December doldrums

When December first rolled around, I was quite surprised at the reaction I had. One of our "rules" we had during the course of our 30+ years together was that no holiday decorations could be put up/out until December 1 at the earliest. It was a rainy day and I had decided not to play pool for a change; I was just sitting around watching college football and basketball when I realized it was December 1st. So I decided to get out a bit of Christmas decorations to try to get into the holiday spirit, which has been lacking ever since Dennis died. As soon as I took the lid off the container in which the decorations were stored, the first thing I saw was the Santa Claus candle that he and I bought our first Christmas together. It immediately reduced me to tears. This was no "sneaking up on me" type of cry; it was immediate and it was all-encompassing—heavy, sobbing tears that remained for quite some time. I continued getting the decorations out of the container, though I was crying the entire time. These crying sessions continued throughout the entire month. Something would happen almost every day—whether it was a good or sad memory—the tears would just start flowing. I had thought I was over this crying stage but apparently I'm not. As I've stated before, grief has its own time frame and it doesn't leave until it's done with you—and apparently it's not done with me yet.

I did the smart thing by getting out of town again during the actual days of Christmas Eve (when he died) and Christmas Day. I went to Palm Springs again, though this time I stayed with my very good friends Donna and Nancy, along with their son Joshua and a couple of other people. We toasted Dennis at 7:45pm Christmas Eve, the exact time he died two years ago. It all still seems so fresh and recent to me; I'm beginning to wonder when that will change. Am I consigned to having these types of days each and every year when the holiday season approaches? I really try to have a good time, but his death has so debilitated me that I just don't seem to be able to get beyond it.

When a relationship that was so filled with love and with each other comes to an end, the person left behind really is like a lost ship at sea, drifting along with the tide and hoping it places you somewhere—anywhere—that will help you mend. While I know the mending is happening, it is taking an inordinate amount of time. All I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and continue going through life without him, no matter how difficult that chore may be.

I'm still here

The title of this particular post has two meanings: 1) even though I'm not writing as much as I used to, I am still here and trying to figure out the direction this blog should take, and 2) it also means I'm still around on this physical plane we call Earth.

It's the last day of a four-day "weekend" created by having Thanksgiving on a Thursday and not having to work on Friday and it's been a mixed bag of emotions. I had a very difficult Thanksgiving morning, as I decided to watch the DVD that Doug created for me of the Celebration of Life party that I held for Dennis after he died. That was probably a huge mistake on my part because as soon as the words "Dennis Healy" appeared on the screen, I burst into a lengthy unexpected crying spell—in fact, make that a wailing spell, as I more than cried—I wailed. I hadn't realized that I still have the capacity for that large of a cry. It's approaching two years now (he died Christmas Eve 2010) and I'm still suffering like it was yesterday. I know I sound like a broken record, but while I'm by myself at home I just get so depressed. I'm generally fine when I'm around people (like during the remainder of Thanksgiving, I was at Jim & Greg's and everything was cool). But then I get by myself, and I start going to pieces again.

Why can't I move forward? I suppose the biggest reason—and a lot of people don't realize this—is due to the fact that "Rick & Dennis" is all I've ever known. He was my only true relationship and I seem incapable of moving past that point. I've tried the dating sites (talk about a bunch of losers), I've tried meeting people while doing other things, but I've come to realize that I will never have another relationship that comes close to what Dennis and I had. And of course, "people" say "you shouldn't even try" and I find that I'm in complete agreement with them. With all the memories still very fresh in my mind from over 30 years with him, nothing else can compare. And knowing myself so well, I know if someone did come along that "knocked me off my feet" I'd still be comparing anything that happens to what happened between Dennis and I. That's why I keep saying I'm not ready for another relationship—because I'm not.

So what's next? Who the fuck knows? I sure don't. Until next time...

Falling into the deep end

Okay, I've totally lost it now. I'm actually going to admit this: I just watched a Justin Bieber video, "Beauty and a Beat" and the sad part is: I actually enjoyed it in a perverse sort of way. Let the ridicule begin! Also, this must be my shortest post yet.

Mystery man

A new man has appeared in my life. I'm still trying to figure him out though. He contacted me via one of the gay dating websites I'm registered with. We've traded over two dozen emails so far but have yet to meet up in person, which is very frustrating to me. I've always believed in the metaphysical nature of the universe, in which all things are related and there seems to be that same type of situation with Chris. Here's my theory as to why he's entered my life:

He was born in July 1980, six weeks before Dennis and I decided to become partners. When Chris turned 30 in July of 2010, Dennis and I celebrated our 30th anniversary on September 1st. If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know that I lost Dennis Christmas Eve 2010. It's been almost 2 years now since he died, and in that time the universe has been slowly evolving so that Chris could come into my life. He has stated that he really focuses on the person he's with and he's very sensitive. Did I also mention he's as cute as the proverbial button? Yup, sure is. His friends say he'd be the perfect boyfriend; I just wish he'd prove it! And not in another email.

I actually pissed him off and hurt his feelings this week, as I sent a rather harsh email about the fact that he is so reluctant to meet up and it's causing us to drift farther apart, when we should be coming together. Of course, I regretted sending the email almost as soon as I hit "send" but once you do that, you have to live with the consequences. His reply was that he thought it was a very harsh email. That's all he said, but the underlying feeling that came through was that I had hurt him deeply. I sent him a very apologetic email and luckily for me, he accepted my apology and we are now back on track. I still have not met him, nor spoken with him on the phone; just the emails. I'm trying to be patient, but it's difficult because I want to meet him, talk with him, see if there really is a connection. I playfully accused him of putting a spell on me because the last three times I've emailed him, I have gotten a raging hard-on each time while typing the email. That has to mean something, right? I can't believe that would happen unless there's a connection of some sort going on between us.

If you read this post, how about sending your thoughts to the universe that Chris and Rick need to meet. Thanks

The grief never leaves

I haven't written anything for one month. September 1 was our 32nd anniversary and the aftereffects of that occasion caught me by surprise. I was lethargic throughout the entire month. I did more crying in September than I have done in the past six months, and I'm wondering if this is some kind of "rebirth" of my grief. I already know that I will never get over his death; I learned that during the bit of therapy I did. Their mantra is "you learn to live with it." That's the part that's most difficult because I don't want to learn to live with it. I know I can't change it, but I'm stuck in this rut of being unable to really move on and try to find a new life with someone else. That still seems unfathomable to be. I've seen a few men over the past year, but I don't know if I can even call any of them "friends" as we're not in contact with each other—I guess that's your answer. I'm trying but my heart just isn't in it. I only try because I'm real lonely at home each night—just me and a room full of photos. And having friends in (who of course have to leave) just isn't the same as having him next to me. I still miss him so much that he still dominates conversations, as I'm always saying "our" or "we"—always still plural, just can't get to singular on a regular basis. I've caught myself many times and have corrected myself to singular, but now that I'm getting this down and out in the open, I can see that I have not really progressed all that much, and it's approaching two years this Christmas Eve, now only three months away.

And now a very old friend of mine, John Cochran from the Los Angeles Pool League, whom I have know since July 1985 suddenly passed away last week. I saw today that they are going to have a celebration of his life on December 2 so I will make sure to get down there. John was a unique character; both Dennis and I loved his big smile every time you walked into his presence. He will be missed but maybe he and Dennis can get together for a game of pool.

