this weekend. My mom and I managed to eek out a kayaking trip on a new section (new to us) of the Eel River. I was admittedly skeptical as we left in the rain, with 35 mph gusts of wind and 39 degree weather, and as we shoved off into the river, it was moving fast from the rain, and it was cold to the touch. But we enjoyed it, and half way through the sun came out and burnt up all the clouds.

I'm feeling turbulent in my heart as well. Several times this weekend I wanted to 'just go.' Drive home. Drive somewhere. But I'm still in my head no matter where I go. So it was a time of letting myself relax.

I immediately started the laundry when I got home tonight, washing the memory card my mom so graciously entrusted to me. Luckily, it still works! Cleaner now too.

Where Ever I May Roam

In reflection I've realized that, for the duration of my life, I've been the one to leave.

The traveller.
In life, separation is inevitable.
I've simply been out in front of life's metronome.
Leaving schools after a year of being the new kid.
Crossing the Mason-Dixon for college.
Leaving college for the Marines.
Travelling there too.

I guess that's why it's hard now.
Because I remain.

Things Stay Put

I never noticed how things moved around the house when Alison was here.
But now things don't move anywhere.

Magazines used to walk about from the coffee table, to the kitchen
table, to the entranceway bench, to the night stand. Now they rest on
the bench permanently, like their legs are broken. Other things don't
move anymore either. Notes and coupon lay out instead of disappearing
into the trash. Big dishes don't move about the kitchen. I've got a
little bear of honey that keeps staring at me each morning. That dude
used to be so active, jumping about the counter everytime I wasn't
looking.

The only thing that still moves is Lily. She's good company, but she's
not much for conversation. She just wants a free meal and to be touched
constantly. She leaves her fur as evidence that she's been moving when
I was gone.

It's a full house still, but stagnate in every way I'd like some
movement.

Obscure Advice About Love

I thought of an earlier post titled "Obscure Advice About Love"

Thinking back to when I was a kid, everything was magic. Cars were
magical. They made noise and went fast. My dad working on ours became
a magician. He had power to fix them. As he showed me how too, they
became less magical to me. I learned that the machine compressed the
gas and air, and a spark is designed to make it all go 'bang', thrusting
down the cylinder, making another rise up and compress, plus drive a
shaft connected to a wheel or two or four. Each component made sense
once you knew the theory and practice, and each component didn't haste
to lose its magic.

Changing leaves were magical. Then I learned about the earth's path
around the sun, and the sun's apparent path across the sky, and then
chlorophyll and how energy is transferred to support the trees, and all of
the sudden autumn was science, not magic. Snow and winter lost its
magic in quick succession.

And thus it went when growing up. One thing after another ceased being
magical as I began to understand the inner workings. I'm a
self-proclaimed skill-hound. I learn everything I can.

That doesn't mean each thing lost its beauty. Changing leaves are still
one of the most beautiful things Indiana can offer.

Love follows the same pattern as automobiles. When two people first fall
in love, it's a brand new car. The car is fast and has all kinds of new
functions we discover and don't understand. So love is magical for us.
But as we introduce ourselves to our love, we begin to understand the
science behind each function. And if we study it, we learn how the
whole thing works, and it gives us the ability to keep it running strong
and finely-tuned.

But it's funny that we think that magic happens only if we find
"Mr./Mrs. Right". Like each party is a chemical, and only combined
under the right circumstances will the chemicals react in love. Love
seems magical only in the beginning; that's my argument. After that,
we're risking derailing and losing functionality unless we understand
the process and maintain the machine of love.

Love is still as beautiful as the autumn leaves once you understand how
to love someone. It's something beautiful. It's the most fulfilling
non-magical thing.

Long Weekend Ride/Sympathy

I just returned from a long weekend's ride. The weekend was lazy and chilly (Heated hand-grips are worth their weight!). I looked at a few houses up north. Just speculating. This afternoon when I got back, I hung my Aerostitch suit up in the closet and noticed that two of Alison's purses were hanging behind where I usually hang the suit, and I hadn't noticed before. I took the purses down and cleaned them out.

Inside one of them I found a notebook that she kept. At the turn of 2008, she started writing notes about what we did together. I didn't know that. So I read them all. It's hard to tear up to such good memories; and hard to handle the fact that I would not have remembered most of them if her notes didn't catalogue them so well. They make me feel like I dilly-dallied through life when I should have been chronicling. I should have been writing in moments SHE wasn't looking, so I'd never forget.

So for weeks now I've navigated through Alison's "To The Moon" in order to visit everyone's blogs, and it's started wearing on me that there has been no change. So I put a page of the notes on there. Being her words, and her handwriting, they're intriguing and entertaining, comforting and therapeutic. I'll put some more up in the coming days. How exciting to be checking hers again!

Morning After Addendum

When I was about my niece Alyssa's age, my family had a black lab we called "Fritzy." We loved that dog. He was a good boy, and would pull Penelope and me on the sled in the winter, would play with us anytime, and was always good in a pinch. It's a shame I don't remember more. But I do remember taking a nap one day, and Fritz got out of the house and walked down the hill in front of our house, straight down Indiana Ave and got hit by a car.

