For no particular reason, and in no order, here are the books on my desk this evening.
Prefactoring: Extreme Abstraction, Extreme Separation, Extreme Readability by Ken Pugh
Finding Your Way After Your Spouse Dies by Marta Felber
Eragon by Christopher Paolini
Emergence The Connected Lives of Ants, Brains, Cities, and Software by Steven Johnson
The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon
The simmering lake of anger that exists just beneath the surface of my facade of normalcy boiled over today. The hapless target of this were various members of the Lexus service department in person, and the manager of that department later on the phone.
On Monday afternoon I called Lexus and made an appointment for the car to be serviced. As always I requested a loaner car for the day. I was told that today, Thursday, was the first opening with a car available. I deliberately scheduled the drop off for 7:00 am as that is the earliest time available.
This morning I arrived at Lexus shortly before 7:00 and was waiting when the opened the garage doors. The “greeter” was unable to find my name on his list of expected drop offs. A trip inside to the computer terminal also failed to turn my reservation up. After some heated words on my part they agreed to take the car today anyway, but then it turned out they had no loaner for me. Therefore no way to get to work and back without relying upon rides - rides which I hate to ask for and didn’t have pre-established.
After voicing rather loudly my displeasure at the entire situation I left in an extreme state of agitation and anger. I believe I left a patch of rubber on their nicely polished floor. Upon arriving at work, my anger now at a nice boil, I immediately called the service department and asked to speak to the manager. I will hand it to Craig, he is very good and dealing with outraged people who don’t want to be handled. I admire him for his patience as I vented my frustration about the last three weeks of misery and pain through this small, insignificant event. He even managed to calm me down and schedule a new appointment for next week. And, as a bonus, the drop off time is the night before so I won’t have to be late to work the next day.
As with the several bouts of uncontrolled crying I’ve had recently, this venting of anger has left me feeling much better. I have talked to close friends about the need to find a survivors of suicide therapy group so I can vent my emotions in a healthy and appropriate manner. This morning’s eruption of anger, coupled with little fits of anger last evening, and a hour of uncontrolled weeping, are clearly showing me that I need to take my advice and find a group.
I had my first karate work out in over five years tonight. I am so wiped out it’s not even funny. Excellent class, they didn’t segregate me at all. I just worked at the end of the line and kept up as best I could. I’m 40 pounds heavier and 7 years out of practice. It was ugly at times, but I survived. 8 students there tonight, 4 black belts, 2 brown, a green belt and moi.
Started with good warmup, followed by kihon, mostly combinations, with lots of emphasis on hip rotation, tension in the abs, and fluidity to the next movement. We did a tension kata whose name escapes me now. Not tensho, one that started with an “s”. Next was working in pairs on a move from heian yondan (?). Crossed knife hand block, rolled into an arm bar and take down. Next was a variation on that - what to do when the arm bar fails and they try to elbow strike to your face. A nice reversal and take down. Final segment was to work on the kata for your next belt test, in my case heian shodan. They add a knife hand strike as the set before each of the up blocks moving up the floor, and the final knife hand blocks were done in a modified cat stance. Again the name escaped me. Both feet flat on the floor, rear foot turn forward about 45 degrees with 75% of your weight.
All in all a good workout. I worked pairs with the green belt. He had no control, during the arm bar portion he kept slamming me to the floor (hard wood). I was glad when it was my turn. While I was clumsy with the foot work I remember how to crank on an arm bar.
Sensei High said at the end of class I could wear any belt color I liked. I replied that until I could finish a class without gasping for air that I’d stick with the while belt. He again said I could were the color of my choice, and that when I was ready to test that would be fine.
I can’t make it next Tuesday due to a team dinner sponsored by IBM, but next Thursday I’ll be there. They are meeting at a different location because it has mats. They are going to work on breakfalls, rolls, etc. I am already sore.
Took a hot shower, two aleve and two quarts of water. Tomorrow I may need to crawl into work, Both knees are achy, and the pad on both big toes is sore. I wore a neoprene knee brace on my right knee - all it did was get in the way of bending it fully. Next time I’ll try just knee pads on both knees.
On a Saturday in early June 1997, Michele and I picked up our wedding rings from the jeweler. Two plain gold bands, their newness shiny and their import heavy in our hands. Naturally we both tried them on, and then we left them on for we considered ourselves married, the upcoming wedding was just a formality.