32nd Anniversary

Today is our 32nd Anniversary, the second one since he died. I'm not such a crying fool this year. Last year's anniversary was quite traumatic, the first in which he wasn't here to celebrate. I got through it with the help of friends, especially Tom and Donna. I've made no special plans; just don't know what to do. I fondly remember our anniversary trip two years ago, his last one in which he was able to see his family. We actually spent the day flying back to Detroit; Eileen and John picked us up, then we went to Miller's Bar in Dearborn and met up with Sandie and Ray. When we arrived back at the house, Sandie had an anniversary cake awaiting on the dining room table. It was a very special anniversary, even though in my heart at the time, I knew it would be the last one with his presence. And unfortunately, I was right.

Whew, just writing about this brought on a huge crying spell. So much for 'not being the crying fool' huh? Haven't had one like that in a while; guess I needed it. Losing the love of your life isn't easy. I wished him "happy anniversary" when I first got up this morning; did the same thing publicly on Facebook a while ago too. I miss his daily presence; I still talk to him all the time. And here's a topical reference: I feel like Clint Eastwood talking to an empty chair. But I usually talk to his photo, not his chair—the photo taken of us on our 30th by his nephew John.

Flounder is more than a fish

You can groan at the pun in the title if you wish. It was just one of those weeks. We had our monthly all-four-office staff meeting Tuesday, followed by our own office staff meeting. Michelle, our Senior Vice President, thought it would be fun to have each of us relate what cultural component we brought to the firm when we were hired. We took a ten minute break so people could gather a "trinket" of some kind that would represent what would be talked about. I immediately thought of the photos I have of Dennis and I. Each of my photos are framed and I chose the one that showed us on our honeymoon in September 1980 on top and a photo of us on our 30th anniversary in September 2010.

I didn't realize at the time I grabbed the photo, but when it was my turn to talk, I got very emotional and said that I had brought "Rick and Dennis" to the Harder culture, and then I just couldn't talk anymore. Michelle spoke up, "And Dennis is here with us in spirit always."

Ever since that day, I have been floundering again. I'm teary-eyed right now writing about it. Twenty months have passed by since he died and I've been feeling pretty good lately. Then the above happened and I'm going through another phase of "crying at the drop of a hat pin" — see, I can still keep a sense of humor. I added the word "pin" to that phrase years ago as a way of "gaying" it up a bit. I'm beginning to realize that what they told us in therapy—you never get over it, you learn to live with it—is really holding true. I had thought that crying spells were over but I've been proven wrong—again. All I can do is keep going forward.

Vacation's over

I have not written much lately but mostly it's because I was away on a 2-week vacation. I visited Dennis's sisters in Michigan and had a wonderful time. Also got to look up some old friends and even saw 2 of my 3 siblings. Other than the weather being too hot most of the time, it was a great vacation. Head back to work tomorrow, which is always a reality check. I'll write more later as I'm busy with chores today.

Disappearance

As quickly as he came into my life, apparently Daniel has now disappeared. A couple of weeks ago I received a text message from him. I had just settled into my recliner to watch the Giants baseball game and my phone gave the sound when a text message comes in. I noticed it was from him, and when I opened it, it read: "Hey Rick I have something to tell you." I immediately texted back: "Tell away." About a half hour later, still no response, so I texted again: "so are you going to tell me? Or do you want to phone me? I'm curious." I waited for over an hour and still nothing, so I texted one more time: "it's been about an hour and a half since you said you have something to tell me. What's up?" From that point forward, I have not heard a single word from him—no response to texts, no response to email, no response to voice mail. I had even asked for another massage because that usually gets his attention, but nothing. So the other day I texted the following: "Apparently what you had to tell me was that you're no longer available for massages. It's just too bad you didn't have the respect to tell me instead of just disappearing. I'm rather disappointed in you."

Considering the fact that we did have a business/client relationship, it seems rather strange that you'd treat a client that way. Not a very good business practice. I'm aware of the fact that we were never going to have a relationship (I never really wanted one with him—he's way too young) but it just seems very strange that it ended the way it did. While I am disappointed, I'm certainly not devastated. I was devastated when Dennis died; this is nothing compared to that. The main reason I'm disappointed is that I felt we were becoming friends and I guess I was wrong on that account. I certainly enjoyed my time with him, especially the sexual hijinks after the massages. I did things with him I've never done with anyone and I just don't understand why I've been treated this way. I'm moving on though. It will be interesting to see if he ever does try to contact me again. He's in for a big surprise should that happen—a surprise he may not like.

And now it does make me wonder why he came into my life. My spirit was buoyed when he was around, and that could be part of it. I did feel that Dennis sent him to me as a cosmic birthday present (he came around a couple weeks before my last birthday) because he didn't like seeing me depresssed all the time, but now I'm beginning to wonder. I guess I'll just have to remember the good times I had with him and leave it at that. That's not a bad way to leave it.

Up and down the road of life

It seems no matter how great I feel, nor how many strides I've taken since Dennis passed away, there's always that underlying feeling of that big hole in my heart, and it just doesn't get any smaller—let alone close. How long does it take for the healing process to really kick in and work? That's the big unanswered question. I really have been feeling real well lately, other than those times when missing him kicks in, grabs on and won't let go. It's worse than a pit bull getting a hold of you.

I am heading back to Michigan in a couple of weeks to spend time with his family. We're all excited about seeing each other. I managed to get through my visit with them last year, which wasn't easy because his sisters held their memorial for him and it was very heartfelt, though somewhat emotional for me in particular. This will now be the second time I've visited them by myself. It still seems very strange to be going and I won't be accompanied by Dennis. It reminds me of the poem I read at the memorial, which states (paraphrasing now) that "death is nothing at all" and "I am in the next room, very near" yet so far away because it's a totally different dimension where he is compared to where I am. At times I get so tired of missing him that I fantasize about my own passing, just so I can be with him again. How pathetic is that?

Gay Pride Day

Today is the annual Gay Pride Parade in downtown but I stayed home because I've come down with yet another cold. I just got rid of one and was feeling great and then Friday morning I was all stuffed up again. I don't know why I seem to suddenly be able to get sick so easily. I've always been a pretty healthy guy. But today also represents 18 months since Dennis died. And that weighs on my mind more than going to the parade. Even though I've been feeling pretty good lately what with the young men who have been coming into my life, I've still got that "still missing him" syndrome. How long is it going to take to get over that feeling? Who knows? I sure don't.

I did meet up with a new young man Friday after work. We met in the Castro and had a drink together and chatted. He had been reading my blog and I wanted to meet someone who had taken the time to do that. Needless to say, he seemed to know more about me than I did about him, but we did get along and had an enjoyable time. He had other plans for later that evening but we agreed we'd meet again sometime in the future. Because I drive, I took him back to his West Portal neighborhood and dropped him by a Walgreen's (he said he needed to pick some items up before he went home). So we'll see what type of friendship comes from this encounter. I'm hopeful that we can become friends.

