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.

Ink Can Be Upsetting

So that was an imperceptible break, wasn't it? I don't know what I want right now, so I can't be trusted to leave. Something happened yesterday that compels my return.
Paperwork.
In the service whenever a life change occurs, it's noted by writing the new information next to the old. Then you're supposed to initial next to the changes, indicating that they are both correct and intended. The changes had been made for me, and all I had to do was sign and initial. Sounds simple, but as I sat down with the folder of pages, the other part of the process caught me off guard.
Her name had a single line through it. So did her SSN. And her address.
Lined out.
Crossed out.
And it was the same on every subsequent page.
I welled up and bit the inside of my lip, and tried to understand how someone could do that. When you're grieving, I guess, good logic is hard to come by. I understand now, hours later, five states away. (I'm sitting at a breakfast table in Long Island) My reasoning to it now was that I saw the Almighty's new resident list, and she's arrived safely. It will be nice to have my own crossed off one day.

In an administrative note, I have a new cell number. My email is unchanged, so if you need me, email me. Thanks!

To Continue On

I read Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking in 2005 because of her reputation as a writer. I understand the words better now.
Ali surrounds me. My mind expects to see her as I round the corners in the house. My hand expects to press her speed dial number. Memories of her are saturated in everything I see. Her passion for life is stamped on every single thing we own. Today I spent most of the day in the garage, the one room where most everything were solely mine.
I don't know how to continue these blogs. I don't want to simply document my struggle, so I may hide myself away for a while. There are tons of letters, scrap pages, etc. that Alison crafted that I know deserve to be seen by all. I plan to show you with posts on her blog in the coming days. They each stand as singular blessings for me, and strengthen me.

The Most Difficult Day

Riding past corn fields, woods and hills, I felt as if I were going in for surgery... as if doctors were to remove my heart and place it in the ground.
But when the day was done, the surgery felt like an implant instead of a removal: it was as if the doctors had put a piece of my heart back in.
I felt a peace I hadn't known in some time.

Things I Never Wanted To Know

1) Everyone looks at you like you have the bubonic plague. And "widower" written across the forehead. They simply do not know what to say. I am really okay though, and wish humor would return. I need to print off a list of funny one-line or two jokes so I can break the ice better.

2) No one knows which way you'll feel. Do you want help, company, solitude? Even I don't know until I let my shoulders hang and put out my antennas to try and feel something.

3) Hunger stops. I've been getting headaches, stomach aches, etc, and wondering why until I realize that it's 2:47 and I haven't had as much as a sip of water.

4) Implied tasks get overlooked. This morning I left the water running. Yesterday I burnt the toast. Twice.

5) How the services and calling are arranged. All the tasks I never thought of.

A Poem Revisited

Alison and I began our relationship long-distance. It was instant love, starting on November 2nd, 2001. She came to New Orleans to be my date for the Marine Corps Birthday Ball. When she left, I wrote her a poem, which she felt obliged to keep (go figure) and paste it down into a scrapbook.

So tonight I am reading Ali's book, and likewise feel obliged to re-purpose the same words again.
I admit to changing a few now, but only because of some language errors:

"All My Thoughts Are Of You"

Right now the sun is setting.
Now the waves crash into the shore.
Right now the stars are roaming
Like all the nights they have before.

So why does the world seem different?
Why do those beauties not hold my gaze?
Because they will remain long after us
Long after we end our days.

It's your breaths that are beautiful
It's these moments that matter most.
You are the beauty that is setting
In mind you crash into the coast.

It's you that roams across the sky
It's you that fills my eyes.
For you are the one most precious
You're my lullaby.

So why does the world seem different?

Because it's you that fill my eyes.



So we're back into a long-distance relationship, love. I'm still yours.

Arrangements

In the months before Alison passed, she described her funeral as having pictures, friends and family, flowers and memories. I intend to make that happen for her.

Calling is from 2 to 4, and from 6 to 8 PM on Friday at the Mishler-Eastlund Funeral Home at 7458 E 1000 N in Syracuse, IN. Services will be held on Saturday in Mays, IN.

