Solitaire

Adjective

Solitaire (comparative more solitaire, superlative most solitaire)

     1.  Living or Being alone; solitar

Recently I was organizing some of my old paper files, culling items which will no longer need to be referenced, and I came across a letter which I had written years before. Before now, long before now, but which has a direct bearing on this time and how I remember that time when the letter was originally written. It is another one of those memories that has to be put in it's 'right place'.

 At one point early on in our marriage, i had decided to go to school, I was working at the time, ...we had all three kids by then, 2,4,6, & DJ was working in the phone room of a large department store, she was the voice you might hear over the speaker system calling for a code 38 or something or reminding you that your lost child was in the customer service area.  I too was working, in the office of a large telecommunications company as a bill collector.  I didn't care for it, though it did pay the bills.  I had made some calculations and because of the number of dependents I had, the monthy check from the G.I. Bill would only be about few dollars less than what I was making working full time and I would only have to put in 20 hrs. a week, guaranteed weekends off...less the cost of the child care as I would be going at night, this could be a good deal...I was never really good in math, but I did understand value and I could always count my own money...think i'll go to school...

The first one I attended offered a course in business machine repair, typewriters, (back when folks used those) adding machines, copiers &ct...I liked that stuff, i always thought, "one thing about it, when they call me, it's already broke!" I managed to complete that course, and found myself liking the field...being outside on my own....offices filled with mostly females...Digital life came down the road so I decided to hop on it....I still had some eligibility left on the G.I. Bill, and with an extension to it, I could get a degree..."...let's see, what course to choose...ECT, Electronics Customer Tech, hot damn! That sounded sexy, I'm in". I attended a popular nationally base training institute and was able to hang on and graduate, the calculus notwithstanding.

Now, I know you're asking where the hell is the solataire, right, well, going back to when I started the second school my VA paperwork was lost in government bureaucracy hell...we only had DJ's income and the little money I made doing side jobs. That was the leanest time of our lives, ever, waiting for the paperwork to clear the VA and the school...well i'm going to school right, one month goes by, no check...no prob, we got a little money...school was about 30 blocks away, approx. 3 miles...I use to take the bus, DJ used the car for work...I would check with VA Rep at the school, nothing, paperwork still in the system...another month....same thing. This goes on for six months with the Rep saying, "Just don't stop coming...".  During this time, we still had a little money, but now we're looking at each other anxiously...the semester over, Christmas break and still nothing. All during this time when Iwould check with the Rep, he would say "Just trust me, I know it's tough, but don't stop coming to school!"....so it got down to me riding my bike to school right before Christmas that year, and the first part of the next, trying to save money, riding, along with the snow, slush and careless drivers; I carried a change of clothes...after Christmas we were broke, well, we had DJ's paycheck, and what now was very little that I was bringing in on the side, but the pickens' were slim. Our son was in private school then, and that school had to be paid...we managed to keep rent paid and food on the table. But you can imagine the tension in the house, not because of us so much, just the situation in general.                                                                                                             

I don't remember a lot of real arguments during this period, it was a time like what was describe by something I later read, as a 'quiet desperation' ; that described us perfectly during that time. I also  remember the way DJ would look at me sometimes, like, 'Uhhhh o.k. buddy what now, i'm doing what I can do....'. finally it got down to where we had only enough after rent and utils and food, to put gas in the car...I rode the bike, never had more that 2 bucks in my pocket. We both really were trying to do the right thing otherwise, but the system just had us jammed....classic case of we didn't have to do anything wrong or bad to end up in that situation, we were just trying to live. We really came together then for our common interest, keep roof over head, keep kid in school, keep food on table, life reduced to some very basic stuff. So for those 6 months or so, we lived on the margins. the kids ate even if we didn't, our son stayed in school, and no one out side of us two and our home, really knew what was going on with us. It really didn't bother me too much when sometimes the enormity of it all would hit us because deep down I knew we were doing the right things, but, DJ would cry and ask just what were we going to do; I tried to calm her, though truly terrified myself; I'd hold her and say,

"...Baby, fuck this world, it ain't going to beat us, look, we're trying to do the next right things here, so there's nothing 'right' left to do...but we're going to get through this shit, it's got us in a jam right now, but we're gonna' make it. This ain't gonna' beat us, me and you are going to stand back to back, ass to ass and we're going to fight the world, but it ain't going to beat us, it's me and you DJ, win, lose or draw, against the fucking world'.

I had no real idea of what we were going to do, but I really believed what I was saying...I think; We would take a deep breath, wipe each other's tears and get on with the struggle.