Getting current

If you've been reading this blog, especially this year, you know I was involved from January until May 2 with jury duty. I wasn't able to talk about the case as it was unfolding, but now that the trial is over and the sentencing was handed out (today), I am now permitted to speak about it. The case itself was a very high-profile murder case from June 2008 and it happened right here in my neighborhood—the Excelsior District of San Francisco. On that Sunday afternoon, two gang members mistook a father and his three sons as rival gang members. The murderers opened fire into the victim's car, killing the father and two of his three sons, who were all returning to their home from a family gathering in the East Bay. Even though I was an alternate juror, I had to appear each and every day testimony was given so that I would be able to deliberate should the need arise (it didn't). My fellow jurors convicted the defendant of the three murders and one attempted murder. His was sentenced to 182 consecutive years without possibility of parole for those murders. I was in the gallery of the court this morning as sentencing was read by the judge. I had the opportunity to meet the widow, who hugged me and thanked me for my jury service, though she did realize I had not been involved in deliberation. But I did tell her that I thought my "big 12" had gotten it right and she agreed.

The reason I was able to go to court this morning was due to the fact that I was quite ill last week with a combination cold/flu, so bad that I had to cancel my trip to Seattle over the past weekend. My only niece, Rachel, was getting married on Saturday but I was not able to attend. That was quite a bummer as I had been looking forward to it ever since I had received her "hold the date" card earlier in the year. So instead of flying back from Seattle today, I went to court to get my closure on the trial. I'm still suffering with the head cold part of my illness and I'm just resting the rest of the day.

Young men coming out of the woodwork

Where in the hell did all these young men come from? I've already told you about Daniel, my friendly masseur. I've now had a request to be a mentor from a 19 year old in Hayward, and just this morning I was in a long chat with another 20 year old. That's three different young men who have contacted me within the past month; I did not contact them. What's going on in the universe that these young men seem to be coming out of the woodwork at me? Don't get me wrong; this is not a complaint. I'm just wondering what's going on. When I wrote about Daniel, I said that I thought he was a cosmic present from Dennis for my birthday. Now I'm wondering if he's still up there stirring it up. Plus I was in another chat with a 30 year old. He seems ancient considering how young all the others have been lately. I guess the old saying about feast or famine is definitely in play.

My new laptop

I finally broke down and bought myself a laptop. I'm hoping that by having the capability now to be mobile, I'll start writing more—especially in this blog. I'm heading to Seattle next weekend as my only niece is getting married and I'm taking a couple of days off from work to go. Due mostly to logistics, our paths have not crossed that many times over the years. Rachel just graduated from college, which means she's 22 years old now. I've only seen her about three times in her life, so it will be nice to be with her and her brother, along with my brother John and sister-in-law Nancy. My sister Mary is also coming out from Michigan but I don't know if my older brother Bud is coming or not.

My life is starting to return to a somewhat normal existence, now that the trial is over. I was an alternate the entire time so I did not get to deliberate but my fellow jurors convicted him of three counts of first degree murder along with attempted murder on the remaining survivor. They deadlocked on the other four minor charges, but I'm quite pleased that they came to the same decision I had in my mind. As a matter of fact, one of my fellow jurors called today, inviting me to a barbecue next Sunday the 10th but I'm going to be in Seattle for the wedding so I won't be able to attend. With any luck, there will be more. We all endured four months of sitting in that courtroom listening to testimony and we got to know each other. It's nice to see that at least one person is attempting to get us all back together, this time without all the courtroom drama.

Tomorrow is my pool league's Hi-Lo Tournament, where you team up the highest average to sign up with the lowest averaged person, forming two-person teams. There's an auction to buy teams, which we use as a fundraising tool and we've raised many thousands of dollars to give to charity over the years. It's always our most well-attended event and is always a lot of fun.

That's about it for writing on the laptap for now. This could work out.

My inner spirit has returned

Even though I've seen the healing and felt the progress I've made over the past 17 months since Dennis died, it wasn't until recently that I've started feeling "whole" again. And I attribute my new found feelings to Daniel, my 20-year old massage friend that I wrote about a couple articles ago. Now that we've seen each other a few times, I've come to realize that he is a cosmic present from Dennis, who didn't like seeing me in my depressed state. It makes perfect sense to me. I don't know if anyone who reads this will agree with me, but you know what? I don't really give a shit what other people think. All I know is I've felt better in the past month than I have at any time since Dennis died. Daniel really makes my spirit soar. And the more we see each other, the more we each realize that it's more than a "massage/client" relationship that is forming. We like each other and are becoming friends. When he was over the other night, we sat and talked for the first 30 minutes he was here, talking about all kinds of things. I even told him how I was feeling and that he was the reason I was feeling so great. I told him my theory of a "gift from Dennis" and he thought it was pretty neat that I felt that way. He reached over and patted my hand and said, "I'm very glad I make you feel this way, Rick. Thanks for telling me that; it makes me feel special."

Once I realized how much time had elapsed, I said, "Hey Daniel, if we don't shut up, we'll never get the massage in. You about ready?"

He replied with a big smile and said, "Yeah, Rick. Let's do it."

I offered him the use of the bathroom before we went into the bedroom. I was surprised when he came out, because he was already naked. I said, "Oh wow, you're naked already."

He replied, "I'm sorry Rick."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Daniel. I just wasn't expecting you to be naked when you came out of the bathroom. We've been getting undressed in the bedroom previously. It's no big deal to me; it's not like I've never seen you naked before," I stated, with a little grin on my face.

Once he started the massage, I noticed he was doing more techniques than he had previously and I told him that I noticed and complimented him on his advancement in his massage work. Not only was the massage more therapeutic than before, he keeps surprising me with little things. I could tell the massage was over because he had taken my right hand and I suddenly felt a warm tongue and mouth sucking my fingers. It was very erotic and unexpected. I looked up at him and said, "You keep surprising me. That was real nice. I also have a confession to make, Daniel."

"What's that, Rick?"

"Remember last time you were here? After the massage, I couldn't resist and just started licking your ass with my tongue. That was the first time I've ever rimmed anyone, but I just couldn't help myself. Your ass looked so inviting, I just dove right in. I got the feeling though that you didn't mind."

"Not at all, Rick. Considering it was your first time, you did a great job."

Breaking into a big grin, I said, "Well I'm glad you liked it, because I'm ready to dive back in."

And that's what I did. I'm also a very polite sex partner, as I asked him if it was okay if I fucked him again, and he was readily agreeable to that too. Needless to say, my encounters with Daniel are starting to move to another level. I have no plans of starting a "relationship" with him, but we both are enjoying each other in many ways. He was heading to Yosemite for the long weekend with friends, but we agreed to get together for brunch in the near future. He also wants to go to a Giants game, so we will do that too.

I am fully convinced that Daniel's entrance into my life is meant to be. At the moment, I definitely feel that he's too young for me to seriously consider having a relationship with, but I'm definitely pursuing this friendship for all it's worth. And enjoying every minute of it.

Making dinner is depressing

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you will know that Dennis taught me as much as he could about kitchen issues during his last five weeks of life, as he was worried that I wouldn't be able to feed myself in the manner in which I had become accustomed (he was a wonderful chef). While I have honored him by making my dinner each night since his passing, it is becoming more and more depressing as time moves forward because I'm only doing it for myself. Last night was the latest example. I'm just so tired of only cooking for myself. Those last five weeks he was alive, I was learning and I was doing it for the two of us, because he could no longer do things for himself, I was able to keep us reasonably fed during that time period. And having the "shoe on the other foot" made it more so, as he had always been the one who prepared dinner during our entire life together.