When I woke up Penny was crying, and mom was trying to explain what happened. I remember wondering what Penny was crying about, thinking and even patting her on the back "It's okay, he'll come back. It's okay."

25 years later I still don't get this death thing.

My training has done well to demolish my perception that everything needs to be fair, or even should be, but all I can think is 'it isn't fair.'

I'm three again.

The Transition of Pain/Giving the Prayer

I gave an invocation today at a Luncheon for the Volunteers of Community North Hospital, where Alison and I stayed for a long time. I wanted to do a better job than I did, but the microphone was not working at the time, so I had to project what I was saying. I wanted to tell everyone that it was my pleasure to be there, and that I had gratitude for each of their contributions, not to the hospital itself, but to those that find themselves there. I wanted to say that most people thank me for MY service, especially since 9-11, which was basically an emotional upheaval for the country. Emotional upheavals tend to show us our blessings, give us perspective. I tried to say that each family that finds themselves in the hospital has its own emotional upheaval, and that I'd had my own, and thank you.

Somehow I felt as if I were yelling at 70 elderly women instead of thanking them. I wished the mic was on.

The President of the hospital spoke about the volunteer services, and her stories of the comfort that those volunteers provide echoed my own, and brought back memories that have faded.

Memories like how Ali loved wheeling out onto the garden on the second floor and eating her lunch.

I'd also forgot about the football birthday cake that the chemo nurses scrounged up and sang to her on her 27Th.



All of that brings such pain.



But instead of being, what is the best way to put this, bitter? regretful? sorrowful? that Alison had such a rough time, instead of feeling deep pain and sympathy for her pain and loss, well, maybe on top of those same feelings, is popping up a great sadness, a great loneliness at the loss of the love of my life.

She's gone. Loving like that won't happen anymore.

I am filling up my life with things to do because when I stop I hurt.

I am so lonely without her. No one told me this would be loneliness training. I miss hugging her. I miss getting hugged back. I miss telling her things. I miss her telling me the same. I miss getting her water at bedtime.

It all makes me want to run away.

But to what?

So I guess I am here training. Becoming more proficient at living without. For the moment I am stuck. Living for the weekends...

Emotional Dichotomy:Trees On Fire

This weekend my brother Mason, Colin, and I went camping in Northern Indiana. Fall is in its full spread right now, and we enjoyed perfect weather and good food. Some of the pictures are below and on Flickr.

We went kayaking Sunday morning when mom arrived at the park, and we found our plan to be a bit more ambitious in reality than it seemed on the map. Everyone fought through some muscle soreness though. I love the sense of accomplishment you get when you complete something hard. When you push your limits.

I never knew I could feel such opposite emotions. In between strokes, I watched the gleam of the water and the drops fall from my paddle, and I thought about Alison. It was so beautiful out there, and I was really happy to be out and a part of it all. I had a happiness in my heart that didn't compete with my profound sadness while I thought about Ali. I am struck by the definity of her departure. It's permanence. I miss her. But all of my sadness can be in there right next to my smiles. The smiles are coming naturally. I find them in the breezes, in falling leaves, and in camp fires.

Starting the KLR-650

Starting the KLR-650
Originally uploaded by tommykline

I drove to the Indiana-Kentucky border tonight to buy a second motorcycle. This one is in immaculate condition, and I really couldn't think of a better guy to buy a bike from. He obviously took great care of her, and added just about everything I could have wanted.

I'm smitten with this bike.

Baldy May-Pops Lesson

Last week I brought my two Kayaks along, only I had but one paddle for them. So to remedy this, AJ and I drove 22 miles to Crawfordsville. There is a Walmart there, and two Sporting Goods stores. We'd soon find out that none of those had paddles.
So we navigated to Lebanon, another 18 miles, because the GPS said there was a Gander Mountain there. It was there alright, in the form of a huge warehouse, not a retail store. So we're roughly 40 miles from camp, still with no paddle, and a bit frustrated. We ate lunch/dinner, and navigated to Lafayette (another 30 miles) because I was dead-certain there was a Dicks Sporting Goods there.
And there was, but the parking lot was so full I had to park across the street at a Firestone.
But lo, I did buy a paddle, a fantastic one, and upon returning to the truck, slightly frustrated and now facing a night-kayak trip, I noticed the tire.
Absolutely flat.
I'd been riding for two years with the knowledge that should I have a flat, I would not have a spare, as the spare never holds air, and does not come down like it should from under the truck. It's stuck, and I was stuck.
But then it hit me that I parked at a Firestone.
Luck.
(The skeptic in me thought for a second that they might have deflated me in spite for having parked in their lot but I did notice a pull to the center when I had been applying brakes.)
The tires had 70,000 miles on them, and I was waging on them lasting for a bit.
Colin calls this type of situation "running Baldy May-Pops"
Instead now I'm running Bridgestone's. And my spare is new and functional.
And all the frustration of the journey ended with the best scenario possible under the certainty that the tires' time had come.
I could have returned from my night Kayaking and been absolutely stuck in the middle of the woods.
Coincidence or genuine care from above?

