Here I Go Again on my Own...

The view from the train, from Los Angeles to Camp Widow in San Diego

Being here in the United States on my own this week has been a very enlightening experience.  I have had moments of feeling vulnerable and isolated and also moments of incredible confidence, like I can take on the world.  After my husband died it's been a struggle to adjust to being alone again. I know I can do things without him - I just don't want to.  Travelling to America was at the top of the list of things we were excited to do together and it was a pretty big deal for me to book this trip without him, it was always going to be a tough one.  

When I started making plans for this trip to Camp Widow I was initially going to be heading over with another widow from Australia and was really glad to have a buddy with me.  To be honest, I don't think I'd have had the courage to book this holiday if I knew I'd be coming on my own.  But about a month out my friend had to cancel due to some financial issues and for me it was too late to turn back.  

I'm a fairly capable person and certainly comfortable in my own company, so I figured, 'thats ok - I will be fine.  I'm a big girl, I've lived in London and travelled to countries that don't even speak English... I've got this' however I neglected to realise that I always had a friend with me on these previous adventures.  Yes these adventures were challenging but there was always someone to watch my luggage when I needed to visit the restroom; or weight in on decisions about where to eat or what direction we thought the bus/hotel was when lost; or turn to and say 'wow - look at that!' when I discovered something beautiful or saw an iconic land mark for the first time.

When I touched down at LAX at 6:30am on Monday morning the reality of travelling alone hit me pretty quickly.  For a start, I couldn't find the shuttle bus I'd pre-booked and had to work that one out for myself without turning to a companion and saying 'what should we do/where should we look?' (I finally spotted the sign on the curb after wandering around for a bit). 

Secondly I saw all the palm trees and realised I was FINALLY in California and felt excitement bubble up inside me and a big goofy grin appear on my face.  I had the urge to turn to someone and say 'I'm here!'.  But there was no one.  The bored-looking shuttle bus driver didn't care, I couldn't call or text anyone because everyone in Australia was asleep and the international call would cost a bomb, I didn't know a soul in the USA and I couldn't even check in on facebook and post a picture (my default method of communication when I'm bored or lonely) because I had no access to internet.  So I just sat in the moment and absorbed it, which was actually really nice.  

Over the course of this past week I realised, I COULD do this.  I started trusting myself again, listening to my instincts and learning to read my own thoughts and feelings - what did I WANT to do next?  What did I FEEL like eating.  When I got lost, I had to pick a direction, back myself and walk.  If it ended up being the wrong way, I simply turned around and walked back the other way.  Granted, sight seeing isn't as fun without someone to share the excitement with, but in general I've actually liked spending time alone - it's made me more in tune with myself. 

I also haven't felt concerned for my personal safety, but knowing I'm here in this country alone with no one to call for help or bail me out has brought up some scary thoughts around what I would do if I hurt myself. Or what would happen to me if I were to die suddenly.  This one has been on my mind a lot - to the point where I've written a note in my purse with my family's contact details back in Australia should I get hit by a car or suffer a sudden heart attack.  I know it's pretty morbid to think and talk this way (sorry to my mum who reads this, I promise I'm doing my best to make sure I come home safe and sound!) but for us widows and widowers, it's a reality that we will never escape.  

Having been faced with Dan's sudden and unexpected death, I now have a sense of my own mortality in a way that wasn't quite real before.  Obviously I KNEW we would all die one day but I truly believed it was something I wouldn't have to deal with until I was much older and wiser and better equipped to handle the harsh realities of life.  

I think a lot, not only about my own death, but those close to me.  The thought that I could lose someone else I love is almost too much to bear.  I know that it's inevitable but I am not ready to feel that kind of pain again.  I was laying awake at 3am this morning thinking about this (wondering if I had a blood clot, from the 13-hour flight, slowly making my way to my heart) and realised the thought of my own death didn't scare me as much half as much as it used to.  For a start, I'd get to go and be with my darling Dan - where ever that is - and secondly I wouldn't be aware of what I was missing.  In a weird way, I think that of all the people devastated about Dan's death, he's not at the top of the list.  

The thing that scares me is the affect my death would have on those who love me.  I never want my sister, my parents or my closest friends to feel the pain that ripped through me when Dan died.  I don't want them to have to make decisions about my funeral and my possessions, I don't want them to miss me at celebrations and on holidays, I don't want them to grieve.  I wouldn't wish that agony on anyone.  

Unfortunately Dan and I weren't blessed with enough time to try for a family but I can't even imagine how those of you as sole parents with children handle that fear.  I can't even bring myself to write about it because I couldn't pretend to do it justice. But I feel for you. 

On that note, I am going to stop thinking about death for now and enjoy this magical view on the train ride to San Diego (I am actually writing on Thursday because I know once I hit Camp Widow tomorrow I might have trouble finding some spare time and focussing!).  