Alison wanted memorials to continue her fight against cancer by contributing to the American Cancer Society. I'll ask that only family provide flowers. Flowers and pictures.

If you feel compelled, you are most welcome to visit and bid adieu to Alison on Friday. Thanks friends!

Set Sail

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, "There, she is gone!"
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout;
"Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

-Henry VanDyke

Alison Frances Kline left port this evening at 1900 EST. She will be missed, but all hearts know that the one who she sails to will take far better care than I ever could.

I love you, Alison.

Surrounded By Love

When I arrived at the hospital this morning (Her mother and sister both stayed last night) I could tell something had changed. I'll omit all detail because they don't matter. Alison is now in in-patient hospice. She is surrounded by those who love her. My expectations of weeks have turned to hours. Time right now seems eternal. Eternal but irrelevant. There is time to say goodbye.
The gift of life is a precious thing. Hold it close and treasure every moment, and the moments in between moments. I sat outside this afternoon. The leaves were greener, luminescent. I small beetle was chewing the leaf of a potato plant.
It wouldn't be far from the truth to say I've discovered that it is possible to feel every emotion at the same time. They flood me. But through the tears I've learned to feel the better ones a little more.

Bad News Is Now Worse

This morning was the first morning I was really able to speak at length with the doctors since last week this time. I discovered that my hopes for the radiation are misplaced. The therapy is unlikely to allow her to regain her leg feeling and functionality. Nor her bowels or bladder.
The intent is solely to relieve her pain.
She cannot do chemotherapy at this point. Her body is failing her, and the chemo would be too much. It'd kill her faster than the cancer. I'd held off writing this for some time. But I can't get around the latest news.
She is relentless in her spirit. Faithful fighter. Never giving up.
She inspires me.
I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for the kind notes, the prayers and thoughts, and for being part of the 'team.'
Most of all I'd like to thank Alison for being my wife, walking through this life with me, showing me the meaning of love, and grace, and fidelity. Miracles are in God's hands, and so is Alison. One of my biggest revelations in this tragedy is that Alison is not mine. She is the Lord's. I am happy to have had her in my life. I am changed forever.
Thank you, Alison.

The Scoop

Hard to say it, but Ali's just not doing well. She got two pints of blood on Friday, and another two today. She's lost control of her bowels, and her legs. Her catheter has to be on a constant irrigation mode to prevent clots/blockages. She's on oxygen. She's in excruciating pain when she's awake, but she's mostly sedated all the time. I'm worried.
She is doing radiation on her back, which right now is causing all the problems. If her pain subsides, she won't need the medicine, and she'll get back her motor control and control of her digestive track, and she'll have the ability to get to the bathroom on her own. IE this radiation has to work.
Fingers crossed...



My little in-hospital photo project is going well. At first I thought it'd be really sad to rummage through old pictures, but I've found it to be the opposite. I smile. I laugh. I remember.

Have you ever seen a more beautiful profile?

A Thumb In A Stream

For as many thoughts and emotions I've articulated, there are so many more that I wish I could have captured.  This is my therapy.  

These posts have been like putting my thumb in a stream.  I've touched the surface at a single point, creating an eddy and ripples but letting so much go past.  

I should say that when I write a thought down it's more permanent than when I simply think it or express it in conversation.  And more than that it gets a sort of approval stamp from me when it's written down.  The stamp would have red ink and say in all caps: "ACCEPTED."  Accepted and capable of moving on.  In fact, it forces me to.

And at this time in my life, I am just hoping that my thumb plunges into the right spots in the stream, so that I can accept what I must and forget about the rest.  That we'll come through these times and be better for it, not ravaged by it. 

New Pictures

I've been retooling this page lately, and noticed that under my "Key Posts To Our Story" section, my Flickr Photo's are really sub-par. I've added a few of Alison and I from way back. A friend of mine mentioned that we didn't have any pictures online from before 2005. Those will come soon. So for now, just check back periodically, as this is a project I can do while sitting beside her.
I've also added contact information to my profile.