Man Versus Deer

Last night I was heading south at just before dusk on Colin's motorcycle. The road was narrow and straight, with corn stalks framing it in on both sides close enough to limit visibility. I was riding at about 55 mph and had just down-shifted to slow for a coming intersection, when a deer jolted out in front of my headlight. It missed, but as I applied the breaks another one ran into my front wheel. I was maybe going 50.

So there I am in the gravel, gasping for breath, with a streak of light running through my vision. I moved my feet and hands to make sure they were still with me. I listened for the bike. There was no sound. I couldn't find it from where I was laying. After a minute or two I regained my breath, and called Colin to let him know his bike was trashed, whereever it was.

That suit I bought saved my life. I had steel-toe boots, gloves, a gortex and kevlar riding suit, and helmet.

I didn't exactly walk away from it; I was carried out on a gurney, but I am fine today, with no broken bones, a little whiplash in my neck, and a sore and swollen foot. I learned a lot. I am so glad I invested so heavily into safety gear. All told, the gear was more than the bike. I can buy another bike, but not another body, right?

What a weekend!

Time Off

This week I took time out and went camping with AJ. It was much a much needed adventure with some funny stories and even a little danger. Don't mountain bike Brown County's toughest trails with no protective gear whatsoever. Don't climb wet limestone cliffs with a heavy back pack on. Those are two points I noted. Here are some pictures...

Life In Perspective

Those close to me know my "Fat Bob" story. When you're 18, concern for the feelings and perceptions of others doesn't matter, and for some, the same could be said of a 28 year old. But not me. My "Fat Bob" story no longer holds relevance. Here's why: (I'm still going to relay the story after this next point)

While walking Vince this morning I realized that happiness is different for each of us. We all find satisfaction in different things. Ali discovered that smiles after taking a bite of her Molten Lava Cakes, Apple Crisp, and other delights brought a smile to her own demeanor. I find that a clean garage, vehicles, and kitchen make me smile. And this morning I realized that, for Vince, there is nothing better than peeing on things, and deficating in the most beautiful yards.

I brought baggies, because I know this. [Side Point: Anything you love, you must pick up doo after]

So, happiness is in different boxes for different people, and everything said more than a few years ago makes us go red in the face, because we've developed and see the errors in our ways. A few years from now, I will delete this post, as it will remind me of my foolishness. But not to steal Colin's favorite dilemma to write about.

Back to Fat Bob. When I was 18, I talked with a Marine Recruiter. I had broad goals for my life, but no plan for how to get there. I heard what he said, and liked the idea of becoming something better (skill-hound) and getting out of dodge. But it wasn't until I was driving home from the high school that I made my decision. I was on 33 West, stopped at the light on 3rd Street in Goshen, when I looked in my rear view. There, in a gold Honda Accord, was Fat Bob. His real name could have been anything. He wore glasses, was thinning on the top, and was looking directly at me. I noticed that (presumably) his wife was next to him, bickering at him. There was a small boy and a smaller girl bouncing about in the back seat, restrained only by the final give of their seatbelts. Fat Bob's eyes, they said "Go." And didn't mean push the gas.

They meant have some adventure. Do whatever, sign up for some unknown. Dive headlong into uncertainty.

And that's what I did.

So here's where perspective comes in. Little did I know that adventure is what I'd get. I didn't anticipate what's happened in ten years. All of my guesses have been not only off-the-mark, but not even firing down the same range.

And I guess adventure is what I've had. As a noun, adventure is a risky undertaking, the ending of which is uncertain. At 18 I would have thought it meant open seas, mud and trees, fast vehicles, a few bullets flying by, and resigning yourself to deal with it all.

Only my friends have had to deal with bullets.

These have been really long posts lately. I'll cut it out after this.

So in looking back, I'll list some of the things I wouldn't have listed at 18:

1. Giving my heart so completely.
2. Getting married.
3. Becoming a widower.
4. And now I'm drawing blanks.

My adventure was Alison. Though I thought I wanted rappelling and long hikes, marksmanship training and leadership; the challenge I found most satisfaction in was exactly (well, not exactly) what Fat Bob had. Love and a wife. The story of our love was my great adventure.

And I'd do it all again. Over and over.

I'd pick up doo.

Autumn Ride For Memorial

I love all Pikes in Indiana. Once upon a time they were the widest and most direct routes between towns. They follow the countour of the land for the most part, but also respect the property lines of the old farms. Nowadays, however, they are hidden from even Google Maps, and are only relevant to local folk and those navigating with atlas's filled with county maps and contour lines. (my father and I are the only people I know to have such maps, and I learned it from him and his desire to fish new streams.)

So this afternoon I left work on the bike and headed for Rushville. I rode the Fortville Pike, the Morristown Pike, and Rushville Road (which should be called the Rushville Pike). It is the same route that Colin and I rode two weeks ago. In those two weeks the roads changed dramatically. There were trees turning yellow at the top as if sun burnt, and some that were a dark wine all around, as if the bulk of their leaves were secretly held by a long-stemmed glass. The breeze was stiff, and was raking dried leaves across the back roads.