Part of the problem is the fact that by the time I get home from a day of work, I'm usually pretty tired and then I have to go through the process of figuring out what to fix for dinner. I will admit, I don't do everything from scratch any more. I use a lot of prepared pasta (ravioli, tortellini, etc.) that only requires me boiling water and adding a sauce. But I don't feel guilty about it because we used to use these same items when Dennis was alive; I'm just using them more than he did. At most, when he was the chef, we'd only use them once a week. I find myself doing it three or more times a week. I still make my enchiladas by hand (using pre-made tortillas), grating the cheese, chopping Italian parsley, making the roue into a great sauce and so forth, but I'm not doing them as much as I used to do.

So what's the solution to the depressing part of preparing dinner? I could invite more people to dinner, but I don't want to have to cook for more than one during the week, so it still leaves five of the seven days fending for myself. Just another one of those "Catch-22" situations that have cropped up since his death.

Where did he come from?

A couple weeks ago I received a message that was offering massage services for a very reasonable price. I took a chance and booked the guy. I previously wrote about this under a different article and it mentioned that the person who was going to give the massage was a no show and I was pissed, and wrote that he wouldn't get a second chance. I received a very heartfelt apology from him so I did give him another chance—and was that ever the right choice! Daniel is a 20-year old Latino-American, six feet tall (and I've always liked them tall) and about 165 pounds. And did I mention he's as cute as the proverbial button? Well he is...trust me. When he arrived we sat in the living room for a while chatting to get to know each other a bit before the massage started. He told me about his training (limited) but he is going to school, so I wasn't too worried about it. He suggested I take a shower to "warm the body up" before the massage, so I was receptive to that and hopped in for a quick one. When I got out, he was still in the living room, but in just his underwear. What a gorgeous body! We retired to the bedroom, we both got naked and I laid down, face-down. For someone so young, he actually gave a pretty nice massage. When he was done with my back, he asked me to flip over. That's when the surprise started.

Instead of continuing the massage, he wanted to "play" and I was not going to stop him from doing so. Wow! I have never had sex with a 20-year old before, even when I was in my twenties! Talk about fun. Whew! We played safely (of course) as we explored each other's bodies and came to the ultimate conclusion. And then, to endear himself to me even more, he suggested we take a shower together. Not only does he give a pretty good massage, he is an absolute sweetheart of a man. You could easily say I was "smitten" with him.

A week after the initial massage, and the night before my birthday, I decided I'd give myself another treat and texted him to see if he was available that night. He was and I booked another massage, knowing more than a massage would be forthcoming. Learning from the first experience, I had taken my shower just before he arrived, so my body was already warmed up. After chatting for a bit, we once again retired to the bedroom for the massage. Before we started, he said, "It's okay to touch while I'm massage you, Rick." So touch I did, fondling him throughout the massage. At one point (feeling confident of the answer), I said, "I'd like to fuck you, Daniel." He said, "I'd like that, Rick."

All I can say is: a grand time was had by both of us. I'm usually not someone that rims, but his ass looked so delicious, I dove right in and got him hot and bothered with my tongue, before I did what I said I'd do. What a tight ass! I'm not looking for a relationship at the moment, but having fun with Daniel is definitely on the agenda.

As I approach another birthday...

This coming Tuesday, May 1, will be my 61st birthday. I certainly enjoyed my first year of being in my 60s, mostly because I was not 59 any longer. My 59th year on this planet was filled with sadness and heartbreak as the love of my life passed away—the basis for this blog. I've written previously about my 60th birthday celebration in Palm Springs, but now that another full year has passed, I can step back a bit and look at the bigger picture of the previous twelve months.

Eight of the twelve months of 2011 came after my birthday and I can see the progress I've made getting used to the idea that Dennis is no longer here. As I've stated more than once, I will never "get over it" (how does one 'get over' a 30 year relationship) but I am learning to live with it—as difficult as that can be at times. I still don't know what the future holds—who of us does?—but I am approaching it with an open mind. Even though I live alone and at times I do feel lonely, I know that I'm never alone. There are many people who care about me and are there for me whenever I need them. That is a reassuring thought.

And looking into the future, I do not foresee another relationship like I had with Dennis. That seems to me to be as remote a possibility as anything I can think of; I just can't imagine having what we had—again. And if I can't have something like what I had, what's the point? After all, how many times can destiny creep into one person's life?

Frustrated

Frustrated seems to be my newest life sensation. I'm frustrated by the length of the trial in which I'm a juror—14 weeks and counting—will it never end? I'm frustrated with being alone but at the same time, I know I'm not ready to enter into another long term relationship. I'm frustrated with the flakes I keep running into while using on-line dating sites (or call them what they really are—hook up sites). Latest case in point: I arranged for a massage last night and the guy never showed up. And not "just didn't show up" but never called to give a reason. Safe to say he'll not get another chance. I'm still frustrated by my pool game as it continues to pretend it's a roller coaster instead of a pool game. I'm frustrated that I have to fix my own dinner all the time. It can be fun at times, but mostly I'm just tired of having to do everything in the kitchen by myself all the time. I'm frustrated because I just don't know where my life is going. Therapy taught me that I'll never get over the loss, but it didn't prepare me for the frustration for the length of time it would take to get used to the loss. Until this damn trial ends, I'm incapable of having a "normal" life as it creeps into all parts of my existence.

Okay, I guess that's enough bitching for the moment.

Same old song and dance

What do I mean by "same old song and dance?" Pretty much just like it sounds: I'm in a rut and can't seem to maneuver my way out of it. I'm extremely sad about the loss of him and it affects every part of my life. I keep trying to move forward but after 15 months I still find myself in neutral; the car doesn't seem to have a "D" for drive any longer—only "N" for neutral and "P" for park. Even "R" for reverse would be a welcome relief. The effect of his loss keeps growing instead of dissipating. Friday nights still hit me like a sledgehammer. I was crying again last night while thinking of him; the tears always start around the time he died—7:45pm. The memory of calling my sister that night still brings on the tears; her words were a great comfort to me and I'll always remember them.

I suppose one of the biggest reasons why I'm in a rut is because of serving my term of jury duty, which is now into its 14th week. My life is on hold as the effects of the trial pound away at my psyche. I'm at the trial Monday through Thursday, I work on Friday at my regular job and have even been working a few hours each weekend trying to stay as caught up as I can. I just don't seem to have time for myself anymore—it's either the trial or work. The judge told us Thursday that the end is now in sight, as the end of evidence presentation is scheduled to end this coming week. After that, it's jury instructions and closing arguments by both the defense and prosecution. I'm hopeful that the time frame that has been told to us will hold true. But in the meantime, I still feel as if I'm lost at sea with no land in sight, and the life preserver has sprung a leak.

The big question

And that big question is: what the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life? I think about Dennis all the time; he never leaves my mind. I'm having so much trouble getting past the fact that he is no longer here that I just don't know what to do any longer. I know I am getting used to the fact that he's not here any more, but that fact doesn't make it any easier to try to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I've registered on some gay-related dating sites, but come on. Is that really the way things are done nowadays? I really won't even consider dating anyone from the pool league I've been in for years because it would almost seem incestuous. I mean, I've known most of these people for 25+ years and all of them know me as "rickanddennis" or "dennisandrick" and I don't think I could get past that fact. They don't really know me as "Rick only" and I'm not sure how I should handle that fact. So what is the answer? I certainly don't have it at the moment and I don't know when it will ever show itself to me. I guess that's why it's the "big question" right now, huh?