 This was winter time in Chicago, and you can imagine how long the evenings were, it got dark very early; after the kids were in bed we could have had the entire night to think about the shit we were in and worry, cable wasn't available yet, and we had no phone...but we didn't, no we played endless games of two handed solitaire...endless...and drank tea; steeping hot for her, mine would be iced.  For variety, every now and then, we would  switch over to Yahtzee, cirbbage, or scrabble; sometimes we even played gin rummy, with filled yellow legal pads keeping track of the money we would never pay one another, and probably never have; but it's the solitaire I remember, me, looking at all those hands and silently wondering what the hell we were going to do...we did that for those 6 months at night...almost every night.  The VA rep. had said, "Just keep coming to school, if you stop your paperwork will really be messed up, they have it, I've checked". Later I would come to understand why he stressed this so much. So we waited, we waited and played solitaire.  I think that's when we really began to be 'married', when we really began to understand what we were trying to do, and just what that required. As we played, we would talk about what we needed to do for the next day, did our son have the few cents he needed for school for whatever...about what future things we would do; I'm sure, though neither one of us ever said it, that we both were thinking "Just what the hell have I gotten myself into...".  But we gave each other strength during that time too and came to really enjoy each other much  beyond any carnal instincts we might have submitted to. Playing solitaire, talking, and drinking tea. I don't believe there is any counseling session anywhere that could have done for us what that simple game did.  It gave us something to concentrate on outside of the hell we were enduring, something just distracting enough, to allow us to be aware of the situation, but not be consumed by it. 

But I was also writing letters to every office I could think of..."The Penthouse VietNam Veterans Advisor" believe or not was finally our salvation. Within two weeks of writing them, I received a reply from them, my congresswoman and I started getting mail from the VA...Eligibility Certificate, big smile, then the checks, bigger smile. The Rep. had advised me to keep coming because he knew that I would be owed for every day I attended, starting with that very first day of school. We had also been waiting on a small settlement for DJ, and it too, came through at about this time. We could breathe again.

In the coming years those nights of solitaire were never far from our thoughts when Mr. Hardtimes made a visit to our house; we had come to call it our 'hungry time', it made many of these more recent problems seem like small fish. It defined a point for us from which we went forward with a different type of confidence and a greater, more reverent appreciation for one another...and, it gave us one more thing, trust. There's probably another three-thousand words just in that word trust alone, as it relates to DJ and I, but I won't attempt them now...

We still played solitaire on throughout our marriage, often...and not just in troubled times either; with the games seeming to take a lot longer now...not because we were unsure of the next plays, but I like to think, because we would get lost in our hands...thinking about that hungry time, remembering just how close we had become because of it and as we could now see, how much joy we had playing it too. It was truly a defining moment in our relationship; I think it was those times, which, as we played the various games, especially solitaire, when we   encouraged each other, and reassured each other, often silently, that we were on the right track and things would work out, that really gave our relationship it's true foundation, a relationship that although not perfect was, perfectly human; it's that part that I remember and miss now, remember without pain, though it is missed dearly...As I came across that letter,I thought about all of this and about how on that night when I told her, with tears in my eyes and an uncertain mind, that she and I would not only fight the world, but that we would win, win because even I knew we were doing the next right thing, and she really believed me, that's when our marriage not only passed the test, but it was admitted into the domain of a higher love and respect for one another. I truly believe that...now for sure, even if I really didn't believe or understand it then.

332Ifs

" ...an accumulation of if's..."

A while back I was reading a book on the origins of WWI by Barbara W. Tuchman, The Guns of August, it detailed the many causes for the beginning of that tragic event. At one point in the book she goes through some of those causes in depth, generally stating; what if this country had not done this, what if that country would have done that, how  some countries could have avoided it all together if....how it might not have happened at all if certain alliances had not been in place.  She details a lot more reasons, but what I'm getting at is the title of the section that described all of this: "An accumulation of if's".  

I am finding that in some respects, that title can be used to describe some of the pain and regret many of us have when dealing with our grief.  To some degree it is only natural that we would replay the sequence of events leading up to our loved one's demise in our minds over and over, and wonder if we did all we could to keep them comfortable, to keep them well, to keep them with us, we have to, it is such a powerful event.  Many of us in our minds, intellectually, can understand what the ramifications of our diagnosis was, we can mentally grasp to some extent what is indicated when we are told that there was a terrible accident, and although as terrible as it is, yes, we can even digest that horrible moment if we wake to find our partners next to us, no longer alive.   Some of us have had to make the rounds to the various healing centers in our attempts to find the cure for what has ailed our mates and have tried every new technique that was offered in order to keep them with us.  For those of us here now, it may all seem so futile, because our partners are gone and the questions remain.

"...what if I had only...."