I had an early dinner/late lunch at a diner in Carthage, which is where Ali's Grandma lives. I love wearing my Stitch into diners and shops, because people look at me as if I were a moonman, or dealing with toxic chemicals. In a way I am both. The former is obvious by sight and if I spelled sight site, and the latter is because the whole point is to keep my skin, which is probably why most would wear such a suit while handling toxins.

After leaving Carthage I conquered the part of Rushville Road that defeated me two weeks ago and left me riding with handlebars bent back like I was the shortest kid alive on a big kid's BMX bike. (The experienced rider's course comes highly recommended from me)

But then it was business time, the reason for the trip, and I walked into Todd Funeral Home in Rushville to pick out Alison's Headstone.

That was hard.

More emotions surged against my levy than I anticipated.

But I chose the one best suited for her. It won't be ready until between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I am having a custom design made. They don't make classic yet young-looking designs. I want one that would both suit Ali and stand the test of time.

I debated stopping by the church and visiting her grave, but opted not too. I will soon. In some ways I have to talk myself into believing that she's not there waiting for me, and will not be disappointed if I am late. She IS in a better place, not in that place. That place is beautiful, but I anticipate going there to center myself, to choose perspective, not to really visit.

That's another proof source that every man is different.

Speaking of self-talk, the whole point of this post is to say that I thought about being disappointed that Ali's missing her favorite season (think stiff breezes and floating leaves), but it dawned on me that it's got to be even more perfect where she is. There the Pikes are even more bendy, and the leaves last that much longer in their late radiance.

I love her every bit as much while I'm away from her as I do when I am with her. I can feel me come back now. My words. And my heart. If that makes any sense at all.

Signs I Am Not Okay

It's that time of year again, where there are preparations being made to get duded and dolled-up to celebrate the Birthday Ball. Today a senior guy asked if I made reservations yet at the hotel where we are holding it (downtown Indy). I said no, and I had no intention to stay the night there. He naturally asked why. I said because I do not plan on drinking wildly with people that I'd like respect from the morning after plus the next two years. He said alright, but kind of urged me for more, so I relented that I was dually weirded out by attending by myself.
This is the first time in 7 years I won't have Alison.
Well in Japan we were all stag so it was okay.
He automatically replied that I should get a date.
Insert foot after sentence.
I told him I was not quite ready, well not ready at all for that, and that I was content to stay for the ceremony and go on my way.
I faught a tear during that last sentence, and knew I was not quite alright.
I may go UA.

tommyPod

I have these great headphone/earplugs that I use when I ride long distance. They're great. Yesterday I realized that right now I'm much like the iPod that I plug them into. Well, in one way specifically. Have you noticed that when you listen for a while, or shift from song to song, the battery dies quicker? It'll say it's done, but if you turn it off for a while, it'll find some reserve power? Especially when you flick between songs. Leave it alone, let it play, and it will last a lot longer.
That's how I am with playing the social necessities/requirements. I tire out quickly and need to shut down. I reluctantly find more power. I smile, I tell jokes. I make small talk. I go home and shut down. Rip my hair out. Come back, smile again.
Where's the car charger?
Where's the power cord?
Hell, I'd settle for USB.

Digital Age Blues

The digital age is just too much.
With every second recorded...
It used to be that you'd just have to come to peace with revisiting your memory.
But now videos make her live over and over again in a little box.
And each time the clips end, I suffer her death like it's August Fifth.
At least my memory can keep going...
...or be blurry enough to lack a beginning or an end.

Of course Ali's favorite things included archiving everything. And even higher on the scale was revisiting old photos and remembering the stories.

But shouldn't we just allow ourselves to be there at the time of...
...and in some other moment now?

In blog-news, Colin and I completed the Experienced Rider's Course this weekend, I saw their new house for the first time, and I lost a 400 dollar phone off the back of the trailer, and it reiterated the thoughts above, but with an "Okay, I admit my dependence on my phone for flashlight capabilities, alarm capabilities, web capabilities, email capabilities, GPS capabilities, text, phone capabilities of course, calendar, video camera, camera capabilities."

Just delete capabilities with new necessities or bad habits. Or just flat-out my reliance upon.

Moto-Camping

1997 Suzuki DR-350SE
Originally uploaded by tommykline

Had nearly the best weekend on record this weekend. I uploaded some of the photos to flickr. I have some good videos, but they're in the wrong format so I will have to convert them before I post one or two.

Soon I'll be all by myself in this big house. I haven't even begun to organize and sort. I've discovered it is possible to be ready to and not be ready to do things at the same time. I'm ready to sort and downsize, but dread it too.

Overall I feel okay. I am trying to lead a normal life, and count my blessings. Basically, I am trying to make Ali's death the thing I don't think about every 4 seconds anymore... Maybe just every couple of minutes would be good.