Missing "the big guy"

I know it's a recurring theme in this blog, but what can I say? I have varying levels of "missing him" that go from the constant ache of him being physically gone, to the heartache of knowing I'll never see his physical presence again. The main thing I've learned so far during my grieving is that I will never "get over it" but will learn to live with it—which is taking longer to get used to than you can imagine. And it goes without saying (though I'm going to say it anyhow) that I don't just miss him physically, but mentally and spiritually as well. We were so good together for so long that it's difficult to fathom that 15 months have elapsed since he died. That amount of time is just a blip compared to the 30+ years we got to spend together. So I once again find myself thinking: what's next? How much longer is this depth of "missing" going to last? Until I die? Who knows? Certainly no one who can give me a definitive answer is leaping out of the woodwork to enlighten me. Onward.

I have taken a positive physical step—I have a fuck buddy. Just a "no strings attached" fuck buddy/friend with benefits situation that became available and I'm enjoying it...I'm pretty certain he's enjoying it too. LOL And neither one of us are looking to get into a relationship, so it works out for both of us. Enough said about that...or did I already get into TMI territory? Nawwwww, I didn't give you details—and I'm not going to.

I think this latest bout of missing him relates to the time of year—March Madness time and the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament has been as entertaining as it usually is, but it's still not as much fun watching without him being by my side. I'm enjoying it more this year than last though, so I guess progress is being made, albeit slowly. And of course if I mention to someone how much I miss him at this time of year, they almost always respond with "he's with you in spirit" and I know they mean well, but it's just not the same. Just more of the process going on...blah, blah, blah. I guess that's enough venting for the moment.

Purpose

The farther the distance gets between his death and the present, the more I seem to be confused about my future. I'm having trouble defining my purpose in life, now that my original purpose—living my life with Dennis—has gone by the wayside. I'm still floundering around. I may have mentioned briefly in another post that I'm currently a juror on a lengthy trial (that's about all I can say since I'm not supposed to talk about it, so my comment is very generic) and it's really interfering with my social life. Being in court four days a week, working on Friday (and putting in some Saturdays too), trying to reserve my Saturday time so I can play 9-ball, which leaves Sunday as the day to be social. But I'm busy with chores on Sunday. And it's also "March Madness" time, of which I am a huge fan, though admittedly, it's not as much fun watching without Dennis being by my side as the upsets occur. This is the second year in a row and it's not as depressing as last year, so I know I'm making progress. But I just can't figure out my purpose. I'm tired all the time lately as the trial is very draining. I've never really dated much in my life, so I don't know where that stands. One thing I do know: I am not ready nor am I looking for a new relationship. I do need companionship, whether that leads to or contains a sexual element is to be determined. I can't make any plans until the trial is over, and the end is nowhere in sight. This is a short entry but I needed to get these thoughts down; it generally stimulates me and makes me think.

Folding clothes through tears

I just finished folding some laundry and while doing so, unexpectedly got very teary-eyed. Dennis and I had many tee shirts that had identical designs because most of our tee shirts came from the pool league we've played in for many years. One tee shirt in particular shows the famous American Gothic painting (farmer holding pitchfork while dour-looking farm wife stares up at him) except the pitchfork has been replaced by a pool cue. Bernie King, who designed the tee shirt to coincide with the 50th West Coast Challenge pool tournament, always declared that Dennis and I had posed for the "photo" he used as his inspiration. That humorous comment has stuck around for years and while I was folding that tee shirt today, I thought of its origin and before you knew it, I had tears in my eyes. The tears caught me by surprise as I was under the impression that minor thoughts like that would no longer affect me in this manner. Guess I don't know as much as I thought I did, huh? It does prove to me that my grief is deeper than I realized and I shouldn't be surprised that something like this still happens, fourteen months or so after his death.

Living by myself after thirty plus years of having a daily companion is more difficult than I could have ever imagined. The good part of it, of course, is the fact that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. But that still means I'm doing it by myself instead of with someone...namely Dennis. I'll admit I still struggle daily. I just miss him so much, it's not easy to put into words. I do realize I have come to a major turning point in my new life—how do I move on in a meaningful way? What little interaction I've had with other guys on the gay chat websites has led me to believe that my age is going to be a factor in whether or not I will ever meet someone that I may or may not have a relationship with, because there definitely seems to be an age-phobia out there. I guess I'll just throw it out to the universe and see what she has in store for me.

Turning the corner

Even though I'm starting to feel more like my "old self" (whatever that was), there's still an underlying feeling of loneliness that won't go away. It's somewhat indescribable; it's just this sense of loss that has yet to be filled. And chances are, it never will be filled. Yeah, I suppose I could eventually find another partner but it's still inconceivable that I could ever be as happy as we were as a couple for more than thirty years. So where do I go from here?

Life in general is fairly strange at the moment, mostly because I'm serving jury duty on a 5-month murder trial, and we've only been at it for 6 weeks. I can't plan anything, because I'm in court Monday through Thursday; then I work my regular job on Fridays (thank goodness I have a regular temp we use when I'm gone from the office, and he's been a big help in keeping my workload from getting out of hand). I've been working Saturday mornings (though I'm taking today off) which I have never done before, but I can't let the work get so far behind that I'll never get caught up. It's a little difficult to think about dating, for example, when my life is totally turned around from what it used to be. I need to talk to my supervisor at the office because once I'm released from jury duty, I'd like to take at least one full week's vacation time to decompress from the trial. With any luck, once that happens, maybe I can get my life back on an even keel for what I want instead of being forced to do something I really never expected to be doing. The trial is interesting and all that goes with it, but come one—five month's worth? I'm starting to know what the jurors from the OJ Simpson trial felt like—imprisoned.

I know I'm healing from the loss, but there's still that lonely feeling that creeps into my consciousness and just being around other people doesn't alleviate those feelings. I really do try to concentrate on the good times we had, but it's never easy. Then again, who ever said it would be, right?

Opinions wanted

I don't know if I've developed writer's block or what, but lately I just never know what to write about. Therefore, I'm going to ask anyone visiting this blog: leave me a comment on what I should write about in the future. What else do you want to know about Dennis and I? I'm just not sure what direction this blog should take now that I'm getting used to the idea that he will no longer be around the rest of my physical life. Of course, I don't like that fact but it is the reality of the situation. I do realize that this blog has helped me immensely because I've been able to write my way out of grief. Just getting my thoughts down "on paper" (so to speak) has been very beneficial.

Any and all suggestions will be appreciated.

Feeling the changes

Today is one of the country's manufactured "Monday holidays"—in this case, President's Day. One year ago I made the first change in my life since Dennis's death: I rearranged and reorganized the kitchen to fit my needs. If you've been a regular reader of this blog, you know that Dennis was the "kitchen wizard" during our 30-year relationship. The kitchen was his domain—I just passed through on the way to the living room. It seems hard to believe that one year has passed since I made this somewhat minor change to my life, but that pesky calendar just doesn't lie, does it?

