Mother’s Day 2008

Originally uploaded by Jason Dufair.

Planting flowers at Anna’s grave. It was a cold and rainy day, but I believe it’s a good tradition. The kids picked out some nice annuals and a new sunflower sculpture and angel windchime.

Yes, Ian is wearing one croc and one cowboy boot

The opposum laid there, struggling to move, limbs akimbo, unobeying.

Thursday evening I went out for some last minute groceries, getting ready for the long road trip Saturday morning. It wasn’t going to be an easy trip. Alyssa was 8, Ian just 3. Emma’s age still measured in months. Anna and the kids had been in Charleston for the whole month of July, enjoying family, beach trips, ferries, turtle rescues, crabbing, surfing, movies, aquarium trips, and more. I had driven everyone out at the beginning of the month, stayed a week, and then had flown back to Indiana to work for a week and a half. When we arrived, Anna was feeling pretty good. Perhaps the best she had felt in the 16 months since her cancer diagnosis. It had stopped progressing for several months and her energy level and mood were way up. Despite the anvil still hovering inches above her head and the heads of all of us, there was a certain live-in-the-moment, cancer-be-damned ease about it all. A month at the beach was exactly what everyone needed.

While I was home mid-month, the call came in that Anna was experiencing some new abdominal pain. A trip to the ER brought the anvil down hard. Her cancer had spread all through her abdomen. It had finally outwitted the $3000/month molecular chemotherapy wonderdrug. There was still one bullet left in the gun, one more drug she could try once we got her home. We had to get packed and get home quickly.

On the trip home from the grocery store, I saw the oppossum. It had been hit. Its eyes were full of fear. I passed it and pulled over. Unsure what to do (could it be rescued?), I called my sister-in-law that we had been staying with, a naturalist. Her advice was to do the humane thing and put it out of its misery. There would be no way to save it or to rescue it. I steeled my will and went back. I drove slowly, feeling the crunch of its skull under my wheel. It was the right thing to do and the only thing to do.

Friday was spent packing. Feed and entertain kids. Anna’s pain was becoming quite severe. Despite a dramatic increase in her pain meds - morphine - she was really struggling. She spent the whole day in bed. Didn’t eat anything. Drank a bit of Boost was all. I sent the kids to the pool with my sister-in-law so I could just focus on packing up a month’s worth of living and get us home. Just had to get us home. Just had to get to her rockstar oncologist. Buy a little more time. A thimbleful more hope.

By 3pm I knew something had gone very wrong. Anna’s extremeties had started turning a greenish-yellow. Anna’s brother, R, had come over and we decided we needed to take her to the ER. Somehow, someway get some help so we could get her home. I helped her out of bed and down the steps to the van. That short journey was a huge struggle for her. Her last steps. Her pain was intense and overwhelming. We drove quickly and in silence to the hospital. Anna just trying to rest and manage her pain. I tried not to make a sound as the tears just ran and ran and ran down my face. My normally inexhaustible supply of hope was running dry quickly. At the ER, we got her in a wheelchair and into triage. Her condition was obviously so desperate that they wheeled her right to a room. The nurse there quickly sprang into action, moving rapidly and efficiently. Summoning help from others on the floor with urgency. She tried and tried, but couldn’t get an IV started. I just wanted them to get some pain meds into Anna so she wasn’t suffering so badly. I held her hand or stroked her shoulder or rubbed her forehead as much as possible, trying not to interfere with the nurse’s important business. Anna’s blood pressure was dangerously low - like 60/40. Her pulse was stratospheric - like 170 bpm. They couldn’t give her pain meds until they got her blood pressure up and her heart rate down. She was fighting for life. She couldn’t get any air. They got her stabilized, but it took a while and it was tenuous. We were told she was being moved to the ICU, so we headed up to the waiting room, awaiting further news and consultation.

I think it was maybe 9pm or so at that point. We realized we’d gotten hungry and probably had a long night ahead of us, so Anna’s brother went out to pick us up some dinner. Just as he was returning, we found out they hadn’t moved her to the ICU, but that she had taken a turn for the worse in the ER after we left. They had been looking for us. We rushed back down and the room was packed with doctors and nurses. It wasn’t looking very promising at all. Despite Anna having a Do Not Resuscitate order, she was conscious and had agreed to be intubated when the doctor offered. In other words, she was put on a ventilator since she wasn’t able to breathe. Of course she would have agreed. No one would elect to suffocate. They anesthetized her so she could be intubated. I stood outside the room and was sobbing uncontrollably. Anna’s brother beside me, standing by steadfastly. The young guy in the next room came over and told me I had to stop crying and be strong. I didn’t know whether to agree with him, tell him to shut the fuck up, hug him, or just ignore him. He had no idea just how strong I was and how strong I had been for 17 months. I just mumbled something and hoped he went away.