Last Night

Last night I was asleep when I heard my name called from just above my right ear. "Tom", crystal clear, and clearly Alison's voice. "Tom" in her voice as if to wake me and ask me something. I had the initial instinct to say, "Yeah babe, whaddy'a need?" I am 75% sure I said it out loud. Loud enough to wake me up, realize what I heard, and be startled.

But just after I conquered that emotion, I wanted to be comforted by her voice some more. I promised I would lay back down and 'act cool.'

I am surprised that I was able to return to sleep. Sleeping is one of my greatest talents though.

Tonight I shall not be startled...

Some of My Break-Throughs

Some of my break-throughs come while composing emails.

Yesterday I was writing to explain some things, and I wrote that I what I don't feel is pain. I feel loneliness. I feel sad that Alison won't fulfill her earthly dreams. But not angry. And I am not feeling pain. And what's best, is as I was writing it, I was realizing it was true.

I have a big poster of Ali and I walking together in the Relay For Life. She's looking up at me trying to give me a smooch. The poster is leaning up against my dresser. It's the first thing I see when I turn on the lights every morning. It's comforting. My brain tells me it should bring pain, but it brings comfort. That's another proof-source that the pain is subsided.

Also true is that I have no regrets. I am pleased with the way a bad story had good things happen within. I'm glad we got back in time to spend good time with family. I've already written about it I guess. I'm even glad I won certain arguments, and lost others. It went down perfectly. Perfectly but still tragic.

But I'm finding it easier to do things. Easier to breathe... and I am thankful for that.

Eeking Out A Future

I promised my life to Alison. Gave it to her. Dedicated my future gladly. We were supposed to discover new wrinkles, take long walks, talk about the kids, go out for breakfasts to some mom's and pop's joint.

Now I have my life back. The possibilities are endless on how to dispose of it, but the one possibility I was excited about is gone.

So what now?

No decision is a decision. But, any decision seems unfulfilling, especially no decision.

I Am Tears

To everyone who knew Alison, I am Tears.

The initial feeling that I had "Widower" written across my forehead for everyone that knew of Alison's passing has subsided.

Now to everyone that really knew us, I am the half that is missing.
I am a reminder of the pain.

I am Racing Thoughts,
I am Hurt,

I am Tears.

What If She's Missing Me Too?

C. S. Lewis' rants are unnerving to me, but one cut deeper than any other. He writes that little is known about the details of heaven. He writes, "Why should the separation (if nothing else) which so agonizes the lover who is left behind be painless to the one who departs?" One sentence takes it too far out of context. What he means is, "Is she missing me too?"

Up until now I have been self-centered with my pain. Self-interested and self-focused. What if she's where she's at, missing me just the same? I could not handle that. Still, it's selfish of me to be this self-concerned. She's the one that was robbed of life. I think she enjoyed it more. She's the one that suffered so dearly. The one that never gave up. Yet it is only me here tonight.

Lewis writes that even though others have died before his wife, for them he is able to pray for them, think of them, and be sure that they're okay. "But when I pray for H., I halt."

I no longer have to write this. C. S. has written it all already.

Seeing the Blessings: Knowing My Limits

Scarcely a sentence of honesty. But a struggle to find clarity none the less...

I want to write two things:

1) I understand reading this from a distance. In the not-too-distant past I would have been none too interested myself. Cancer couldn't have been Alison's back pain. Life would go on forever. Autumn and winter were myths! Those that believed in those false seasons were Nay-Sayer's, half-emptier's, fire and brimstone types. Their hearts were already sunken.

My heart is not sunken. It wants in this moment, more than it ever has, to feel love and in love. It's capacity for that emotion is now broken. Broken as a container, a box. The walls have collapsed around my love and it flows out as a flood. It floods out but the source continues.

I cannot write that cancer can happen to the one you love the most. I can pray it does not.

I do not pretend to know God. Or His will. Or how the universe works. Or even this world. Or the principle of magnetism. Not really at least. Nor how chlorophyll works. Instead I have only evidence that God has quotas. Quotas for things like hardships, for adversity, and finally - for bringing us home.


Some very thoughtful friends gave me a book tonight: C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed. I cannot wait to read it in its entirety. But he writes, "nothing will shake a man....out of his merely verbal thinking and his merely notional beliefs. He has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring out the truth. Only under torture does he discover it for himself."

I cannot write to any one's emotional intellect. On my best day I can only dance in your notional beliefs. Should I still attempt to?


2) I can write that I am blessed. I have long accepted death as a part of life, and trust that in God's quota system, in His script, He chose wisely. In this messed up story line, so many things went right that I know He was there. Placing pads on my knees. Rubbing the rocks out of my hands after I fell. Metaphorically of course. In very real terms He placed and is placing friends at the right place at the right time. For me AND for Alison. He gave us great medical care, and insurance to boot. He brought us home in time for some dinners and some laughs, in time for some family. He gave us outlets for our thoughts.