I've really been feeling "different" the past few weeks and I look on these feelings as a positive step towards my healing and getting used to the fact that the rest of my life is going to be lived without Dennis. Even though I still find it difficult to believe more than one year has elapsed since his death, it is a fact. My newest task in this life I'm forming for myself is how do I go about living it on my own. While I feel lonely a lot of the time, especially at home, I know I'm not ready to find a new man for another long term relationship. It just doesn't feel "right" yet. But as my sexual and physical needs have started emerging from their dormancy, I'm not sure what to do about those feelings. I don't know if I can go back to my free-wheeling days like when I was in my twenties and having many sexual partners was a given. Having been in a sexual relationship that really meant something, I'm having trouble reconciling this issue. Added to that is the fact that I've never really dated much at all in my entire life. Because my dating life has been so minimal, I can remember that I had three dates while in high school, I was engaged when I was 20 (trying to live up to other's expectations—a piece of advice: don't listen to others, listen to your inner self) but I called it off before a wedding was even in the planning stages (talk about pissed off relatives...that's a whole other story), and I can only recall one date while I was a gay man in my twenties. So there you have it: approximately five dates in my entire life.

I supposed it's somewhat easier to date in this technological age in which we live. I've facetiously signed up in a couple of gay men's "hook up" sites, and I do find them both very amusing. I've actually met up with two guys from one of the sites; coffee and talk mostly (I've reported on the one that led to an "encounter" in a previous post). I've never heard back from either one of them. I guess it doesn't necessarily mean that one of these days something more than one hook up will occur, leading to friendship, if not a "friends with benefits" situation. Who knows? This is all very new territory for me and I'm feeling my way along in the dark. And I suppose just the fact that I'm even thinking about dating or finding a "friend with benefits" means that my psyche is emerging from the depressed state it has been in. Even though Dennis and I never discussed what I'd do with the rest of my life once he was gone, I know deep down that he'd want me to be happy. I'm just not sure what's going to bring true happiness back into my life. Only time will tell.

Empty spaces

I've noticed that my readership has dwindled, and I must admit that I have not been writing as much as I used to when I first started this blog. Its main use was therapeutic in nature, and if you've read this far, I'm sure you realize that was due to the death of my partner, Dennis. Now that more than one year has passed, and I'm beginning to feel more "like myself" (whatever that is) I find that I'm writing less. Though I really think it has to do with the fact that I am on jury duty for a trial expected to last five months. I'm in court Monday through Thursday, 9:30am to 4:30pm, and it's exhausting. I can't say anymore about the trial, except I guess I could say it is very interesting to see the US court system in all its glory.

Acknowledging that I'm not writing as much may be a good thing—it may entice me to start writing more again. I'm still lonely, as I miss the daily companionship of that "special person" and still don't know what do to about it. I did mention my "encounter" in a couple articles ago, but that hasn't been repeated (though no fault can be put at any one's feet, mine included), the opportunity just hasn't presented itself to me again. No strings attached fuck buddies can be a pleasant diversion, but that does not replace the love one experiences in a true relationship like Dennis and I had throughout the years. But at the same time, I am not looking for another partner either. I need balance in my life and it just hasn't been like that lately. I do blame the trial to an extent because I cannot plan to do anything more than a 3-day weekend and that has to be when there's a Monday holiday involved. My life is pretty much on hold for the near foreseeable future. So while the title of this article refers to the emptiness of the blog lately, it also can describe my life currently.

The Early Years — Part 11

One of my most pleasant memories is our trip to Chicago in July 2006 to participate in Gay Games VII. Both Dennis and I had signed up for Men's Recreational 8-Ball and 9-Ball, mostly because we wanted to be in the same tournament so we'd be around for each other during the competition.


Gay Games VII was held in Chicago July 15-22, 2006, with over 12,000 athletes competing for gold, silver and bronze medals. The opening ceremonies were held in historic Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears of the National Football League. The procession of athletes into the stadium was led by the San Francisco contingent, more than 500 strong. This honor is awarded to San Francisco because they are the founding city of the event. Once the procession was finished, the large crowd gave the athletes a standing ovation for over five minutes. The crowd was not aware of the surprise that was headed their way.

Suddenly, the lights of the stadium were extinguished. That was the signal for the athletes to hit the button on the light wands they held. Soldier Field was turned into a moving, light-filled rainbow flag as 12,000 athletes waved their light wands. The spectators went wild. Speeches and entertainment filled the opening ceremonies’ agenda, as the show went on for three hours.

The competition for men’s 8-ball and 9-ball was slated to begin on Monday July 17^th at the upscale billiard club called G Cue Billiards on Chicago’s near-west side. The tournament directors had placed all participants into groups of four or five, creating “pools” of competitors. During “pool play” each person played all the other people in their group twice, with a scoring system set up to reward the winner. The formula would allow the tournament directors to determine how well each shooter plays the game and would allow them to set up seeding for the various divisions (both competitive and recreational).

My “pool” consisted of Tatsuga Nagashima (“Tat”) of Akron, Ohio, Joe Durczak of Chicago and John Zambrano (who was a no show), in addition to me. I played Joe first and shot fairly well. Joe had two balls left on the table after I pocketed the 8-ball, earning five points (three for winning the game, two more for the number of balls left on the table by Joe). I next played Tat; we both shot well but I prevailed, earning four points. After Tat and Joe played, I played my second game with Joe. Unfortunately, Joe played very poorly and I won, earning nine points as Joe had only managed to pocket one ball during the game. My last game of the day against Tat was my best-played game of the day. Tat broke but scratched, giving me ball-in-hand behind the headstring. I pocketed my first six balls before getting blocked by one of Tat’s balls. After numerous innings, I finally pocketed the 8-ball on a thinly sliced shot to go undefeated in “pool play” for the day. My 28 points earned me the #3 seed for the Men’s Recreational 8-ball tournament.

In the 8-ball tournament held on Wednesday, I played steadily all day, and was never behind in any of my matches. I beat Tom Mitchell and Abraham Kupfer of Houston in my first two matches by identical 2/0 scores before meeting up with Marshall Berra of Sarasota, Florida. After winning the first game, Marshall rebounded and won the second game (my only loss of the day), forcing the tie-breaking game. I prevailed and moved into the winner’s bracket final, where I beat Mac Griswold of Houston by a 2/0 score and claim the “hot seat” (the nickname given to the person who goes through the winner’s side without losing). Mac and Marshall battled in the loser’s bracket final to determine which player would come across to face me again. Both players had only lost to me throughout the day, so both were equally salivating to get another crack at me.

L to R: Mac, Rick, Marshall

Mac prevailed in his match with Marshall. I proved to be up to the challenge, and held off Mac 2/0 to claim the Men’s Recreational 8-ball gold medal by going undefeated in my matches. Mac claimed the silver medal, with Marshall capturing the bronze.

The Men’s Recreational 9-ball was held on Friday July 21^st, with the same cast of characters that had participated in the 8-ball tournament vying for the 9-ball title. While I wasn’t as sharp as I had been during the 8-ball tournament, my steady play rewarded me yet again. I started my day with a 4/1 win against Martin Milner of Chicago, then another 4/1 victory over David Steeves of Phoenix, and a 4/1 win against Gregory Killips of Kansas City. Once I reached the winner’s bracket final, Mac Griswold from Houston was once again awaiting a chance to knock me off, but I prevailed 4/2 to grab the “hot seat” once again. In a quirk of fate, Mac and Marshall once again played each other to determine who would advance from the loser’s round to take me on for the gold medal. This time, Marshall prevailed, beating Mac 3/2 and leaving Mac with the Bronze (the tournament directors had reduced the medal rounds to a race to three instead of the race to four that had been in effect all day long, as it was becoming late in the day and everyone was tired). Marshall played real well, grabbing the first game of the match, and getting back ahead 2/1, but I came back to win the last two games and capture the 9-ball gold medal to go along with my 8-ball gold medal. I went undefeated in matches during 9-ball as well.