They finally did move Anna to the ICU and the doctor came and consulted with us. She was kind and competent and didn’t give us false hope, but outlined possible scenarios for success. Her best guess was sepsis and they were going to try and get her stabilized and back to some reasonable shape based on that theory. We sat in the room, me throwing kleenex into a mound on the floor, unable to find or care about a trash can. At this point, it was maybe 1am and we decided it was going to be a long day Saturday making lots of decisions, so we should try and get some rest. Anna was unconscious, stable, and as good as she was going to get for the time being. I went in and said goodnight. She was heavily sedated, but not completely out. She had the breathing tube in and was struggling at some low low level to get it out by tossing her head back and forth. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I squeezed her hand and told her I loved her and rubbed her head and had to go. We headed back in silence and laid down to rest.

The call came in at 3am, July 29, 2006. One year ago today. Bad news and we had to get in right away. They wouldn’t tell us on the phone what had happened. We got back in the van and headed back in silence to the hospital. Whatever it was, it was obvious that hope had run out for us. The drive took moments and hours at the same time. The city was quiet, peaceful.

When we arrived, the doctor sat us back down in the room with the red couches and the no garbage can and informed us that Anna’s heart had stopped. They were able to revive her, but it was likely that she suffered brain damage. There was no longer any hope at all. We had to make the call about whether to keep her on life support. I already knew that Anna did not want her life artificially prolonged. I told the doctor it was time to say goodbye. It was the right thing to do and the only thing to do.

We waited a few minutes while they removed the ventilator tube and took off the various wires and tubes. We were ushered in. She was still breathing, albeit laboriously. She wasn’t conscious, but her eyes were open. The nurse put one final injection into her IV. I sat by her bedside, just stroking her gorgeous red hair over and over and telling her how much I loved her and how much our kids loved her and how much I appreciated her and how great of a mom she had been. How I was grateful for our lives together. How I would take good good care of our babies. How very very much I’d miss her. I just did that over and over again until she took her last breath. I watched her take her very last breath. She finally stopped struggling. Her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost completely black. I told her it was okay and she could rest. No more pain and no more struggle. I sat there doing that for a long time after she stopped breathing. Kissing her forehead and rubbing her hand. Rubbing her cheek. I saw no machines, I heard no sound. I just felt the deep, deep connection and love we had and that I knew we’d always have.

I was able to find some time that last Friday to talk to Anna. To reminisce a bit, to talk about what was to come. Despite not wanting to admit it at the time, we both knew it was the end. She told me I was a good father. She was grateful for the love we shared. Anna never swore. She looked at me and said “I’m fuckin sick, dude”. She wanted me to know, in my own language, that things weren’t right. I didn’t really say goodbye during that talk, but it was, in effect, our goodbye. I took a picture of her hand that day. It was intended for me to get a fingerprint for some pendants for the kids. It was the last photo I took of her.

The drive home from the hospital was surreal. 6am. The sun was rising. Everyone was going about their business. I could not understand, looking into every stranger’s eyes in their cars how they were not overcome with sadness and grief, not crying their eyes out. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. And my next task was about to be my hardest. Harder than everything that had come before. I had to go back and tell my children that their mommy had died. I had no idea. I mean, I figured the day would come. But today? Shouldn’t that still be in some tomorow? I called Cricket, my counselor. Our counselor Her wise advice shone through like it often does. She told me my job was now to lead the grief. To show the kids that it was ok to be sad. Really, really sad. But to also let them know that the world was still safe and that I would protect them. To let them see me grieve. To let them see me genuinely stricken. But not to let them see me completely break down. If at all possible, to save that for when they weren’t around. And that’s exactly what I did.

J had gathered them up while we drove home. They were already awake anyway. I sat them down in R&J’s bedroom, us, them, and their 3 kids. I just told them that mommy couldn’t fight the cancer any more and her body was too sick to stay alive any more. Alyssa was heartbroken and came up and sat and cried with me. Ian was confused and sad. He also sat with me. Emma was just too young to understand. We sat and talked and shared memories. After a couple minutes, Ian got up and quietly starting playing with a fire truck. It was his own way of channeling his sadness. Alyssa just sat quietly with me. We just stayed together for a long, long time, crying. Wishing it weren’t like it was. Alyssa wanted to know some of the logistics - what would happen to Anna’s body? How would we get her home? She was very sad that she didn’t get to see Anna one last time. She wanted to see her body once more. I told her she’d have a chance at the funeral, but that it wouldn’t be the same. And that mommy’s spirit would always live on with her no matter where she was. We spent the day cocooned. Eating some, resting some. My nieces, nephew, and R&J offering endless comfort to all of us. I could not have survived the day, the whole process, this whole year without them.