A few days before our wedding in July we took them back to the jeweler so they could be polished for the ceremony. By then I had started to grow used to this bright band of metal around my finger, I liked the way it looked and I was pleased with what it indicated to myself and to the world around me. With the exception of one or two subsequent polishings, and time spent in our pool, my ring has never been off my finger. The skin there is grooved, an impression of the band, all around the digit. There is a slight callus at the base of that third finger, where the ring rubbed my palm. It is safe to say that in the eight plus years since I first put it on that ring has become a part of me.
On the inside of each ring there is an inscription. Mine reads, “In Love Truth M+M 7-26-97”; hers, “In Truth Love M+M 7-26-97”. We both liked the phrase, “in truth there is love, and in love there is truth.” It was pleasing to us to have it inscribed across our rings.
In time we saved our money, and with the gift of her mother’s engagement diamond, we were able to buy a beautiful ring set made of filigreed gold. Michele referred to this as her big ring, and only wore it occasionally for special events. The plain gold band was the real wedding ring to her, and to me.
Her ring was returned to me in a plastic bag. I’ve kept it in the bag, and in my pocket ever since. I could reach in and hold it any time I wanted. Today the constant worrying tore the bag open and her ring popped out. For the first time since she wore it I held it in my hands again. It felt cool and still to my touch, but warmed quickly as I turned it round and round my finger. Both rings are dulled and scuffed with little marks of everyday wear. They are well lived in, like the marriage they represent.
I have both of them on a chain around my neck. Sometimes when I turn they clink together reminding me of all the times we clinked them together holding hands across a table. Clinking our rings was but one of the ways we said, “I love you.” Hearing it again is bittersweet, perhaps slightly more sweet than bitter.
My hand looks empty and odd to me, without the gold band I have worn so long. In my mind I am still married, my heart still belongs to Michele, but the world considers me a widower now. The club of married couples I joined in July 1997 has left me behind. Before marriage I was single and after marriage I was a part of something larger than myself. Now I am not a couple and not single either. Not really. I suppose I am part of a new club, the club of lonely, lost people whose love lives on while their loved one does not.
As time inexorably moves me away from the time I shared with Michele I start to gain fragments of clarity. More and more I have the sense that her time here on this plane of existence was meant to end when she moved to Colorado ten years ago. The chance meeting we had online in December 1995 altered her orbit enough to give us this time together, but the gravity of our love wasn’t strong enough to completely alter her destiny.
Do I rage and bemoan the shortness of our time together or should I rejoice the laughter and warmth we shared? As humans we are constantly balancing feelings and thoughts. Eastern philosophy talks of yin and yang, and I believe that my responses to her death are in line with the duality represented in that concept. I move from sadness, sorrow, and bitterness to laughter, new energy, and hope.
Our time together in this lifetime was fleeting. Michele moved through all the lives she touched like a meteor shower across a summer sky. I know that when I leave this lifetime for the next that we will be together again. And knowing that allows me to continue on here.
For the first time in over three weeks I slept more than a handful of hours last night. I’ve been struggling with either a seasonal allergy or some kind of sinus thing for about 10 days, and last night I tried some Benadryl, which seemed to work. It also made me drowsy. Shortly after 8:00 o’clock I was in bed asleep.
Although I was awake twice in the night I was able to go back to sleep quickly both times. I didn’t wake up until 5:00 o’clock this morning. While I’m no where near 100% yet I am feeling better this morning than I have for a while.
Life goes on.
A while back I saw a knee surgeon regarding my knees. Both hurt from time to time and produce a crackling sound when moved through a normal range of motion. Since then I have been following a regimen of Aleve (2 at a time, twice a day) to reduce inflammation, and liquid Glucosamine (2 tablespoons twice a day) which has eliminated nearly all my pain. Now my knees only hurt once in a while.
My right big toe, however has continued to hurt almost every day. And in the past few weeks my right elbow (injured years ago in martial arts training) has been quite sore too. So I made an appointment to see a chiropractor last week. The results have been amazing.
She pointed out that the heel spur I had reduced through ultrasound treatments the winter of 2000/2001 most likely involved the tendon that anchors on the front of the heel and the base of the big toe, traversing the arch in the process. My arches have fallen putting stress and strain on this tendon. As the tendon is stretched it pulls on the big toe resulting in the constant pain I’ve had for some time now. Over the weekend I purchased a set of arch supports to wear inside my work shoes. The difference is amazing. My toe doesn’t hurt. The pain is gone as if by magic.
The chiropractor has also been working on the soft tissue around my elbow, particularly below the elbow in my forearm and also on the muscles on that side of my neck. While my elbow is still slightly sore, the overall discomfort level is vastly reduced from where it had been. I know that many people view chiropractic with skepticism, but for me the active nature of the process seems to work wonders.