9-ball Gold Medal-winning shot

The entire experience of participating at Gay Games VII was magical. The people of Chicago are to be commended for staging a fantastic event. As an indication of the warmth of the people of Chicago, two strangers were sitting in their car waiting for a traffic light to change. They started applauding me as I crossed the intersection on our way to a restaurant because I was wearing the medal I had just won. While at the restaurant, another person stopped by the table where we were seated and asked what I had won the medal for; she then offered her congratulations. Moments like this made the trip memorable. And not to leave Dennis out of the story, he played reasonably well all week too, but did not get a medal. It was the first time he had participated in the Games and he really enjoyed himself.

After the Games were over, we skipped the closing ceremonies and drove to Detroit to spend the following week with his family. It was a wonderful two week vacation and was actually the last time Dennis was able to participate in events like this because the following year is when his ALS first manifested itself, though we didn't know it at the time. Overall though, a very fond memory of a fantastic trip.

The Early Years—Part 10

In the last "early years" series, I wrote about the only time we dressed up for Halloween—1987. I need to go back in time a little over a year earlier—August 1986. It's my story of competing in Gay Games II, playing both eight and nine-ball.

Back in 1982, Dr. Tom Waddell formed what was originally called the Gay Olympics. That is until the United States Olympic Committee heard about it. They sued the founders of the Gay Olympics to stop them from using the word "Olympics"—as if it were their word and only their word. Of course, the U.S. Courts agreed and upheld the lawsuit. Just days before the event was to open, the sports gathering was renamed The Gay Games. Dr. Waddell had been a member of the U.S. Olympic team in 1968 that went to Mexico City; he was a decathlete and he wanted to show the world that gay people can excel at sports, too.

It was a very exciting time to be living in San Francisco because I had missed the first Gay Games. Living here made it so easy to enter; you didn't have to worry about accommodations. Dennis and I even took in an athlete to stay with us. Naturally, it turned into a "small world" story, as our "boarder" was someone I had met in Chicago during one of the gay volleyball tournaments that were always held Memorial Day Weekends back in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Chico Johnson was from Indianapolis and was a great volleyball player—she could spike with the best of them, and I don't mean spike heels! When I registered, I entered the individual 8-ball and 9-ball competition. Because of the large number of entrants from San Francisco, you weren't going to be guaranteed that you could represent San Francisco, so I chose to represent my old hometown of Traverse City. During the Opening Ceremonies (when I was sick as a dog with the flu and a summer cold), I bundled myself up and went anyhow. I found the Michigan contingent of people, and asked them if I could carry the Traverse City placard, as I was representing "good old TC." Of course, they agreed. It was a wonderful feeling marching into Kezar Stadium, with approximately 10,000 people cheering us on. I still get goose bumps remembering it. There were about 3,500 athletes entered into The Games. Gay Games III was held in Vancouver, British Columbia; there were over 7,500 athletes, yet the straight press totally ignored this fact—it was the largest gathering of athletes in the entire world in 1990, but it was never mentioned in the straight press. They are expecting even larger crowds next year.

The pool competition wasn't going to start until Wednesday, August 13, 1986, so I had a few days to continue practicing. My hopes for a medal were as high as any entrant. I felt I had a slight advantage, as the event was being held at Park Bowl—a bowling alley that also had a room for pool and sponsored pool teams in the SFPA. My team played out of Park Bowl that season, so I was familiar with the regulation 9-foot tables. Our then current league President, Tim Chitwood, was the Tournament Director. I lucked out during the draw, as my first round opponent was also a tennis player, and had to play tennis that morning, so he was a 'no show.' I received a first round bye. My second round opponent turned out to be Tim; we battled back and forth in the race to four format. Tied at 2-2, I finished off game 5 to take a 3-2 lead, then played a great game to capture the match 4-2. My next round opponent was Dee Washburn from Redwood City. He used a couple lucky 9-ball combinations to push me to the loser's bracket by a 4-1 score. Once on the loser's side, I caught fire. Dennis left work early to come and join me and provide moral support. I had to play Bart Rosenberg from New York City in my first match on the loser's side. We had practiced together earlier in the day, and I knew he was a very capable player. He jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead, before I made a comeback to tie the match. Bart then grabbed another game to lead 3-2; I managed to come back again to knot the match at 3-3. The last nail-biting game went my way, as I prevailed 4-3. I then "found the zone" and marched through my next match against Ike Keeler of Sacramento by a 4-0 whitewashing. Steve Murrell of Springfield, Illinois was my next victim, dispatched by a 4-1 score. That left Steve in 3rd Place, good for the Bronze Medal. As I crossed back over, there was Dee Washburn again. I was itching for a rematch and I was overjoyed with the fact that I was going to get a medal, no matter what happened next. Because I was coming from the loser's side, I had to beat Dee twice in order to prevail for the Gold Medal. Dee hardly had a chance to shoot in the first match, as I steamrolled 4-1, setting up the final match of the day. We had all been on our feet for over eight hours by that time, but on we went. Dee jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead, and it was looking bleak. I hung in there and knotted the match 2-2, but Dee jumped right back for a 3-2 lead. Not to be denied, I caught him again at 3-3—one more game for the Gold Medal. I had been using defensive strategy all day, something the other shooters didn't seem to appreciate. Some of them had chided me and called it "chicken-shit" pool. I tried to tell them that there's an offensive and defensive side to all games—maybe they should try it. I played a great safety, and in attempting to get a good hit, Dee fouled. This gave me ball in hand with only four balls remaining on the table. The referee wanted to spot a ball, but I told him to hold off a minute while I assessed the situation. I planned the four-ball run-out carefully, executed it to perfection and easily pocketed the 9-ball for the win. By this time, quite a crowd had gathered and the cheers went up as I completed my run-out. As I pocketed the last ball to win the Gold Medal, I could probably have won the high jump competition, because I leapt so high into the air, coming down into the arms of friends and supporters. It remains one of the highlights of my pool-playing life. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face for a week.

Friday, August 15th—it all started up again, as the 8-ball competition started. There was a larger field than for the 9-ball tournament¾a field of 32 players. I was still glowing from Wednesday's Gold Medal win, and as I started the day, my mind set was to just take whatever came my way, it didn't matter. That mind set didn't last very long. The day's format was a race to two, double elimination. I won my first game of the day against a man from Hawaii, but he then tied the match at 1-1 and went on to defeat me, 2-1. On the loser's side, I was playing a man from Houston. He won the first game, and was leading in the second game, having pocketed all his balls except the 8-ball. He had hooked himself, and fouled. Starting with ball in hand, I played my usual style of make a ball, assess the situation, then try either a good offensive shot, or play defense. I managed to tie the match at 1-1; I then beat him 2-1 in the match. My day went like this throughout the rest of the tournament, until towards the end of the day, when I was in a position to win another medal. Tim Chitwood and I would be playing¾the loser going home with nothing, the winner moving ahead with no worse than a Bronze Medal. Both Tim and I had been playing great all day, but I had made the decision that no matter how the match went, I wanted to make sure Tim won his medal. Tim "won" the match by a 3-0 score (they had changed the format for the medal rounds), and went on to lose his next match, still claiming the Bronze. I will always remember how happy Tim was in winning his medal, and I will never regret what I did. The only question that will never be answered is: would I have gone on to win another Gold Medal? We'll never know...and I certainly don't dwell on the outcome. I made the right choice.

