Carry On, Phenomenon

It's been a while since I've cried like I did tonight. And it wasn't because of anything profound happening. It was just because of a movie. I went out to see The Hundred Foot Journey. It was a beautiful movie and a well-told story. And I am a big foodie, so I always love a movie that bubbles with a deep, soulful love of food.

The part that really got to me was the young couple of chefs that fall in love. That young, bold, sensual, adventurous, effervescent love of two young ambitious, smart, passionate, kind souls. A lot of the time I honestly forget what that felt like. Sometimes I hate that I can't remember, other times, I'm glad… because honestly it's easier when I can't remember. Less painful. Seeing it up on a screen in front of me though, in these two young people with nothing but life and possibility ahead of them, the knife began to twist.

A few miles out from leaving the theatre, just the right song came on… and then it hit. FULL ON BREAKDOWN.

Immediately I began screaming. In pain. In rage. In agony. Tears throttled from my eyes, pouring down my face. I gripped the steering wheel to his big black truck so tight I thought my hands might cramp up. I could barely see the road - a small, back-country road outside of town - so I ended up at a stop sign and just sat there and screamed and cried and screamed and cried. I screamed WHY!!! And I screamed "you were supposed to be here!!!" and I screamed "NO!!!" over and over again. Until my voice went hoarse. Until the song was over. Those three minutes felt like a lifetime of crying. But really I find that I can only cry in an explosive way like that for just about one song length before I completely exhaust myself. And then the next song came on the radio, and it said…

"You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine.
Just own the night like the 4th of July."

Ignite the light. Own the Night. I know not everyone believes in signs and communication, but I get a lot of really clear ones that have made it impossible to not believe. A lot of them come from songs. Especially when several songs in a row say the same thing. The next song that came on as I drove on home said to me "Don't fight it. Ignite it. There's much ashore… I think it's time you set this world on fire". Well dang! That was a song I'd never heard before. And then the NEXT one, which I'd also never heard before, from some obscure band, said this:

"But the fateful truth burns on and on, and on and on and on and on, on and on
When in doubt you made me stay connected in with the beyond and on
Like when the radio, plays on and on, and on and on and on and on, on and on. 
Carry on!
Carry on phenomenon
So you got the best of me, So amazingly, Carry on!
Carry on phenomenon"



By now, the tears are gone, and my fire is restored. I am smiling softly, with a calm resolve I haven't felt in a while. For a moment I am reminded of his bright spirit and his energetic soul so clearly. He is the one that is always trying to remind me that everything is okay, that he is right here. The one that is always finding ways to tell me to keep going, to own the darkness like only I can do… through my photography and my writing. To set this world on fire with my talent and my heart. He knows that I'll know exactly what it's all about.

Smiling, I say aloud "you're never really going anywhere, are you?" And for a moment, I am reminded that they don't leave us. Not really. They are always here, trying to help guide us and encourage us and comfort us in all sorts of ways. Trying to remind us that it's okay to carry on, it's okay to embrace life again and live boldly and shine our brightest, because we won't be doing it without them. They're going to be by our side the whole time.

The green-eyed monster

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On my good days, I can look at some of the qualities I’ve seen in myself since my husband died and feel proud of how I’ve handled this pain.  For example, I see a lot more strength and resilience in myself now.  I see a compassionate person, a sensitive person, and someone wiser who can focus on the bigger picture rather than get angry or stressed out over small matters.

However, on my bad days, I also see things in myself that I have to confess, I’m not proud of.   This is hard to admit but I thought I’d write about it today, because I'm guessing I might not be alone.

There has been a story circulating in the media this week about an elderly couple in California who had been married for more than 60 years and died four hours apart.  It is a beautiful story and they sound like a lovely family. I want to clarify up front – I don’t begrudge anyone a long and happy life, I’m sure if we had a choice, we would all chose to go this way. 

However as I read the various articles about how this couple were so in love, that their love was so strong and pure, they died together because they couldn’t bear to be apart, I felt some strange emotions.  The story claims that they were ‘supposed to be together’ and that the man loved his wife so much, that when she passed away, he left with her.  It was being hailed as 'the ultimate love story'. 

As a young widow who lost my husband after six weeks of marriage, this story just made me feel sad.  For a start, I'm jealous – I wish I’d had longer with Dan and that we’d gone together peacefully, at an old age, surrounded by our grand children. 

Secondly, I felt like by comparison, I should conclude from this story that that any couple that DOESN’T die together, just didn’t quite love each other as much.  Now, I know that is not what was intended.  I am aware that my feelings come from a place of hurt and I am over-sensitive to the situation.  I also know that the love I have for my husband was pure and strong and could not be questioned, compared or judged.  This negative view is not a great way to look at something that was meant to be a happy story.  But it is how I felt.

