Random thoughts

The main reason I started this blog was to use it as therapy for myself after the death of Dennis. Many times when I sit down to write, I have something in mind and it generally flows out of me onto the "paper"—it still seems strange to me that this is being read by people all over the world. But there's also times when I have no idea what to write. I feel like I have to write but I'm not sure what to say. I'm in one of those situations now, hence the title of this article.

As noted in my last entry, I've been feeling lonely lately and I suppose it's just another phase that I'm passing through in the healing process. I had another "first" today—I qualified for the finals of the 31st annual SFPA 9-ball Tournament. I won all four of my matches, only losing one game during the day (12/1 overall) to breeze through my bracket. When I got back home, I had no one to tell. Previously, as soon as I told him about it, Dennis would say, "Way to go, babe." And he wasn't here to say that to when I got home today, and that makes me tear up (like right now as I write this...god damn, I miss him). So once again, I'm happy and sad at the same time.

Oldest to youngest, L to R: Bud, Rick, Mary & John

My sister called the other day to let me know that what she's shipping to me will cost about $175 but not to worry, I can pay it whenever we know what the real cost was/will be. She had a space heater that Mom used, she didn't need it, and I can always use another one around here, as I don't have any heating to speak of but small heaters. It could come in handy. And she had to have an oil painting crated up so it wouldn't get damaged. It's a seascape (wave breaking over rocks at Land's End in San Francisco, based on a photo my Dad took back in 1967) that I painted when I was a senior in high school. It was good enough to be on display at the high school library for a semester along with other paintings that other students did—I was proud of it. Kind of nice to get it back; not sure where I'm going to hang it. My sister in law, Nancy (John's wife) took some photos of my siblings and me when we were at Mary's house after Mom's funeral. It was a fun evening, with each of us contributing stories about Mom, laughing, playing euchre, drinking wine, munching—all the things we've always done when we gather. The photos came out great; I've posted them on my Facebook page. Here's the best of the bunch. She also said she would be sending me some money from Mom's estate. It won't be much; my family never has had much money, so whatever she sends will be fine by me. I have no problem with Mom having spent it to maintain her life and lifestyle.

I'm still evolving, trying to figure out what the "new Rick" is going to be like. The half of me that is missing is going to take a long time to rebuild, and it will never get to the other 50% of what I'm missing. I'll have to settle for a smaller percentage. I still find myself talking to him all the time. I'm still in a state of disbelief that he's gone, though I know he is and I am learning to live with it, but it's so fucking difficult.

Loneliness creeps in like the fog

As regular as the fog is to San Francisco, the feeling of loneliness creeps into my life and at times, never seems to let go. The latest bout started Thursday night. I was reading the newspaper and when I read something interesting, I turned to tell Dennis about it. Of course, he's not there. "Shit, it sure is lonely around here," I say aloud. Then the tears start. Last night (Friday) brought its own set of problems. It's now 39 weeks since he passed and Friday nights still are difficult. I am learning to live with the fact that he's not here anymore, but "getting over it" is just not going to happen. After all this time, I still can't believe he's gone. With Mom's recent passing, I've lost two of the most important people in my life in the last nine months and I'm just numb. Just when I thought 2010 was the lousiest year of my life, 2011 is turning into a pretty rotten year as well. Everything seems so trivial now. The roller coaster ride that is my life continues unabated.

After effects

Mom in August 2008

I just got back last evening, coming home from Mom's funeral and four days in Michigan with family. I'm still trying to figure out my reaction to Mom's death. It's totally different from my feelings and grief over the passing of Dennis. Mom died Monday September 12 and I have yet to cry. I've gotten the sniffles a few times and my eyes have teared up, but no "real" crying has occurred. In fact, I was the steadfast "rock" of the family this week. It probably boils down to the fact that I have never been fond of funerals and all their ceremony—the open casket "viewing" night, all the comments people make, like "doesn't she look good," "she looks like she's sleeping," etc. I mean, come on. How ridiculous! That earth suit in the casket is by no means my Mom. She never wore that much make up in her life while here, so why is it they do it when she's gone? Wednesday evening was the "viewing" night; numerous friends and relatives showed up. I actually enjoyed myself while visiting with people I had not seen in literally years. I was given the task of sorting through a large box of photographs and picking out the ones we used for two photo boards (provided by the funeral home). I had a blast going through those photos, choosing a variety of activities that Mom had participated in throughout her lifetime. I even came across one where she had dressed up for Halloween! None of us siblings had ever seen the photos before; I chose the one where she was "posing" instead of just standing there in her costume—a clownish type outfit, including hat and makeup. It was hilarious; I literally screamed like a little schoolgirl when I saw it. "Look at this photo I just found," I yelled out. We all burst into uncontrollable laughter and all agreed that I would use that as one of the photos. I'll post the photos of the photoboards as soon as my brother forwards them to me (he had taken shots with his cell phone so he could send them to his two kids back in Washington state). I centered large 8x10 photos of Mom in the middle of the boards then surrounded each photo with the smaller photos. Both boards were enjoyed by everyone who came to the viewing, as well as the luncheon we had after the funeral.