Like ever other person on the planet I have some control issues. Each issue represents a boundary or limit that I am uncomfortable with having violated. Some are fairly minor, almost insignificant. Others, to me at least, are show-stoppers that leave me reeling when crossed. One of the aspects of my relationship with Michele that was very powerful and also soothing for me was being able to talk openly about the feelings of helplessness, rage, or displacement that occurred when my control issues were stepped upon.
As I sink further back into the normal daily ebb and flow of work I am finding myself increasingly frustrated at no longer having a safe place to sort out the immediate (and often times inappropriate) response I want to have when I feel my limits or boundaries tested. Gone is the refuge of stepping outside for a call to Michele, gone is the safe place to fall and to let the hidden hurts be comforted and healed. I have only myself to rely on now.
I have never felt more alone and more isolated than I do right now. And the bitterest irony is that I want to call Michele and talk to her about it so I can bring myself back to solid ground.
It’s funny how your perspective changes over time. For the past eight, almost nine, years I have viewed Monday with a certain depression. Monday meant that the weekend was over, my uninterrupted time with Michele was over until the next weekend. Before I met Michele, and before she moved into my life, weekends were something to be endured. I was socially introverted and more comfortable the painful isolated existence I’d setup for myself than with breaking down the walls of my own making in order to be with other people.
By the time I was in my mid thirties I had developed a highly structured routine that filled the empty spaces in my life with activities or planning for future activities. In the words of a friend of mine, I was a human doing not a human being.
Michele changed all of that. She was spontaneous where I was carefully charted and planned. She was resistant to routine just for routine’s sake where I was comfortable ordering the same dish from a restaurant every time I visited. She always took the unexpected and unplanned as a sign of life, I always viewed it with trepidation and fear. Over the course of our time together I slowly learned to be adventuresome, spontaneous, and open. One of the greatest gifts Michele ever gave me was the safety of her love. It was never judgmental or critical, she placed no conditions on my behavior. I learned that it was okay to be outside the box.
With her death just three weeks ago I am once again plunged back into a world where weekends are vast empty wastelands of time to be filled. Evenings too, are voids were before there was enjoyment and purpose. I have worked hard to continue my daily activities as I know she would want. I allow myself to be flexible about what to eat and when, about where to go or to not go. I know that I have been filling my time with chores and errands simply because I don’t want the quiet where she used to be. Eventually I will be ready for that quiet, eventually I will be strong enough to express the pain I sense when I acknowledge the emptiness she left behind.
For now it is all I can manage to move forward through the day, eating, working, sleeping, and existing. The shock of this event is still wearing off and I know that the impact of her loss will continue to impact me for a long time to come. But I also know that I am taking care of myself, husbanding my emotional, mental, and spiritual strength for the long dark days ahead. The thing that would disappoint her most would be if I reverted to the hermit like half life I had before I met her, and I do not want to disappoint her.
Acknowledging her contribution to who I am, recognizing that I was able to grow and evolve as a result of the love, compassion, and generosity of her heart, gives me the courage to face each day. She showed me, by forcing me to see who I really was, that I am strong, that I can be “normal”, that I am worthy of love, respect, affection, and peace. Honoring the process I began when I pursued her all those years ago means that I will continue this life, that I will continue to grow and evolve, and that I will continue to allow myself to be loved, respected, cared for, and at peace.
I spent some time today transferring most of the postings Michele had made to her site to the new format. Rereading some of her thoughts was painful at times, satisfying at others. One of the things that happens when someone you love suicides is that you begin to question every thing you believed about that person. This variation on the “what if” game is just as destructive and difficult to manage.
Michele and I prided ourselves on having an open and honest relationship, and I still believe that we were as open and as honest as any two people could be, but now that she is gone, and I review our time together I have begun to question myself. I have begun to doubt what I know, or what I don’t know about her.
My wife was intensely private about many things in her life. I learned early on in our relationship that she was fully capable of hiding her true feelings or thoughts, particularly if she felt exposing them would be dangerous to her. Growing up in a household filled with violence and abuse taught her some painful lessons about protecting herself. I never once felt like she was maliciously keeping information from me, but I was aware that she managed the information she shared. Not that it wasn’t shared, more when it was shared and how.
For example, she rarely talked about her mother in the months after Virginia died. I know that she thought about her mom and their relationship a great deal. There were times when she would talk about certain aspects of her grief, but it was largely an inner process. Much of my work is inner as well, so I recognize and accept that mode of processing. Again and again in our relationship Michele would sacrifice herself to prevent me from being hurt. I know that she only metered information about her thoughts and feelings to ease the burden on me.
Still, in the final analysis I find myself wondering what she was thinking and not sharing in the final days of her life.