In very poignant terms, I was blessed by a two-year heads-up from Him. Not everyone gets that. Not everyone has very lenient employers. Not everyone gets to love nearly as deeply, nor be loved as deeply as I have. I am overlooking several, but I know with emotional intelligence, that if the boat had to sink, we had the most fortunate surrounding circumstances, and we drained every drop of enjoyment from the vessel that we could. Right down to the final breakfast.

Those are my two things. Not nearly as eloquent as they deserve, but like I said: it is only my own expectation.

I have no idea how I'll continue on without Alison. But I will. I trust that I will.

Scarcely Honest Sentences

I've been trying to write the thought in my head for two weeks. It's a square thought I'm pushing through a round hole. This thought simply will not budge. It's so frustrating! I guess that's real writer's block. I just never thought of it that way. A metaphorical square cube of thought, trapped inside my head unable to move.

The thought that comes to mind now is: It's our own expectations that are the hardest to meet.

Man, I wonder when my writing will return to normal cognitive thought.

This weekend I went to the after-party of my High School reunion. 10 years passes like a river, barely perceptible but moving with unbelievable force. The thing I learned is this: there are no right choices. The experience reaffirmed for me that no matter what you choose, or what your answer is, you're going to be at the same place anyways.

Now, I can't exactly articulate what that means; it's kind of like looking down a tunnel. Who knows what's there at the end?

And here I stand, erasing all the honest sentences because they lead places I'd rather not bring you.

Time to hang up the keyboard. Square thoughts.

Happy Dance

Happy Dance
Originally uploaded by tommykline

I've been digging around trying to find videos of Alison lately. I've found very few. She avoided my lens well. Those I have found feel a bit heavy yet to post, but I did find this one. I sent this to her to make her smile, remind her of my dorkiness, and give her a bit of 'home' when I was in S. Korea. Enjoy.

Immersion

Note the wedding band. Turn the volume down before you click on it. There's a lot of water.

Perpetually New

Henry David Thoreau is credited for saying, "Experience is in the fingers and head.  The heart is inexperienced."

Emotional Intelligence

Alison taught me that there is both what your mind knows ~and~ what your heart knows.
She taught me that right from the beginning. When we were dating, I learned that, in spite of myself, I had to be with her. I could logically step myself away: the distance was too great, the Marines would forever pull me away, my life goals were not exactly the domestic model. But I was rubber-banded to her by my love. I would stretch it out, only to be pulled back. And then my life goals changed. Each smile I caught, each giggle I chased after, brought me closer and closer to her. To a life together. To marriage. Suppers. Joint-accounts. Babies. Grey hair.

A good friend of mine is almost famous for saying, "You can't stop love."

And that's kind of how I took it. Just love. But really it's more than that.

Follow if you can, but it's really emotional intelligence. My emotions knew we were right for one another. My heart knew we were each other's home. My emotions knew that she deserved all of my trust. And I guess if I had to name it better, I'd name emotional intelligence the language of love. But bear in mind this is me fumbling through this concept as I write, because there's a whole other side of that language that I'm learning. My emotions are learning that my home is gone. They're learning that I'm Fred Flintstone, kicked out of the house by the Sabre-tooth cat. But they're also learning that everyone has similar challenges, similar tragedies, and great resiliency. My emotions know happiness. They know a true friend.

Maybe it's just 'knowing things with your bones.' But whatever it is, my heart is watching the horizon of things to be understood with emotion.

A Thought About Regret

It is only too easy to compel a sensitive human being to feel guilty about anything. - Mornton Irving Seiden

I "left it all on the field" during Alison's sickness. All of my patience, determination, perseverance, and strength. But on that final fateful day, I found myself angry. I was angry for feeling hunger at such a time, for being so emotionally drained, for needing breaks, for my body exhibiting stress in all the ways that are common.

I held Ali in my arms as long as I could. I lifted her onto my lap. I laid beside her for hours, stroking her hair, telling her it was alright. That was the longest day of my life.

In the end, everyone was able to tell her goodbye. Just barely. It was as if she waited, and then snuck out when no one was watching.

I guess I just want anyone else who must endure a day like that to be prepared, and not to feel as much anger. I now know my limits; I accept them. I am disappointed, but understand.

Terrifying, Like Thestrals

So here's the first of the posts I spoke of last post: and this is one that I didn't have planned.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see Alison in flashes in my eyes. I feel her kiss me, leaning over the bed, with her long blond hair hanging down around me. Then I see her smile with her short hair, and then I see her in her various appearances in the last year.

I apologize beforehand for the comparison, but it's like Harry Potter coming back to school being able to see the Thestrals. The things I see when I close my eyes. The memories flood.

I saw my wife's physical body go. Her spirit never did.

I know what happens to bowels in the final weeks. I know what sweat smells like and how that scent changes. I know what the mind starts to think. The way facial expressions change permanently. And it is terrifying and horrible knowledge, not because I'm scared, but because I had to watch the one I love endure it.

Plunging a knife into my chest would have been easier.

I tried to protect those that I love from that kind of pain; that kind of knowledge. It didn't work very effectively. Everyone there got to say goodbye, yes, but they all came away different. Impacted in the same way that I am impacted.