In my own case I believe we were fortunate, there are only a few 'what if's'.  The diagnosis was given and accepted as a stark reality of our life for whatever time was left, after that, we purposely did everything with that reality in mind.  During some of our more intimate talks, as we discussed the situation, Donna would sometimes say " what If I wansn't dying, wonder what we would be planning', we would go on on to talk about what she would really like to do next. The situation really skewed our perception of the future, although not a false future, it was distorted in a strange way.  We made it a point to try and make sure there were as few 'what if's' as possible; Vegas this year, not next, the all day shopping excursion for our daughters and her, this week, not next; that new bed and living room furniture, now, not tomorrow.   Can we afford it?  Well, we couldn't afford the kids either, but we had them, didn't we.  The only 'what if' I really think about these days is what if it didn't happen at all.  I know there are many others that have a lot more of those ' what if's' than I can ever imagine, for them I am truly sorry that they must endure what must surely be a special mental hell.  We are told that we should not torture ourselves with the question, but how can we not?  This too is human nature and as I'm finding out, it may be a necessary part of the grieving process.  By doing it, we attempt to reassure ourselves that we did everything possible to insure that our loved ones were comfortable, were well as could be, and remained with us for as long as possible; that our actions were the best for the situations we faced, I think we feel the need to forgive ourselves, although it really isn't required.   

For those still grappling with the almost impossible task of deciding if the right thing was done I can only offer this: although the answer may not come as soon as you like, especially not in that early time in the heat of grief when passions run high, we must remember that the bottom line is that we were dealing with what was best for the person we cared about the most.  Any decision regarding them would almost by necessity have to be the best one because we know that at least in this case, we only had their best interest at heart.  Because of the final result we may feel that our best wasn't good enough, that there is something else we should have done; "...what if I had woke up earlier?",  "...what if we had only...",  "what if I had checked...",  "...what if we had tried..."

"...what if...".  

I personally have come to believe that the outcome of the struggle we were involved in was settled long before any decision I made had been implemented.  

For us left to ponder the 'what if's', of our given situation, it may serve us well too remember that the accumulation of if's can overwhelm us, can lead us into a maze of no escape and in the end provide no answers to to a question which may always seems so important to us, but one which I personally think is too elusive.  I believe that, hard as it may be, we have to try to find a proper place for the 'what if's' if we are to move through the grief and gain some measure of peace.  We have to try to do what is surely one of the most difficult things for human beings to do:  admit that some things are just out of our control.  For sure, this is not always an easy thing to do and we cannot put all of them to rest, not totally, but at least maybe we can learn to live with them as a real part of our humanity without having them keep us in such a constant state of flux and pain.  At this point you might expect to find a line or two about us having to forgive ourselves or some other grossly overused appellation, don't bother, it ain't here; we did our best, it's as simple as that, there's really nothing to forgive.  

It is often said we are only as good as our last success, while I don't totally subscribe to that, I like to think that what we felt, how we loved, and the many things we did for those we love was a great success unto it self and one that does not really require constant review. 

{note to self}

 what if i didn't make my point clear...what if this is too long...what if this is too short...what if..

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“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere I go, you go), my dear…” -eecummings

NeckingToo

-One of the biggest blocks to healing grief from profound loss is the subconscious belief that we cannot be healed—that we are not worthy of more happiness than we are currently feeling and that we do not contain the elements of healing that will move us forward.-                     (unknown)

There was surgery of course, something to do with Titanium wires and the fusing of vertebrae, requiring that a section of bone be removed from my right hip to affect the repair to my neck. That particular procedure left a gaping 2 inch hole back there that flowed for a while and required constant attention and one that I could not reach; another memento I have is  a 5 inch healed slit which runs down the center of the back of my neck. Before I left the hospital I was awarded a crown for my performance on the roof that morning, something called a 'halo'; I am told that mine was considered to be of the more milder sort as these devices go, still, it appeared monstrous; with a metal band for the head, shoulder rests, belts and cinches to beat the band and a particularly nasty metal plate that ran down the rear of it. It had 4 metal rods which extended from those shoulder rests, angling, to connect with that metal band which ran around my forehead; the dr. said that it would restrict movement of the wounded area and help the fusion take; it took some time to get used to it, and to get in and out of, I couldn't sleep in it, and whenever I was out of it, I had to lie perfectly flat, pillows on either side of my head; Donna had to do the washing of me that was required, again pillows while the task was completed; but after a while I did became very adept at turning my entire torso to view things which once had only required a quick swivel of the neck. I have no idea how I looked in it, I never challenged a mirror while I wore it, but it must have not looked too bad because during this period, Donna seem to grow a slight smile on her face whenever she looked at me. To this day I am convinced that our children enjoyed it a lot more than I did; for the three months or so which I had to wear it, there was more laughter, although somewhat muffled, coming from their rooms than there had been for some time.