Facing my fears

As irrational as it sounds, one of my biggest fears is forgetting him. Not forgetting him completely, just forgetting things we did together. We were together for over 30 years, but our lives were so ordinary that I'm constantly afraid that I will not remember things we did as partners. The majority of our life together was just the process of what we humans call "living"—we get up in the morning, have breakfast, go to work, come home, have dinner together, watch some TV, then go to bed. Throw in some sexual activities and there you have it—just an ordinary, everyday life filled with the stuff that's the part of everyone else's life. With such an ordinary existence, why shouldn't I be afraid that I might forget? I've surrounded myself with photos of the two of us, I keep writing this blog, but there's still this gnawing feeling that I can't get rid of and I don't know why. How could I possibly forget him?

Some of it might be due to the emptiness that I still feel deep down inside. I don't feel "whole" and I don't know when or if I ever will again. Half of my being was torn from me a little over a year ago and I've only gotten a very small percentage of it back. How long will it take? Will I ever feel whole again? My life has such a catch-22 angle to it that much of the time I still don't know if I'm coming or going. I don't really want a new relationship (certainly not at this point in time) but at the same time, I still feel very lonely—especially when I'm home by myself—which is most of the time. But at the same time, I've been feeling pretty good lately. I've actually felt some happiness in my life lately, which has been absent for over a year now (really, you noticed?). My physical needs are starting to manifest again but I'm not sure how to go about satisfying those urges. Well, it's not that I don't know how, but rather do I really want to? How satisfying can a physical relationship be when there's no emotional attachment? That is the latest burning question in which I must find the answer. I do know how to take care of physical needs, but hands and dildos can only go so far...LOL.

Now that I'm coming out of a very long term relationship, I just don't know if a quick romp in the hay cuts it anymore. I suppose there's only one way to find out—jump in the choppy water and see if I sink or swim. Confession time: I did have an "encounter" last week, my first one with someone other than Dennis in a very long time. And while it was fun—and safe—I'm still not sure about the after effects. Yeah, I got my rocks off, but so what? Will it happen again? Probably. He was a nice guy, we got along pretty well, we held up our respective ends of the conversation over coffee. A new friend with benefits? Why not? I have to do something while trying to figure out the "new Rick," right?

Friday on my mind

It's amazing to me how much Fridays still affect me—and not in a good way. If you've read my previous posts, you know that Dennis died on Christmas Eve 2010 (a Friday night). Every Friday since then has affected me one way or the other—good, bad, ugly and everything in between. I've been feeling really good lately; you might even say that a form of happiness has crept back into my life. But as well as I've been feeling, when Friday rolls around, it still gets to me. That's 55 consecutive Fridays now. I can still clearly "see" him in his chair, his last night on earth. Will this image ever fade? Do I want it to? I guess that's the dilemma I find myself in—remember or forget? Part of this is due to the fact that we never discussed how I'd get along after he died, and that's mostly my fault—that unrecognized denial that I subconsciously went through and just recently realized. Many of my friends keep telling me, "You know he'd want you to be happy." And while I can agree with them, there's still that sliver of doubt because we never talked about it. I guess the biggest problem is that I do want to be happy, but I wanted to be happy with him beside me, not me alone. That's the roadblock I can't seem to get around at the moment. Thoughts like these bombard me on Fridays like no other day of the week. How do I move on? That's the current $64,000 question.

Life and pool

I've mentioned this before, but I am starting to feel that (this time) I'm really emerging from the shadows of the grief clouds that have been hanging over me for the past year. Because playing pool has been such a large part of my life, I relate my pool game to the other parts of my life as well. If my pool game is going along okay, then generally speaking my life seems to be more in balance. At least lately it sure seems that way. On December 31st, I played in my usual Saturday 9-ball tournament at the pool hall in my neighborhood. For the first time ever, I made the finals. The tournament uses a handicap system so that when you're playing against a real good player, you get spotted "x" number of games to make the match more competitive. I was being spotted three games in a race to six; I had just tied the score at 5/5 and broke the next rack; nothing dropped and the 9-ball was in the middle of a cluster of three balls. My opponent hit the one-ball (you must hit the lowest numbered ball on the table first) into the cluster, which propelled the 9-ball directly into the corner pocket, ending the game and the match with one stroke. I settled for second place and $235.

This past Saturday (January 7), the same situation arose. I made the final for the second consecutive week and this time, my opponent was more like a freight train—he ran right over me, leaving me a bloody pulp on the tracks (second was still worth $50; a reduced entry fee made less money available).

While I would like to win one of these times, losing doesn't bother me because I'm playing mostly for fun and to improve my game...and I'm now doing both.

When I'm playing pool well, it's not frustrating (like the past year). I'm really hopeful that these latest successes bode well for 2012. Only time will tell.

2012: what will it bring?

It's now more than a year since Dennis passed away, and I'm curious as to what 2012 will bring forth to my world. I know I am not ready for a new relationship, but what about meeting new men? How about a new friend with benefits? I'm not really sure I'm ready. From a fantasy standpoint, the idea of having someone to fuck around with seems cool, but I don't know if I'm really ready for the reality of such a situation. When I was a young man, having many partners and having an active sex life was a given—it was the beginning of the current gay rights movement and it was also pre-AIDS, which allowed a lot of leeway for gay men exploring their newly found sexuality. At least I found that I had a lot of leeway. While the social scene at that time (the late 1970s) was predominantly the bars, there were also bathhouses to consider. I certainly made good use of them—and my little white ass was quite popular. I never figured it out for sure, but black men in particular loved to fuck my cute ass. And I certainly enjoyed those large black dicks. I know it's probably stereo-typing, but considering the number of black men I had sex with, I never did find one that had a small or average-sized dick. They were always on the larger end of the spectrum—not that there's anything wrong with that. Whenever I went to the baths, I always knew beforehand that I'd get fucked. All I had to do was get a room, leave the door slightly ajar, lie on the bed/cot face down with my ass in plain view, and before too long I would hear the door close and the action would start. I'm not sure I can be as free with my ass nowadays.

I think I mentioned this in my last article, but the one-year anniversary (which I considered symbolic) has turned out to be more than symbolic. I actually do feel somewhat different. Not sure I can put a handle on it yet, but the change in my being is definitely there. Now I just have to figure out what it means.

While no one can accurately predict the future, I am very hopeful that 2012 will be the start of my true healing from the loss of Dennis. 2011 was more like going through the motions of living as I tried to get used to the idea of living alone for the first time in over 30 years. What with 2012 starting, I'm hopeful that my life will no longer be "just going through the motions" but will start actually meaning something to me again. While I was never in a suicidal situation, last year I really didn't care one way or the other whether I lived or died. Even though the rest of my life will be lived without Dennis, I can now truly say that I know I'll make it. There's always going to be a sadness, but I can't dwell on that any longer. I must start remembering the good times and write about them because those are the memories that will sustain me until it's my time to join Dennis on the other side.