Which then lead me to question what is wrong with me!?  I am not an angry, bitter, person, I don’t want to resent the happiness of others.  What a terrible way to be.  Since Dan’s death I have tried very hard not to wallow too long in self-pity but instead, to focus on the blessings in my life that I can remain grateful for.  However, sometimes, now and then, I have a day where I can’t escape the thoughts of ‘this just isn’t fair!!’ and envy is an emotion that I have to work hard to keep in check. 

With so many of my friends sharing my early 30’s age bracket, it seems like there’s a new pregnancy or engagement announcement almost every week.  I love my friends and don’t expect them to put their lives on hold just because mine came to a grinding halt, but it’s also so hard to keep my sadness in check and be happy for them when I see them celebrating milestones that I am supposed to be sharing with Dan.  It really does hurt so much.  I remind myself that I can’t compare my situation to others’ and I will have a reason to smile again some day.  But it is a constant painful battle. While I'm using every ounce of energy to smile and be supportive in public - because that's what they deserve - in the privacy of my bedroom at night, sometimes I cry and wail and just feel so angry at the world and jealous of my friends.  

These are feeling I've heard my widow friends speak about too (cautiously, like they're waiting to be judged or condemned) so I know I'm not the first person to feel this way.  It's interesting how we feel such guilt at these emotions, rather than acknowledging the effort we are putting in to attend other people's weddings, baby showers and anniversary celebrations with a smile plastered on our faces.  I realised this week that we are walking an impossible road and sometimes I need to give myself a break rather than place the added burden of guilt on my shoulders for how I’m handling it.

I don’t like these feelings and I don’t like being the person who isn’t happy for others. However in my heart I know it’s not a major character flaw that I need to be concerned about.  I’m not a bad person.  I’m grieving – and that brings with it all kinds of emotions and feelings, mostly negative.  I realise it’s ‘natural’ for those of us who’ve had our future and our happiness ripped away to feel upset about it, so I try not to panic too much when the envy creeps in because I’m determined not to let it linger or make me bitter.

Luckily it doesn’t happen very often.  The majority of the time I can genuinely feel happy for the people around me who are making the most of their lives and celebrating the love that we all should get to experience.  I want to continue to focus on the positives where I can, but I need to be patient with myself on the days that it’s just too difficult.  

Party of One

I go to a lot of places alone.
I have never had a problem with spending time alone, even before my husband died.

I moved out of small town Massachusetts when I was 18 years old, to NYC, to go to Theatre school and pursue a career in acting and comedy. After having roommates for years on end, I lived by myself for 4 years in an apartment in New Jersey, before my husband moved in with me. I have been to countless movies by myself in my lifetime. I have no issue with going to a cafe and sitting down for lunch, by myself.

There are some things I wouldn't do alone, just because they seem extremely lame and I would absolutely look like a complete loser if I was alone doing those things. Like going to an amusement park. I would never stand in line for a ride and then get on a roller coaster all by myself, with nobody else to speak to the entire day. That seems weird. Or a concert. Standing and cheering and singing a band's hit songs, by myself, seems a bit pathetic. However, if it was someone I really truly wanted to see, and the only way I could go was if I went alone - then I would go. It just wouldn't be my first choice.

When Don first died, those first few months, I hated being alone suddenly. Even though I had always been alone and it had never bothered me, all of a sudden I would fall into a panic and start breathing fast and feel really clausterphobic if left alone for too long. I felt suffocated by the silence and the empty space that filled the air where he used to breathe. Whenever I was alone in our apartment, it was as if someone had turned up the speakers on his death, and I couldn't turn them down. I tried to disappear out of that apartment, and into social gatherings with other people. Everywhere I went those first 5 or 6 months, I was not there.I couldnt be home, and I couldnt be out.  I was not anywhere, for a very long time.

Then a funny thing started to happen. Well, it isn't really "ha ha" funny, but more interesting-funny, in a silent and subtle kind of way. That same clausterphobic feeling I was getting those first few months being alone in my apartment - I was now getting whenever I was around groups of people for too long. There was no warning either. I'd be fine one second, and then literally the next second, would have the urge to scream at the top of my lungs: "I NEED TO GET THE F**K OUT OF HERE - NOW!!!" It was as if being around other people amplified his being gone and dead forever. Other people were happy. Laughing. They had partners and families and kids and giggled as they shared ice-cream cones and walked along merrily. I was dying inside, and all the people of the world were ignoring it.