As I recalled this entire episode now, forced to by the unrelenting stare of the buzz word, written in bold black Sharpie: FOOL!, the two o's staring blankly back at me, as if their blankness indicated the prospects for my future; I admitted it, yes, I had been a fool, especially during that time of our lives. But I won't be condemned to that role in the new, different life, not entirely; I will never survive if this is a truth. At the start of this, all I could think of was the foolish things I did, of how poorly I had behaved, that had taken me to point of throwing myself away.  But now, I realize that dwelling on only that, I would soon make it a reality and it just  doesn't have to be like that.  I remembered how Donna cared for me, cleaning my body, and the wound left by the surgery; how she helped me to get in and out of that device when necessary; all normal wifely duties...not so much in this context. She had not said much more than what had been said in the hospital room that first night, and the silence about the entire situation, roared. I remembered how, during those long days of recovering, I had made promises to myself to go forward and sin no more. How I would be a better father to the kids, and a better husband and friend to her. I thought about why I had not died or been paralyzed and swore to the Lord himself that there would be a new me. Of course having an addictive nature such as mine, as soon as I healed enough to go outside without the device, I promptly reneged on every resolution I had made and violated even the most heartfelt promises made to Donna, since I knew everything; the only promise I made that I kept, was not to get hurt like that again, and I never did; I did not stop practicing, but I did stop going up on roofs.

Now, I think about how this memory attempted to devour me that first week after her death, how it tried to consume me before I was able to put it aside for later; before I had a better understanding of shock; before any idea of 'waves of grief' had entered my vocabulary and  mind, it hung before me, offering only a future of deep pain and unending misery; a future I had already made up my mind about and had decided I would not endure. Now, I think I can 'put it in it's place', I can better understand what was happening between Donna and myself. I think we were facing some of the true challenges of a relationship, with our reactions to them indicating whether it was special or not. Through this and other 'bumps' in our road which we managed to get over, I think we did develop and have that special relationship.

Finding a comfortable spot for all of this is not necessarily easy, maybe it's not suppose to be,I am finding it to be a very messy and at times, disjointed process. I don't really know...What I do believe is, that if I am to really move forward, If I am to survive this grief, I will have to deal with these types of memories squarely and honestly. I for one cannot sit like a  rock in the middle of this stream of uncertainty, not moving, but allowing the waters of pain, regret and despair to wash over and past me, eventually eroding my spirit to an insignificant grain. I have to move towards associating myself with all the currents that comprise the river of grief. For me, I intend to have the word 'stuck' remain in reference to doors and to the condition of some unfortunate pig I hear about from time to time. There is only so much regret we can endure; there is only so much attempting to weigh the consequences of our past actions we can balance. During a critical time in my life, I had someone who demonstrated just how important I was to them, that's what I'm missing today, that person; the loss of that person has caused this personal gloom I am surrounded with. But I am finding that the loss does not have to destroy me, that though extremely painful, it can be survived. I'm sure the situation we faced is not unique in itself, but it was unique to us; it helped to further define our relationship and produced the bonds that make our being separated so damn hard for me now.

I don't think I'm anywhere near being through this grief, I'm sure there are other areas of this in which I will find different things that will force me to confront them, though they cause pain and force self examination at an entirely different and probably unwanted level. But unlike that first week after Donna died, I feel I'm in a better position to work on them and accept the results of that work. As I've mentioned before, this is just my experience, I am not attempting to speak for anyone else, and although as foggy and fragmented as my future may appear to be, some of these things of my past have been placed in sharp focus in many instances, inasmuch as they relate to any future I might have, and have begun to clamor for attention. It can be said that Donna did what any wife is suppose to do, stand by their mate through thick and thin, and although that may well be true, what I am trying to deal with here is not so much what she did, but what the effect of her doing it, has had on me. I am finding that the pieces which make up this different life come in many shapes and sizes but it appears at least that they are all there, including the piece which represents Donna's absence.

I am willing to believe that all the things mentioned in the quote at the top of these pages could be true; that somehow deep inside ourselves we could believe we can't be healed. But I'm not buying it as a proven fact; I can be healed, I have to be healed. I am on a personal mission to change that belief in my own life if it exists there. Just because it's a belief, doesn't mean I have to make it a fact of my reality. So, into the memories that cause me pain I go, crying, kicking, and screaming against any preconceived notions that the current state of things cannot change, that I am to be haunted for the duration by doubts and regrets concerning the death of Donna, that somehow I am now merely a 'half' of something which was once whole and beautiful or some such nonsense, to hell with that; my better half is not missing or dead, it never existed; what did exist was a complete whole person I loved deeply. I have never been half of anything, I have even done some half-assed things, but they were done totally, 100 per cent; I was a part of a very whole relationship. I, am whole; half of me does not miss her, all of me misses her; this feeling of profound loneliness is not going to be the title page of my new life now, and all of the trappings of grief listed as the index, that doesn't have to be; I'm pushing against anything that even hints that I cannot be healed. I am insisting that my current state of happiness moves past some grotesque sham carried on to please others and make the rest of the world breathe easier as they want to believe I'm doing alright, "fakin' it just ain't makin' it"; I believe that the parts needed to heal reside in each of us, but I also believe that we have to execute the initiative and begin to try and fit those parts together.

