Christmas Day in a purple haze

It's been five days since I blogged last; reliving that last entry really took it out of me. It was still Christmas Eve, Carl had just left and I was alone in the house for the first time. As I write this, it's April 1, 2011. It's been fourteen weeks since Dennis passed, and Friday nights are still not the same (Christmas Eve was a Friday). I relive his last day every Friday night, especially at 7:45pm—the time he passed. I'm still haunted and the hole in my heart has not gotten any smaller.

I awoke Christmas morning, took a leak, nuked a cup of coffee, and grabbed the paper from the front porch. As I entered the living room, I stopped. He wasn't there, in his chair. I started choking up, put the cup of coffee on the table next to my chair, sat down, dropped the paper and started crying. I didn't think I'd ever stop, but I did. It just couldn't be; he couldn't be dead; we had so many things we wanted to do. I turned the cable box to the blues channel, Dennis's favorite. I felt like he'd be happy and maybe he's actually right here watching over me. I'd like to think so. I got through the paper and the coffee, poured a bowl of cereal and ate in front of the computer, like I usually do each morning. It was still early, so I couldn't call anyone, even though numerous people had said "call any time" — I just couldn't do it.

The phone rang about 9:30am. It was Carl, checking in on me. We talked for a little while and he said he'd be over later. By the time we got done talking, it was close to ten o'clock, so I wanted to call Aragorn and give him the news. I had called him the night before but got the answering machine, leaving a message to call me no matter what the time. Since he had not called, I did so, figuring he knew what I had called for the night before. Instead of the machine, this time he answered.

"Aragorn, it's Rick. I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but your Dad passed away last night. It was real peaceful, I was with him, holding his hand. The last words he heard were 'I love you, dear' and he went seconds later. It all happened so fast."

"Is it okay if I come over for a while?"

"Sure, I'm going to be here all day. I have a feeling that once the word starts getting around, the phone will be non-stop and most likely people will be dropping by all day long. Come on by any time you'd like."

While waiting for Aragorn to show up, I made a few phone calls. I really dreaded making any of them but knew I had to, so I started with Lisa Duncan first. When she picked up, she sounded in a very holiday festive spirit.

"Hi Lisa, it's Rick."

"Hey baby, Merry Christmas. It's nice to hear from you."

I had started choking up, but I had to get the words out. "I'm not calling about Christmas, Lisa. I've got bad news—"

"No, no, don't tell me," she sobbed. "Please don't tell me Dennis is gone."

I was crying pretty hard by then, so she knew, but I tried to get the words out. "I'm sorry, Lisa, but he passed away last night about eight o'clock. It was real peaceful and I was with him holding his hand. The last thing he heard was me saying 'I love you, dear' and he went seconds later." It was difficult getting the words out between the sobs.

We were both sobbing into the phone. "Honey, we'll be over later. We had some plans, but we'll cancel them. You're much more important now."

The rest of the phone calls were pretty much the same way. I'd break down when telling them, they'd break down in turn. It was a vicious cycle and this merry-go-round wasn't going to stop anytime soon. I had people stopping in throughout the day. Aragorn arrived first, and stayed for about an hour and a half. Jim and Greg stopped by while he was here; Greg had made a huge lasagna because he knew I'd be too consumed with grief to worry about fixing myself dinner, so it was very nice of them to do that—plus it was delicious. I stretched that lasagna out for over two weeks. They stayed for only a few minutes as they were heading somewhere for the day; when they left, Aragorn did as well. Lisa, Miranda and Tom arrived next, follwed by Marquita and Kim. We shared stories, cried together, laughed together—true friends who will always be there for me.

It was about 5pm by the time everyone had come and gone for the day. The phone rang. It was Hugh, wondering if it was okay if he stopped by. I told him of course and to please do so. He was also the bearer of food items when he arrived. He didn't want me to starve either. He brought a prime rib meal with mash potatoes, collard greens, creamed corn, and corn bread. When I looked at the prime rib, I exclaimed, "My god, Hugh, you could feed India with that amount of meat." After we stopped laughing, I continued, "No really, I'll probably cut that up and make three or four meals out of it for me. I'll tell you, Hugh, before he passed away, Dennis would sit on a stool here in the kitchen and taught me how he cooked so I'd be able to do the same after he was gone. Can you believe it? He's dying, and he's worried about me?"

"It just goes to show how much he loved you, Rick. He was a special man. We're all going to miss him."

Hugh stayed and visited with me for about an hour. I had made it through the first 24 hours. I collapsed in my chair, rolled a good-sized joint and took off for a while. I hadn't smoked all day, though it seemed the day had a purple haze quality to it. Jimi Hendrix was one of Dennis's favorite artists. I had always been somewhat ambivalent about him—until the time Dennis and I did acid during the Haight Street Fair in 1985. We put Jimi Hendrix on the stereo when the acid was hitting us. I had never before in my life heard a guitar talk like that. As Dennis then said, "Now you understand Jimi Hendrix."