Now, 3 years later, I am alone quite a lot. I have a roommate, and I have lots of good friends, and I have family. But, even so, there are lots of times when my friends are busy with their families or their partners - and my own family lives 4 hours away. Sometimes, if I want to take a walk and go get a cup of coffee or have a drink somewhere, I will just go. By myself. It's not a big deal in NYC. Literally, nobody cares or even notices. Lots of people sit with a book or playing on their phones, alone. It's very normal. But despite that, it has taken me 3 years to be able to sit alone in public, without feeling like I must somehow have a giant sign on my head that reads: "LONELY WIDOW. I AM ALL ALONE. LOSER. "

There are many times when I am alone nowadays, that it brings a certain sense of peace or clarity. Just looking at a sunrise or at something in nature. Hearing a piece of music and really paying attention. Breathing in the silence, which no longer carries his death in it with every inhale. Many times, I feel closest to my husband, when I am by myself somewhere. Sometimes, I will even sort of pretend that he is there with me, or I will just feel somehow that he is there with me. It's not the same as having him there with me. How could it be? But it does offer a strange sort of odd comfort that can't really be explained to other humans.

On Saturday I am going to a Yankee game by myself. This was one of our favorite things to do together - see the Yankees play. A friend of mine who has connections at the stadium was able to score me a ticket for Saturday's game, where they will be honoring Paul ONeal, my all-time favorite player. He could only get me this ticket BECAUSE I am alone. It was a single ticket. If you go into a very busy restaurant and large parties are waiting to be seated, you can almost always go right up to the front and say "Is there a wait for one?", and they will almost always say: "Right this way." That happened the other day, when I was walking back to the subway in the city, after having just gone to see a friend of mine who was starring in an off-broadway show. I went by myself to the show, because none of my other friends could go. Afterwards, I was hungry, so I went into this cafe and ate something. They seated me in the corner, and right next to me was a large party of young friends, maybe 12 of them. I kid you not, the very second that I sat down - one of the guys stood up and said triumphantly: "A toast to Cynthia, who is celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary today!!!" Everybody clapped, and a sharp dagger went through my heart. 3 years later, and it still hurts. It silently hurts to watch total strangers celebrating 25 years of marriage that I will never ever get to have. Oh boy does that hurt.

It hurts so much that I think I need to order me up some chocolate cake and a cup of coffee. And in that moment, I am happy to be alone, because that cake is all for me. GET UP OFF OF MY CAKE!!!

Stormy Weather

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Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together,
Keeps rainin' all the time

- Stormy Weather, Billie Holliday

As I type this, not one, but two hurricanes are barreling their way towards the Big Island of Hawaii, where I live. Honestly, I really just found out about all of this on Tuesday. Since Mike died, I don't get the newspaper anymore, nor have I been watching much television news. I'm not sure exactly why. When he was alive, we were both on top of happenings and events, both worldwide and local. Without him around to share it with, it all just seems...meaningless. Or maybe, just too much to handle on top of everything else.  Maybe the additional burden of the possibility of having to survive a long emergency without him is something I just haven't had the mental stamina to anticipate. But suddenly, I am reminded that the storms will come whether I'm ready for them or not.

It makes me think too...people die, whether we're ready for them to or not.

Mike was super into disaster preparation. And when he was alive, I was too. Especially after the tsunami hit here, we carefully prepared for any other possible ensuing emergency. My garage is still full of all kinds of things - food, water, camping gear... together, we felt like we could weather whatever might come. With him, anything seemed like an adventure. I felt safe with him. I trusted he would take care of me, no matter what. Yes, I do have family and friends, both old and new, and good neighbors I can rely on if need be. But there was just no one like Mike. Anyone who knew him, or even knew of him, knows that as well. He himself was a force of nature. He was like a one man army, and that is no joke.

So it seems like the ways to miss him just keep coming. But thanks to his support and my own work the years before he died, I am physically prepared for these hurricanes, as much as I can be. I have plenty of stored materials to survive far longer than the one week they suggest. And historically, hurricanes like this tend to weaken considerably once they near the island because our tall mountains break them apart relatively quickly. But a lot remains to be seen from these two incoming tempests, as I'm writing this. I just hope the concern on the faces of our state officials is unwarranted. O.O 

Being psychologically prepared for disaster without Mike is another matter entirely, especially given how I've stuck my head in the sand since he died. But I remember that when he was alive, we would have anticipated the storms on high alert and with a sort of adventuresome spirit, setting out our solar lanterns and tarps, and getting our backgammon game ready. So after much thought the past few days, I've decided I will do just the same. In a sense, I've been weathering a storm already. These coming hurricanes have made me realize that I've spent the past nearly 18 months gathering the psychological and spiritual supplies to survive a personal disaster I hadn't anticipated. 

So bring it on, storms. I'm already weathered, tarped, prepped, tested, waterproofed and bolted down. You cannot move me, and I'm not afraid of you.