This, and memories like it will be with me until the day I die, but I am determined that most of the pain associated with them will not be there if I can recall them at my end. I think they can and will change, but only If I am willing and can accept that I too, can change. 

Now, what's next..

Pax

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“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere I go, you go), my dear…” -eecummings.

NecKing

-One of the biggest blocks to healing grief from profound loss is the subconscious belief that we cannot be healed—that we are not worthy of more happiness than we are currently feeling and that we do not contain the elements of healing that will move us forward.-                     (unknown)

As I stirred, I remember thinking, (dreaming?) "I'd better change positions or my head is gonna' be killing me in the morning, I'll have a cramp..."...I drifted back to sleep.  Mercy, now, my head actually hurting is what forced me to try and open my eyes.  As I did, I saw an outline in white and I could hear a somewhat familiar voice saying  "...they think this M-th--F--ker has broke his G-ddamn neck....".  Yes, I recognized that voice, and it made me try to focus on the outline, It was Donna, she was not being angelic.  At the time she was a few weeks away from graduating from Cosmetology school, and they wore white uniforms. I tried to raise my head to see just what the hell was going on, as I did so, a spasm of pain like a powerful electric shock started at the top of the back of my head and coursed down through my neck. It stopped all attempts by me raise up.  To this day, other than the mostly invisible but equally powerful pain that grief has brought to me, I have never felt anything else like that. Being unable to bring myself up, I laid back down and things in the room came into better focus. It was a hospital room...I was in a hospital room...and along with Donna, standing there, next to the bed, was her sister (uuhh, oh), with arms folded across her chest, and the classic "You really did it this time a--hole..." expression on her face, which in no way interfered with her regular look of disdain and animosity which had always been reserved just for me. Today I realize that her particular way of viewing me had not only been earned by me, but was well deserved and a comparatively mild reaction to my behavior during those times, which probably deserved something much stronger than the stare I was currently absorbing.'

Evidently I had taken(?) a fall; That morning I had started out to finish touching up the trim on some dormer windows I was painting. The memory of going up to the roof of the small back porch which gave access to the house roof proper was still very clear. Assembling the necessary materials and the laying of drop cloths was quite vivid. Then I remembered I had sat on a window frame for refreshment, I was practicing* at the time; but after that things get a bit fuzzy. That back porch roof was about 12-15 feet in height,with a fairly steep pitch, and I do recall tying myself off, using the chimney as the anchor and attaching the other end of the rope to my waist. As I worked along the width of that roof I slipped on some paint which I had failed to clean-up right away and I remember dropping everything from my hands and grabbing the safety line. As I fell, face forward on the roof grasping that rope which at some point should have tightened around the chimney and stopped my slide, I remember sliding towards the edge and watching the other end of that rope slipping quickly past me, never reaching the point of getting any tighter and wondering why. The rope at the chimney must have gotten caught on something because for a few seconds, after having slid completely off the roof, I was dangling, upside down, staring at the concrete walkway in back of the house. I was holding my entire weight and in my shape that didn't last long; I knew I was going to meet that concrete, and I remember thinking maybe if I try to swing a bit before I let go, maybe it won't hurt so much...well, I don't know if it hurt or not, the last thing I remember is the letting go of my end of the rope as my hands tired and begin to burn, next, I was looking at that white outline. It seems the homeowner's son had found me laying on that concrete walkway as he came home for lunch from school.

All this came to mind the other day as I thought about Donna and how much I was missing her; about how much she had always done to take care of me.  I thought about why had I been so fortunate to have her in my life, about how during this time she had really taken care of me, despite my being a certain "...this Mo-th--F--ker...", at that particular moment. The last few years leading up to this hospital room had been a challenge for our marriage for a variety or reasons, mostly due to things that I had done, but she remained. This memory reminded me of just how much I have lost and the pain pierces me right to my core. 