Mom was a member of the Catholic church (why so, I cannot figure out), so she had wanted to have a funeral mass provided by St. Francis Church in Traverse City. The booklet had the poem I brought with me on the cover, which brought a smile to my face. It was the poem I've posted in a previous article on this blog; I had received it during my sessions with the grief group. The only other highlight of the church ceremony was the narrative that the priest wove from material we provided about Mom. He actually did a very nice job with that part, as he talked about her life. The rest of the Catholic crap was a big thumbs down as far as I was concerned. While the rest of the family was crying their eyes out, I was putting my arms on their shoulders to comfort them, while I remained dry-eyed. It's not that I wasn't sad; to me, Mom passed the way a lot of people do—late in life (she was 86). It was an entirely different scenario from when Dennis died. He was a part of my everyday life, whereas Mom was part of my life, but not on a daily basis. Big difference.

I loved you Mom; you taught all of us valuable life lessons, and I appreciate all you did for me while you were here.

Rest in Peace: Mom

My Mom passed away Monday. She was 86, lived a long and happy life. She's no longer in pain, for which I am very appreciative. And it wouldn't surprise me, when she crossed over, Dad, her sister (my Aunt Betty) and Dennis were all there to help her transition. And since Mom loved Dennis's quiche so much, he probably had one ready and waiting for her. Thanks to her for all the great things she did for me and my siblings over the years. You could not ask for a more supportive mother; she loved Dennis as one of her own children, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. Love you, Mom.

The Early Years — Part 8

The last time I wrote in the "Early Years" series, we had just arrived in San Francisco, found our first apartment and became true San Franciscans. One of the first things we did after moving into the apartment was to drive the station wagon we had used to get to SF down to LA and deliver it to the ex-wife of one of Dennis's former highway drivers. We got that out of the way, bought our first Fast Pass (only $20 back in 1983; it's $60 now) so that we could have unlimited rides on MUNI, SF's transportation system. We bought a MUNI route map and started exploring the city as if we were tourists. After all, we were now community members and it would do us good to investigate what seemed like home even before we crossed the Bay Bridge into the city. We went everywhere—Marin Highlands so we could see the city through the Golden Gate Bridge, Coit Tower, Twin Peaks, Golden Gate Park, Ocean Beach, the Embarcadero—if it was a famous landmark, we went and saw it. We played tourists for about a month, then I decided I had to find a job so that we didn't run entirely through the money we received from the sale of the house. Dennis wanted to pursue his artwork and see if he could make it as an artist. Our roommate Ricky Bowerman had used a temp agency when he came to town, so he gave me the name of his contact down there, I went and registered. I guess I must have impressed her, as she gave me an assignment that very day. My first temp job was with Blue Cross of California as an administrative assistant and it worked out so well that they offered me full time employment less than 90 days later.

Less than one month after arriving, Dennis suffered through one of his grand mal seizures. Luckily, Ricky was with him and caught him as he was falling and he didn't injure himself too badly on the sidewalk. Up to that point in his life, the only time he had seizures was after something "big" had happened in his life. The first one I witnessed was a few weeks after we became partners; this was the second one. Before he died in December 2010, he had a total of 12 seizures throughout our 30 years together. After his recovery, he continued doing his artwork as he wanted to have a good supply on hand to either find a gallery to display them, or at least have enough to attend one of the street fairs that are prevalent in SF during the summer months. He bought booth space at the May 1984 Haight Street Fair, as it was in our neighborhood and would be somewhat easy to get to, set up and display his work. It was a glorious sunny day that Sunday in May, and Dennis thoroughly enjoyed himself as he tended his booth. Unfortunately, he did not sell one single item. Everyone who stopped and looked admired what he had done, he was in his element in explaining how he created each one, and truly enjoyed himself in spite of the fact that he had no sales to show for it.