It's a heavy burden to bear. But I wouldn't have changed a thing. I would bear so much more if I could do it again. Laying next to her, I wished my heart would stop too. It didn't feel right to keep breathing.

I am still convinced it beats differently now.

Rising Tide

I am home.

At the beginning of my road trip I bought A Time To Grieve: Meditations for Healing After the Death of a Loved One, by Carol Staudacher. It has been very, very, ... useful. Right on the back cover it talks about the difference between intellectual knowledge and emotional knowledge. Theoretically, I know all the steps of the grieving process, and I thought I could just be open and honest, and swing like George of the Jungle through them all.
Then Alison died. Nothing made sense anymore. I hadn't prepared at all.
Things happened I couldn't explain.
I felt differently than I thought I would on just about everything.
So I went for some help. And it has been like a faucet, reopening my mind. Allowing me to revisit events, recapture some of the feelings so I can deal with them better.

The point is that this revisiting is a rising tide right now. I can feel some posts coming that won't dance around the mess, they'll re-break some bones to set them right. I may turn off the comments; if I do, it will be because I just need to put the ACCEPTED stamp down on my thoughts. And I write this as a bit of a warning for those really close to the fight, because the coming days might reopen wounds for you too, if you keep reading.

I do appreciate the kind words, and thoughts, and especially the personal stories that some friends have related that they might have been keeping in close company. I am getting through the stack of cards that came during my leave of absence. They affect me profoundly, and I found tears several times tonight. So, thanks friends.

God bless and look upon you with favor.

Standing Up To The Pain/Saying Thanks

My words are not arriving as easily as I would prefer. Instead of sentences I'm getting single words like pensive, lonely, and saturated.

I can announce that the fog has lifted; no more faucets left running. No more forgetting to feel hungry.

I can also say that music has re-entered my life. I can listen to a lot of songs that were painful just a week ago.

Oh and speaking of music, I would like to personally thank Mr. Weaver for learning and rendering the most powerful version of Mellon-Collie and the Infinite Sadness during Alison's service. As a solo-piano, the depth and passion he was able to render cut me as deep as any sadness I'd felt up to that point. I know it's goofy to have that song at a funeral, but Alison would understand. That song put me back beside her, my hand holding hers. I felt her pinky between my index and middle finger, and her other fingers between my index and thumb. We held hands that way because of the difference in the sizes of our hands. I was with her again during that song, and no one else on earth could give me that. Mr. Weaver's gift was the greatest comfort to me on that day. And I don't want to let it go too long without saying so.

I've checked into my last hotel during this road trip. Tomorrow morning I fly back to my life.

All The Old Haunts

We arrived in New Orleans this morning around 1AM. The hotel is fantastic, and today we are shooting about visiting old haunts. It seems like such a long time ago I lived here. It is fantastic to be back; I wish I could stay longer.

I also benefitted from a deep-tissue massage today from a spa on Iberville in the French Quarter. I love feeling those shrills of tension leave through my scalp. I've only had one full-body massage before, and that one I accidently volunteered myself for. I was able to relax more fully a year ago, so I got more out of that one. This hour I spent allowing my thoughts to roam, breathing fully, and settling in after about 45 minutes.

Cell-Light Navigation

This evening as the sun set I realized for the first time that I won't need my cell phone's light as a flashlight to navigate around the bedroom any longer. I've used it that way for so long... Will it feel right to click on the lamp? How many times since Ali died have I cell-lighted around without thinking about it?

No matter how much I prepared for the loss, I couldn't think of it all. Each detail I overlooked topples me like a house of cards.

Dangit God, You're Right!

- Today I am reeling.

I’m not sorry for myself, but I feel bad for Ali. I am sorry that such a beautiful person was taken during such beautiful years of her life. She got robbed! Without faith that she is in a better place now, I would be floored. Devastated.
Life isn’t fair and I don’t expect it to be. Her cancer just chewed on her body. She was in so much pain. She handled it with so much grace. She just couldn't continue on as is.

- Last night I wobbled emotionally.

I asked the Lord if He was taking good care of her. I told him I needed a sign. I couldn’t take it anymore. And you know what? I got an answer! I couldn’t sleep so I turned on the light and read some more of a book that I’d been studying, totally unrelated to this situation or religion, and it read: “You have to know what you can know, and accept what you cannot know.” Or something just like that.

Dangit, God, You’re right.
And it was awesome. That is faith. Accepting the things you cannot know.

= I miss her so bad.

I kind of expected to have joined her by now. I didn't think two hearts so close would stay away so long. I have been expecting mine to throw in the towel.

- Dan and I left today for New Orleans.

I drove for twelve hours, starting at 2:15 AM and ending around 4 PM. When I got to the hotel room, I threw myself on the bed exhaustedly and thought: Gotta call Ali and tell her where I’m at. (2)

I can do this.

= Of my trip, I chose to take Skyline Drive through the Shenandoah Valley,
and was filled with the emotional opposite of a wobble. This is one beautiful world. Awesome job, God. I was overwhelmed with gratitude to be in it. Bouldering is good for the soul.