A bit later, Donna and her sister were joined by a doctor, I remember him saying something about evidently the ride from the first hospital I had been taken to must have jostled something, and now it appeared that I wasn't paralyzed, but that I had managed to crush or fracture the 4th,5th, and 6th cervical vertebrae, and that surgery would be required. He continued that I was in one of the best spinal units in the country(Northwest Memorial, Chicago) and that my chances for full recovery were good...I went back to sleep. The next time I woke up I was looking into Donna's face, full frame it seemed, but somehow weird...tho still a bit groggy I recognized that face; as my head although hurting like hell, cleared I began to understand what was going on. Lying face down, strapped to a type of bed known as a Stryker, I was seeing her reflection in a mirror.  This was not the newer type beds, this Stryker bed allowed you to be strapped to it and rotated every two hours as i would soon find out. Donna was there, so were our children, her sister and her sister's daughter who was about 6 yrs. old at the time. As Donna told me what had happened, as I didn't remember anything, I was shocked; I had fallen off that roof and nearly broken my neck...had been declared paralyzed by one Emergency Room and then, brought to this hospital; she explained the situation to me and I started to cry. I think I was crying more from embarrassment than anything else; I was laying, strapped to this Da Vinci type contraption dressed in a hospital gown and my ass covered with a diaper, worse I could only move my arms, any attempts at moving my head, produced tremendous lighting bolts down my neck and back. There were thin cables hanging from this bed with weights attached to the ends of them and strung through some type of metal band around my head; it was some type of thing like a gimbal, the balancing points of which were evidently screwed into each side of my head, I know this for a fact because any slight movement of my head produced a eerie crunching sound which only I could feel and hear. I remember the 6 yr. old asking me if those pins hurt because of the way they went all the way thru my head...

As the others went to sit in the waiting room, and Donna and I were alone, she cried, she cried and gave me the litany of my sins, not just about this incident, by my complete body of work to that point in our marriage; I think she took the opportunity because for now, this one time, I could not escape it. I was reminded of my many transgressions and about how all of this was not necessary, about how could I be so selfish and unthinking; about how, if I really loved her could I do this to her...it was a stinging rebuke of a lot of the things I had done to that point. But what I remember about it now is the sheer pain it brought to her face, the pure disappointment it declared on her expression.  As I recalled this entire sequence, I cried, I cried because of the realization of the pain I had caused her at that time, because of how I had failed her in this and appeared to have betrayed the love she had for me. This is one of those memories that had come early in this journey to me, probably because of the gravity of that situation. I had chosen not to deal with it then, in those early days after her death, but I had a feeling it would be coming back; I wrote a buzz word on a post-it and put that post-it on the mouse side of the laptop table; I have been seeing that post-it every day for almost 4 1/2 months, now I have to deal with it. After having learned something about the grieving process now, I realize that I cannot avoid how this makes me feel; I have to feel and ingest it all, now, in the context of attempting to go forward. The pain of personal regrets for me cannot be carried forward, I don't think that pain has a place in a 'new' life for me, the memory will not go away, but the deep pain has to. The thought of having brought so much misery to Donna during that time could not be adequately dealt with so soon after her death, but as I examine it now, I am finding a place for it, a better place...

END of PART ONE

*commonly used by those in recovery circles to denote drinking or other substance use

KnowECG

As a lot of the shock has worn off and the fog of grief has begun to lift, the new reality, new to me anyways, has started to set in.  The various emotions elicited by the loss of such an intense relationship has covered the entire spectrum, love, hate, loneliness, disgust, outrage...and on.  As I was thinking about all of this early on, I tried to equate it with something else, anything else like it which has happened in my life to somehow get a reference point.  For me the closest event I could recall is the death of Early C.G.  ECG are the real initials of someone I knew some time ago, he was a 20yr. old from Cincinnati, like me had been drafted and we were both in SouthEast Asia at the time, I have seen his name on the wall, in person, so I know all of this happened, I know this was real...I knew him for 10mos., and when I say knew him, I mean I really knew him...and, he knew me.  I'm sure you have heard before how the bonds developed while enduring traumatic situations are exceptional and I for one can attest to the validity of that proposition, at least in our case that was true.  Our particular trauma was a war and he and I lived through some very should I say exciting, If not altogether desired times.  He and I became very close during those months, maybe because we were both city guys, maybe because we both love to talk about cars, maybe because we found facing possible death, easier with one another...whatever the reason, we  connected.  

ECG and I shared almost everything, from long distance disruptions in our relationships with our special ones through the mails, to hard crackers and cold chili, right down to 2ft. deep holes that we used for sanitation. We probably knew more about one another than our own families did in a lot of respects at that point, and this is one thing that both my relationship with Donna and with ECG shared; the high end emotional investment.  Of course, on many levels it was different with my wife, it had to be, but in some areas it was just as deep, and just as cherished. ECG and I pulled duty together, we fought together, laughed together, we bent the rules together, watch our buddies die together and we cried together.  We truly liked each other and for sure loved one another and would have, and did, in a lot situations, do whatever was necessary for the other.  Again much like the relationship I enjoyed in a different venue with Donna.  In those first early days, when I thought Donna's loss would destroy me, as I teetered on the edge, I thought about ECG a lot, it was the only thing I could remember which had anything approaching a similar effect; some years ago my dad died, and I was sad, but not like this; a few years later my youngest brother was killed in an automobile accident.  He and I had shared a special relationship, but his loss had not been close to what I was feeling now, this feeling about Donna's loss.  But, ECG, now, as I wrestled with the almost impossible to believe fact that Donna was gone, his loss came to mind.  I think I was looking for some type of sign post, some way to gain a perspective in order to deal with what was surely the worse thing that had happened to me so far, Donna's death.