One of the highlights of living in our first apartment was that we met Donna Blow, who lived in the apartment directly under us. The three of us became fast friends and to this day, she is still one of my closest friends, along with her partner Nancy and their son Joshua. On May 6, 1984, the Broadway musical La Cage aux Folles made its West Coast premiere at the Golden Gate Theater in downtown SF. The three of us decided to do it up royally as Dennis and I rented tuxedos and Donna looked spectacular in a swanky blue dress. We sashayed our way through the crowd, had a blast at the theater, then went to a fancy restaurant afterwards for a late dinner with the rest of the "theater crowd." As you can see from the photos, we looked pretty snazzy, if I do say so myself.

Running on empty

It's a good thing I'm a rock and roll fan, because it seems my life is nothing but song lyrics. The latest is "Running on Empty" an old song by Jackson Browne. No matter how much time has passed, I still feel like my life is an empty shell. This bit about going through life without Dennis is nothing but a fucking drag. Yeah, I enjoy my friends as much as I always have, but just having friends is not enough. I swear I sigh at least twelve times an hour; if you extrapolate that out into days and/or weeks, I sigh over 1,300 times per week. I know that Venice, Italy has its Bridge of Sighs, but believe me, it has never sighed as much as I do. I feel like I’m the king of sighs—or in my case, maybe that should be the queen of sighs. My life has turned into one giant sigh, and there’s no end in sight.

Does this happen with everyone who has lost the love of their lives? I doubt if I will ever know that answer, but it sure does happen to me. I suppose one of the reasons I’m having so much trouble now is the fact that my Mom is not doing well at all. She’s had several strokes since she retired more than 20 years ago, she’s 86 now, and her health is declining. In particular, her short-term memory has just about disappeared altogether. I called her on Labor Day just to chat for a while, and she could not hold a conversation with me. My sister had warned me about it, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until I started talking with her. She had no trouble understanding anything that I was saying, but she could not relate anything at all about what is going on in her life at the moment. She was recently in the hospital, and they discovered her back pain was being caused by a herniated disc. In treating that condition, they found fluid in her lungs, so that was something else that had to be treated. Add to that her constant urinary tract dysfunction and you’ve got a person who is at the end of her rope. The last time Dennis and I visited her (in summer of 2008), all she talked about was how she couldn’t figure out why she was still here. All she wanted to do was go to bed and not wake up. Considering that was three years ago, it doesn’t surprise me that she appears to be readying herself to die. According to the daily email I get from my sister, Mom asked to speak with a priest yesterday. She’s refusing to eat, doesn’t want to take her medications, and generally is very depressed. Only time will tell, but I feel she’s getting ready to pass.

 
I’m not anywhere near being “over” Dennis passing away, and now this on top of it. No wonder my blood pressure has become so difficult to maintain at the levels my cardiologist wants. What was that old movie? Stop the World, I Want to Get Off...that sounds about right.
 

31st anniversary

It's going to be a long, difficult day. This is the first time I've "celebrated" our anniversary without him being here. One year ago today, we were flying back to Detroit to spend time with his family. His brother John was coming in from the Phoenix area and his two sisters, Sandie & Eileen, live there. It was the first time they'd all been together since 1998. It was a very special long weekend (5 days) and we really enjoyed ourselves. We didn't know it at the time, but it was the last time we all got together, because he died in December. I'm using one of my personal days today, so no work for me today. I'm going to be around the house all day, digging out old photos, remembering, crying, just endlessly thinking about him and our life together. Eventually I'll be able to enjoy this day, but today I'm just sad. I miss him so much.

A happier time - 20th anniversary in Waikiki

I haven't been to our favorite restaurant since he died, so tonight two of my closest friends and I are going to go there; I'll try to enjoy it, but just getting through it is the main goal. I don't know if "enjoy" is really in the equation. In fact, just getting through this first year without him has been a persistent goal. A few more ruts to get through and before you know it, one year will have passed by. I've decided that I don't want to spend the Christmas holidays here at home, so I'm going to Palm Springs over those few days and will spend them with my friend Des. I just can't face being alone in the house at that time.