An Email To Ali on April 19, 2004 at 11:16:42 PM

I imagine a major difference between losing your soulmate now versus 10 years ago is this: instead of just finding their things around the house, you find them on-line. Ali had Yahoo!Mail, GMail, Picasa, KodakGallery, Netflix, PhotoBucket, iTunes, eBay, PayPal, CrazySexyLife, MySpace, Facebook, and I'm sure I'll find many more. An interesting note is that none of the above have disenrollment for Alison's reason, and they all contact you via email wanting your business back, even if you write the situation in the "(0) Other:" Box. Press 2 to complain about that.

But it's not all bad. A lot of the sites I go to have too many good things in them to simply close it down. Like in the real world, Ali saved everything in the cyber world too. Ali always had easy passwords... Here's an email I sent her on April 19, 2004 at 11:16:42 PM, I thought it tied into my last post by virtue of dorkiness:


Just seeing your shape in the bed makes me comfortable,

even if I was standing on coke bottles looking from across the room.


When you turn over once a night, I smile and drift into a new level of loving you.


When you help out around the house unexpectedly, I know you love me and I appreciate everything you do just a little more.


When you smile at me, the sun gets brighter.
When I quit being a dork, there is a burning love that you release after realizing that I am being normal.


I like when you want me to settle down.
I like it when I wake up before you, because that means you are sleeping well and are happy.


Your eyes are what makes you pretty.
Your nose is what makes you cute.
Your attitude is what makes you fun.
Your attention is what makes you sexy.


Root beer floats are sensual when you have the glass in your hand. (they're ugly otherwise)


I love taking care of you.
I love that you didn't get upset when I spilled a gallon of dirty motor oil in your trunk.
I love that you think I am a good Marine.


I love you.

Self-Squeegee

I ran for a long time this morning. Then I came home, grabbed my buddy's dog Rescue, and ran some more. I found out a few days ago that his will power is not what it should be, well, that and I'm deranged right now...
Anyways, I turned off the water to the shower and (I know this is odd), but I have really big hands and really short hair, so I squeegeed most of the water off my head before I grabbed my towel. Alison always thought it was dorky. Just to prove how dorky it is, I'll admit to shimmying like Rescue when he gets wet as well. What can I say, it saves a lot of towel wetness. I always justified it to Alison that way. "Your towel will be wet should you want to shower tonight. Mine will be dry."
In the final couple months Alison and I showered a lot together. It's not as sexy as it sounds; it was necessary because of her inability to get in and out by herself, the risk of falling, and her inability (because of pain) to wash her hair or anywhere below her thighs. So, quickly getting to the point, after I came back from D.C. she said, "Look sweetie, I adopted your squeegee." Then she giggled and used her hand to shed her hair's retained water. I was never so proud.
I miss her a lot. It's now been 10 days. Much longer than any other length we've gone without talking since we came together in 2001.
I miss her voice. Her giggle. Her smile. And it is SO nice to remember things like the self-squeegee acceptance. Maybe in another seven years she would have been doing the shimmy!
Press and hold 2.

No. 2

Yesterday was fantastic. I stood up-close with Mark Rothko's, Picasso's, Matisse's, Jasper John's, and even that bastard Pollock. (Which I might add were better in person and I hate him less now) I spent the afternoon in New York's Museum of Modern Art. I spent the evening lounging in Central Park. Then Times Square, and to round it off: a trip up the Empire State building. Not bad for a guy that had never been more northeast than Maryland.
It's the moments directly after these that hurt. There's a profound loneliness that burns.

There's no Alison to share them with.

I bought her a new phone a few weeks before she passed. It's one of those Music/Photo/GPS/Web touch-phones and I thought she'd like it. She used it maybe three times. But it's the phone I kept, and for a reason I couldn't have anticipated:
It's lacks the number 2.
For years when cool things happened, my index finger pushed "2". When I thought of something that I didn't want to forget, "2". When she crossed my mind and I thought I'd tell her I love her, "2". For any questions, press and hold "2".
Anytime I missed her, press and hold "2".
Speed dials on the new phone are names lined up. Of course, hers is not in it's current top-of-the-list position, but emotionally I can handle that better than my Pavlovian behavioral training, held singularly in the number 2.

In The Beginning (Third-Party Truths)

Friends have been emailing me with stories of Alison. If you were to read "Her Version of Our Story," you'd notice that she pointed out that I fell in love in the first weekend. She didn't say that she did as well, but now I have third-party verification:

"The one memory I wanted to share with you the most was the memory I have of Alison right before she went to New Orleans for the first time for the Ball. She was so anxious nervous and excited all at the same time. She was so nervous that you wouldn't be attracted to her. I will never forget driving her down in her car to the Indy airport and giving her a hug goodbye and telling her to have a great time.
It made me so happy when it was time to pick her up again and she was IN LOVE! She didn't even have to tell me what happened that weekend cause I could see it in her eyes, she was the happiest that I had ever seen her, and she was hooked on you! She would share with me the poems the two of you wrote back and forth and I was so happy for her."

Thanks, Katie, for your memories.