As the time drew near for ECG to prepare for coming home from overseas, and as I was only a couple of weeks behind him in leaving, we were brought in from the field together.  They housed us in separate areas, ha! No matter, we ended up staying in the same billet anyway.  ECG and I had grown to enjoy the fruits of mother nature, and it was not unheard of to find us laying on one of the beaches of the South China Sea, blowing smoke and idling our time away as we waited for our tour of duty to come to an end; we might, watch a volleyball game or go for a swim, but not often, much of our time was spent explaining to one another the various images we could make out in the clouds that appeared to be painted on that beautiful blue sky. We blew smoke and dreamed our own private dream of going home; man, I loved that sky.  

A few days before he was scheduled to leave we organized an afternoon going home beach party for ECG, I along with guys from other units whom we both knew, scrounged the necessary goodies, found a good spot on the beach and proceeded to raise hell.  At one point, after the giving of gifts, the making of promises to stay in contact, and a lot of crying and lying, ECG along with some of the other guys decided to go for a swim.  The party on land continued.  Later, as the sun began to set and guys strayed in from the water we all gathered around the fire and talked.  Eventually I realized that ECG was not there; it was dark now, and we strolled the beach looking for him, thinking maybe he had joined other gatherings on the beach, we checked latrines, other parties which were going on, boathouses and the like, no ECG.  Maybe he had met someone he knew and they had tripped off.  The later it got the more worried we became, after a few hours we had to give up searching due to darkness and a slow realization that maybe something had happened to him.  I went back to our area, where we shared sleeping quarters, no ECG.  His things were there, packed, just as he had left them earlier that very afternoon.  I was in a panic the entire night; EGC and I always ended the day the same way, a smoke and a soda. The next morning, at formation, no ECG, at morning chow, no ECG, line up for detail, no ECG,  time to watch clouds, no ECG...I just knew something was wrong.

Later it was determined that ECG had drowned in the South China Sea that night; evidently taken out by an undertow, like so many others, his body was never recovered. As I sat and thought about the loss of Donna, this entire memory of ECG returned to me; I had not thought about it in a long, long time.  Now it appeared with such vividness that it unsettled me. I remembered how, back then, I was stunned at the thought that ECG was gone, would not be catching that freedom bird back to the States...I remembered how dismayed I felt as I watched the two soldiers from Graves Registration clear his locker and pack his belongings which were right next to my own bunk, somehow I felt offended at them handling his things.  That was the saddest day for me, not only of the war, but of my life to that point.  I loved ECG, and for two days I did nothing but lay on my bunk; First Sergeants do not get to where they are by being stupid, and ours was no exception, no one said a word to me about missing formations or about not showing up for details, I was ready if anyone had; the fact that we all had rifles may have played a part in that, I don't know. Being only really able to cry when I was alone somewhere or at night by pressing my face deep into the pillow to smother the sobs, because at that time, men, especially soldiers were simply not allowed to display that emotion in the open, I cried, I remembering crying my ass off.  I'm sure part of that crying was about the war and other buddies we had lost, about sensing that gazing at the sky would never be the same again, about all of it, but I could only think of ECG and how he would not be making that trip back home, not alive at any rate.  

There was serious grieving going on there, I just didn't realize it.  Not the exact type associated with Donna's departure, but a strong and powerful grief just the same. Of course at that time I had coming home to look forward to, I had a child I had never seen to acquaint myself with,  and although that also was a traumatic event, maybe these things helped ease the loss of ECG somehow.  Now all those things and more have become history in my life, I'm not certain just what there is to look forward to, but I hope there is...something, I want to have faith that there is.  I want to look forward to something, almost anything, but confusion and uncertainty are reigning supreme at the moment and while one moment the future appears bright and hopeful, at other times it shows itself as bleak and unwelcoming.  I am trying to convince myself that no matter which of these it turns out to be, I will face it and somehow make it through.  The differences between the two losses in some ways appear to be so great, but I think that at the core of both of them is one common thread: the pain, devastation  and sadness of loss for a truly special relationship.  I am truly trying to have faith that just the next 24hrs will be, not necessarily better, but will at least reveal that progress is being made.

So, it continues as we try to move forward... 

   

28-Places

It all seemed so eerily familiar,the place I was at now, so recognizably welcoming; I had been here before, and the thoughts of the events that took place at that time both terrified and relieved me.