Anna was a wise woman. She was raised on the beach and always wanted to move back there. She had saltwater in her blood. A Seal Maiden, I believe. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she planned her own end so that she was on the beach. We had a small memorial service later the next day. We picked some flowers from R&J’s garden and took them to the Isle of Palms beach. We invited their minister. Said a few prayers. Kids and adults alike (and my father who had flown in for support and to help me with the drive home) tossed flower petals into the ocean, remembering Anna. We’ll be doing the same thing later today in the same place, just R&J and the kids and I.

Thank you Anna
Thank you for the love you gave me
Thank you for the 15 years of your life you shared with me
Thank you for the beautiful children you bore me, faces of God all
Thank you for your patience with me
Thank you for sharing your secrets with me
Thank you for sharing your body with me
Thank you for your wisdom
Thank you for your heart

I miss you dearly and will love you always.

Love,
Jase-o

This is a tree that grows a few feet away from Anna’s grave. It’s three trees, two separate species, that have grown into one. I see it representing my three kids who are looking over their mom, watching out for her.

When Anna’s sister and I picked her gravesite, we knew what area of the cemetery she had wanted, but she never chose an actual plot. Who could? We were out there in the pouring rain, V and I, huddling under one umbrella on a Thursday morning in early August, 4 days after she died, trying to find a good spot. We went on both sides of the hill and just had a hell of a time trying to make a decision about this entirely unwelcome undertaking. Without warning, the rain let up. We both looked at one another and knew the spot we were standing in was to be the spot.

I’m not superstitious, but I do think Anna chose the spot for us. It had to be by the tree. One Safe Place. We just couldn’t have known until we knew.

Over time, Anna’s body will become part of and give life to that tree, just like her body created, gave life to, and nurtured my kids.

More about this tree coming soon…

But that New Year’s dance left me with the embryonic hope that maybe, in some way, I would be able to love someone again.

We had that talk when Anna was sick. She wanted me to find someone else and to be happy. I told her I wasn’t interested. That I was planning on her being around for a long time. I was. I had to have that hope. And I did. There were people that lived more than 5 years after a diagnosis of stage IV lung cancer. Anna could be one of them. My friend and neighbor, Alan, lost his wife about 6 months before I did. She told him to grieve for a year and then remarry. Anna wasn’t quite so specific with her directive. But I think I understand. If I were the one to be going, I would definitely want her to remarry if it was what she wanted.

I’m now at the point where, occasionally, I can imagine spending my time with someone else. What I can’t possibly imagine is someone else being a step-parent to my kids. One of the driving forces in my life has been the very unpleasant relationship I’ve had with my stepmother. She’s a very unhealthy woman who has seen her share of suffering but has never faced it head-on. Thus, she was pretty efficient at passing that suffering on to my brother and to me (and to my dad) growing up. My mom’s second husband was also an angry, violent man. He treated us all - my mom, my brother, my stepsisters, even my Dad - very poorly.

I told myself that when I got married, I would never divorce. I would do whatever it took to make the relationship successful so that my kids would not have to go through what I went through growing up in terms of stepparents. Now, without having chosen it, I have the Faustian bargain of potentially trading the companionship of another friend, partner, lover, confidant, dreamer, see-er of visions, traveler, and sufferer for the risk of my kids living through my former hell. Yes, I understand that it’s much more complicated than that and there are a million reasons why things were the way they were in my family of origin. But that’s the bargain my monkey mind faces anyway.

So, despite all that, I decided to throw caution to the wind and at least dip my toe in the waters of dating. Being a netizen since the days of 300 baud modems and dialing long distance from Allston, MA to San Francisco to find good conversations on The WELL, it only made sense to check out online personals.

I don’t know how many of you have seen these, but let me tell you, it’s quite an experience. I wanted to see who was out there, but you really can’t do much lurking without setting up your own profile. So I put one up on Yahoo! Personals, just a few words to get started. The way these things work is you enter your gender and zipcode and you specify your potential mate’s age range (I went with 32-42), gender (I went with female - I’m curious about, but probably not looking to get serious with men), and you’re presented with a list of possible matches. Everyone provides a tagline or headline and then some verbiage about themselves. They also specify biographical stuff like never married/divorced/widowed, how many kids, education level, smoking/drinking preferences, etc. And they normally upload a few photos.

After reading through a few hundred of these profiles now, let me tell you - it’s a hell of an insight into the human condition. First, most people can’t write a coherent sentence to save their souls. Not that we all have to be Ralph Waldo Emerson, or Thordora, but geez. And can someone please point more than half of these folks to a spell checker? Now, my wife was dyslexic and several other people I love dearly have mild to severe dyslexia. So you can’t judge someone on their spelling. But if you’re going to try to attract the best person out there, wouldn’t you run your profile by someone you trust? And wouldn’t you spend more than 10 minutes writing it?