Wall - Part 1

When I was a kid, I always had a love/hate relationship with the two-parter episodes of Happy Days.  I could remember watching Fonzie about to jump across a line of buses and yet there was less than a minute left of the show.  “Oh my gosh, will this be one of those two-parters?” I would fret as Fonzie’s bike ran up the ramp and half way through his jump came the words

To be continued…

“Nooooo! I can’t wait another week, why didn’t they write a shorter version of this?"  Yet, when one would come on again, it was like a special treat (see episode #63 Fonzie Loves Pinky – Third Annual  Auto Demolition Derby).

So I am letting you know up front that this is a two-parter.  I went to see Roger Waters (former lead singer of Pink Floyd) perform the full version of The Wall at Wrigley Field.  The concert is performed more like a play and watching it had a profound effect on my mourning process. It made me question everything I’ve been doing since Lisa passed away.  It has changed the way I live my life.

I want to share this with everyone, but before I do, I want to do a cliff notes version of what The Wall is about.  Then next week, what it meant to me.  Most of you probably know about 5 songs from this album: Mother, Another Brick in the Wall, Hey You, Comfortable Numb, Young Lust.  But do you know these songs are all part of a story line?

The Wall is a concept album released in 1979 that traces the life of the fictional character, Pink Floyd, from his boyhood days in post World-War II England, to his self-imposed isolation as a rock star.

The concert itself starts with the edges of the walls already built

As the first act progresses, bricks of the wall are slowly built around him as events in his life unfolds:

Pink, at a young age, loses his father in the war
Daddy's flown across the ocean
Leaving just a memory.

Daddy, what d'ya leave behind for me?

All in all it was just a brick in the wall.

Has an abusive school master
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.

Teacher leave them kids alone,

Hey! Teacher! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.

A dominating mother
Mamma's gonna make all your nightmares come true.

Mamma's gonna put all of her fears into you.

Mamma's gonna keep you right here under her wing.
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing.
Of course mama's gonna help build a wall.

And a broken marriage
What shall we use to fill the empty spaces
Where we used to talk?
How should I fill the final places?
How should I complete the wall? 

All of these events lead to more bricks in the wall until Pink bids farewell to the outside world and places the last brick in his mental wall.  On stage, the final brick put into place.

Goodbye cruel world,
I'm leaving you today.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Goodbye, all you people,
There's nothing you can say
To make me change my mind.
Goodbye.

The second act starts with a three-story high wall built across the entire stage.  The first song of the act “Hey You” is sung entirely behind the wall.  We sit in the audience hearing Roger sing but can see nothing but the wall.  For Roger, it symbolizes the disconnect he was feeling with the outside world.

Hey you, out there in the cold.

Getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me?

The wall was too high, as you can see.
No matter how he tried, he could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain.

Hey you, out there beyond the wall,
Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me?
Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all.
Together we stand, divided we fall.

The toll of isolation starts to take its effect on Pink. In order to get through his daily life, he needs to medicate himself, so can function without feeling the pain.

Hello, is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?
Come on, now, I hear you're feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain
And get you on your feet again.
Relax, I'll need some information first.
Just the basic facts.
Can you show me where it hurts?

There is no pain you are receding.
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain, you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.

Realizing he has dropped out of society and his bricks dragging him into further decay, he starts to wonder if he can perform like he was able to or is it too late.  He decides the show must go on.

There must be some mistake
I didn't mean to let them
Take away my soul.
Am I too old, is it too late?,
Will I remember the song?
The show must go on.

Pink spirals into insanity and imagines himself in concert as a fascist dictator demanding ultimate allegiance of his audience

So ya thought ya
Might like to go to the show.

We're gonna find out where you fans really stand.
There's one in the spotlight, he don't look right to me,
Get him up against the wall.
There's one smoking a joint!
And another with spots!
If I had my way,
I'd have all of you shot!

Pink’s new mind set has become so destructive that he waits for the decay to complete his isolation.

Sitting in a bunker here behind my wall
Waiting for the worms to come.
In perfect isolation here behind my wall
Waiting for the worms to come.

Pink finally has enough and puts himself on trail.  He replays all of his life’s events and questions himself on the way he acted with his family and friends.  He realizes that by isolating himself and building a wall, he has hurt the people in his life.  The judge he has created in his mind gives the final verdict.

The evidence before the court is incontrovertible
There's no need for the jury to retire.
In all my years of judging I have never heard before
Of someone more deserving of the full penalty of law.
The way you made them suffer,
Your exquisite wife and mother,
Fills me with the urge to defecate!
Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear
I sentence you to be exposed before your peers.
Tear down the wall!
Tear down the wall!

Collapsing the wall and leaving Pink exposed to re-enter life once again.

Next Sunday, I will give my thoughts on why this concert changed me significantly a few years after Lisa passed away.

If you are a person who is moved by music, I suggest downloading The Wall, turning off the lights, and give a listen.  In the 70s, kids would get high to get better meaning out of this double album.  If you’re like me, all you need is your grief brain to delve deeper beyond the words.

Is there anybody out there?

To be continued…