Yes I had visited that place previously, in now what seemed like a very long ago time.  At that time, as I sat and contemplated ending it all, I looked around me; The project I had been working on was complete, the work had been satisfying and the finished job was well done, the check was in the bank and all should have been right with the world, but it was not. At that time, as now, I sat there feeling empty and lost.  This could not go on, the feelings of futility and helplessness that had overtaken me had to end.  I could endure it no longer; these feelings were not being caused by the loss of a loved one or because of some great family tragedy, no, this was a mess of my own making and I was sick of it; I was a hopeless alcoholic and I had needed no help in becoming one.  Having spent over 20yrs doing all the senseless and destructive things alcoholics do, I had reached the end of the line, and at this point another drink would not help, even if I could take it.  As I sat there, shaking, barely able to focus I felt I knew what had to be done, and I had the means to do it.  I thought about the aftermath, how the children might feel, what Donna would have to go through and said to hell with it all, selfish Fred was in charge; I was in pain and the selfish me had convinced myself that this had to end.  In an attempt to justify what I was about to do, I went over my other choices to see if other options were viable and to see if they all had been honestly examined …from some where inside me came some answers.  It struck me like a bolt of lighting, I had never really made any attempts to get sober, never any honest attempts; weighing the alternatives, I decided to make a truly honest and rigorous attempt at doing so.  That episode of our life is another story for another time, but i do not drink today. This current series of events, the diagnosis of cancer for Donna and the ensuing attempts at healing, the anticipation, the fear, the dread and the eventual end, the whole gamut of human emotions surrounding such a thing had brought me back to that place.

The resulting pain and anguish that losing Donna caused can only inadequately be described, and really only understood by those in similar circumstances.  Although we had almost four years from the date of diagnosis to the inevitable result, I was utterly unprepared and totally stunned when that result occurred.  So once again I was back at that place which I had visited those many years ago, and apparently for the same reason; to escape the pain, to escape myself.  And now as I sat there, wallowing in stinging pain and self pity, a self pity I thought I surely deserved, I contemplated the final act.  Again, the thoughts of the aftermath came to mind, again how the children would react, what others would say, of the stigma that would be attached to our family forever, I again said to hell with it.  This was too much for me, I had to feel better, I could not stay in this current state of mind and survive, Fred needed relief, and this was to be it.

The memories of those final weeks, days and moments were just too much for me to take; watching her go from vibrant and active to being relegated to a static and listless existence was one of the most difficult things I have every done.  I understand that I am not the only person who has ever had to go through such a thing, but this is about my experience and how it affected me. The images of her slowly losing her ability to speak, to maintain basic human functions, to watch the person I cared most about in this world becoming unable to focus on the ones she loved, to agonize as, at the end, she faded in and out of consciousness and then melt away was just too much.  I would not relive those images over and over for the rest of my life, I could put a stop to that right now.

 

The time limit I had set for feeling this way, feeling this pain, was coming to an end and things had not gotten any better, 2-1/2 months after Donna had died I still felt the same way I had felt in that early morning hour when she had slipped into death; when I had sat there holding her, watching her draw her final breaths…sat there, helpless to do anything but recall our life together and wonder why it all had to be this way; silently reliving the many events of our lives together, knowing there would be no more.  With tears streaming down my face, I told her how much I loved her and how she had shown me in countless ways how much she cared for and loved me and, how I probably had not earned all that caring and love; reminding her that she was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me and that I would try to be forever worthy of the love she had shown me.  And, as her chest heaved for the final time and I laid her back, I slowly slid to the floor next to the lounger and buried my head in her lap and cried.

Now, as I recalled all of that, I went over all my attempts to deal with the grief that followed those events.  All the research, all the reading, all the talks with family and friends, even the sessions with grief groups and counselors…none of it had helped block the enormous weight of pain I was feeling.  But in these last few hours of my self-imposed deadline, as I did the final review, I stumbled upon a lifeline, something which helped me find a way out of that place; it was not something grand or spectacular per se, not something so much of promotion, but of attraction.  To take advantage of It required no great effort on my part and only needed me to reach out and make a few keystrokes.  After availing myself of what it had to offer I was able to come out of that place, I was able to see that maybe, just maybe, there was a solution to the pain, that there was hope.  My thoughts of an ‘ending’ has been turned into a new beginning and I am reveling in it; no, all the pain has not left, not the sense of abject sadness either, it still exists, it and the loneliness, they’re all still there, but understood a whole lot better.   But there is also something else with me these days, that is hope;  I’ve found that this is what I was missing and what I needed to ease my pain and to help get me out of that place.

I have found that hope here.  I might have found it somewhere else, I don’t know, what I do know is that time was running out for me and I found it when I needed it.  I will be forever grateful for that, ‘nuff said.

pax

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“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere I go, you go), my dear…” -eecummings