Yes, You~

to those of us left behind
standing amidst the ashes that remain
atop the skeletons of our lives and ourselves.

to those of us left behind
who struggle with unseeing eyes blinded by grief
and limbs made heavy with exhaustion
and shattered souls
uncertain about...everything.

to those of us left behind
who must learn to live in the without
and open our hearts to life
when all that is in us begs to close those very hearts.

to those of us left behind
who loved so deeply and so passionately
whose lips whisper names into the darkness
of the soul and heart and body
and hear only an echo.

to those of us left behind
who stagger through each moment and each hour
of every day and night
as the months pass by and the sharp blades of a love gone
cut and shred.

to you, to me, to us
left behind but left behind
with the love that can and will and must
become bigger than the absence of those who
have gone beyond our reach.

to we who grieve the grief of a lover gone
and slowly dance our spirit dances and speak their names in our hearts
as our hands and souls entwine with theirs 
and our bodies search and our minds question and the deepest part of ourselves
burn and become determined and we become Love in remembrance of the love 
we once held close.

to those of us left behind
searching the heavens, finding our footing, seeking,
gasping, breathing, 
being.

Chicken and Lime

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Some of the things I regret around Ian's death feel exceedingly odd.

Nothing about how we managed his care, death or funeral.

But not getting his chicken, lime and coconut milk curry recipe out of him...  THAT has bugged me beyond belief.

That was his signature dish,  the one he pulled out when we had company.  It's what he made me the first time he invited me over for dinner.  I didn't need to know the recipe - it was his thing.  I actually doubt he would have given it to me.

Here's the thing.  I can't actually remember what Ian's version tasted like.  He'd not made it for quite a while before he got sick, so that memory has faded.

During the week, a friend gave me some limes of her tree. And I'd already been thinking about this recipe more and more recently, as John can now handle those more liquid curries without making too much mess. 

So on the very, very limited information I had... I gave it a crack, even though I was quite scared to.

Chicken, lime juice, fresh chili, coconut milk, spring onion.  That's all I had to go on.

Seeing as though I don't remember what it actually tasted like, I added some other Thai herbs, some fish sauce and palm sugar, since they seemed to fit the profile.

And it worked.  It rang some taste-bud bells. Not one hundred percent because a three year old would not accept Ian's degree of heat (neither did I, quite frankly), and it was a different variety of lime than Ian used so I think that's part of it, but what I tried was a good start and something else from Ian I can pass on to John as he gets older.

What now?

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My brain is still more disorganized than it was before Dave died. I marvel in an almost morbid way, at the dementia-like symptoms I still exhibit. They'd be funny if they weren't so embarrassing and worrisome. I wish I could laugh them off but I feel shame about them. I feel like there's something wrong with me. I feel like I'm in a state of mild to moderate disorientation WAY too often.

I was talking with my guy the other day about a friend of his, Charlie, who was coming to town and how we'd go out to dinner with him when he was here. In the pause between that conversation and the next, I looked at my calendar to confirm that evening was free and saw "Charlie" in my calendar as an appointment for that day. "Who's Charlie?" I said "And why is his/her name in my calendar?" In a matter of seconds, I'd forgotten what we were just talking about.

Poor guy must've thought he was losing his mind too, hearing me say that. Turns out I had added his name to my calendar when we first discussed this dinner a week or two ago and forgot about it. Then, I was actually able to not make the ends meet up in my mind RIGHT after discussing it again. It was like a completely clean slate.

How frightening. A good friend of mine said that in the year or so after his wife died, he told his therapist he thought he might have brain damage to which his therapist responded that it was completely normal.

It is a form of damage to the brain. Trauma is. It's what happens when our brains try to comprehend that which simply doesn't make a bit of sense. We have to make sense of something we can never make sense of.

Maybe my symptoms are more about low blood sugar, a ditzy brain in general, lack of sleep, or too much on my mind (I am an introvert after all), but I suspect I still have some damage from the trauma. There's still a part of my mind trying to make sense of something when I'll never be able to.

After experiencing too many deaths of my most important people, I've had enough trauma to the brain to warrant some episodes, but they don't cease to worry me.

I feel I can't trust my mind. I've taken to writing most things down, but I forget to write them down sometimes. So I forget to write down what I'm afraid I'll forget. Awesome.

I've considered just writing a daily record of where I went and what I did with accompanying reminders and to-dos so I can go back to it to find the threads and tie them up, but that hasn't happened yet. I'm too scattered and not disciplined enough.

I'm prepared for the fact that my brain might never be the same, but I hope I find some relief in the years to come. For now, it's a chance for me to work on accepting myself with all my flaws and allowing myself room to be forgetful and confused without feeling unworthy or shameful.

I'm intelligent AND forgetful. I'm bright and disorganized. I'm capable and I fuck up. It's not either or.
And anyway, I provide some entertainment for those who get to witness my "moments".

People who spend time with me get to learn to be patient with people with memory problems. You're welcome.