And then there are the pictures. Some of the pictures are so blurry or dark it’s impossible to tell what the person looks like or they’re sort of frowning or they have their ex-husband’s arm still around them. And this is not just a few. My photos aren’t winning any awards, but they’re at least not underexposed. So once you rule out the half that smoke, then the half of those that are unintelligible, then the half of those that are inscrutable, then the half of those that are trite (I mean who the heck doesn’t like long walks on the beach at sunset and cuddling by the fireplace?), then the half of those that listen to country music and what are you left with? Pretty much squat.

I’ve found exactly one profile on Yahoo! Personals that makes me inclined to put finger to keyboard and make contact. Someone who seems to know how shine some light on the prism of her self and to radiate some of the resultant color to her profile. But she smokes. For me, that’s a deal killer. I lost one beautiful soul through lung cancer and couldn’t do it again.

I’ve found that if I widen the distance of my search, I can find all sorts of potentially interesting people in Indianapolis and Chicago, but I’m not leaving this area and I wouldn’t expect anyone else to relocate. Not to mention, how the heck would you date someone 60+ miles away when you have about 4 free hours a week? Yeah, there’s that whole interwebs thing, but, well, Indy is just too far.

So then I decided to check out match.com. I had seen ads and wondered if it maybe attracted people who were more, perhaps, dedicated to actually finding a date? I had put together a decent profile on Yahoo! by this time and copied it over to match.com (where you get to add a few more blurbs). It’s really about the same, as far as I can tell. The site’s more user-friendly, so that helps. And you can do reverse and mutual matches (i.e. you meet their criteria and/or you both meet each other’s criteria). So that saves time and the effort of looking through dozens of NASCAR fans.

I found one profile on match.com pretty quickly that was rather intriguing. Her headline was a Jack Kerouac quote I’d always liked about living a passionate life. She likes The Grateful Dead and Tom Robbins and Van Morrison (all big, big faves of mine). She has a young daughter she’s very dedicated to. She’s an english teacher. The Kerouac alone probably would have been enough. So I wrote to her, putting my best foot forward. She wrote a relatively short, but pleasant reply. I suggested we IM or get coffee or whatever she was comfortable with. This was almost 2 weeks ago and I never heard back. I suspect I won’t at this point.

The last few weeks have found me at relatively low tide on grief beach. But I did find myself stopping a couple days ago and just staring at a picture of Anna in the hall. One we had done with my dad and brother and all of our families in matching white polo shirts. She looked so gorgeous in her bushy red hair against that white shirt. And I remembered so many plans and so many dreams. And I realized that I’m really probably not ready for dating at this point. I think the online personals may have been a bit of a shiney thing. I do miss having someone to kiss on the neck, right between their jawbone and their ear. And I do miss having someone with whom I can share the joy and rage of the day. And I do miss having someone to fuel the fire of my ideas and fueling their fire too. And I do miss looking into someone’s eyes and making that instantaneous, deep, real connection that says “we were thrust here, unwilling, unwilled, and unprepared, but let us face it all together because it’s sure as hell better than facing it alone”. But I think the time is not yet.

When we got to TKD, I was upstairs in the changing room and the fear jumped out like a rabid dog and demanded my attention. I decided it would be foolish to ignore something about my heart, especially being my kids’ only living parent. I called the babysitter and arranged to have her pick Alyssa up after TKD and headed to the E.R.

When Anna first got her cancer diagnosis, I had a panic attack the weekend after and thought it was a heart attack. It wasn’t, thankfully. The nice thing about heart problems and the E.R. is that you get a golden ticket right in the door. Having spent 17 months in hospitals and doctor’s offices with Anna, I was depressed and scared to be back in one. You get kinda used to it at the time, but having been away from the medical establishment, more or less, for 6 months, I hadn’t missed it a bit.

There I sat on a gurney in the E.R. They hooked me up to an EKG and took an X-Ray and took blood and I just sat. And sat and sat. My blood pressure when I came in was high - 170 over 120. So I watched the machine, glad to see it dropping as I sat and waited. Just sitting there with my thoughts for 3 hours, I had a bit of an epiphany.

I had gotten myself into a pattern of staying up late goofing off. I loves me my alone time. Playing guitar, reading, watching TV, reading blogs, writing in my blog, whatever shiney thing crosses my path. So I was getting to bed at 1am the previous 10 days or so. And since I have to be up no later than 7:30 to get the kids to school and daycare on time, I was really building up a sleep deficit. On top of that, with Anna’s birthday and 6 month anniversary the week before, I wasn’t sleeping too well when I was actually down for the night.

About those shiney things. Following the next shiny thing that crosses my path is the story of my life. I have ADHD. It can be a blessing at times (like when I write software), but mostly, it’s a curse. Especially now, trying to raise kids on my own. Anna helped me re-remember that I have it. I got an official diagnosis a few years ago. So I sat there with my thoughts and realized that my ADHD was going to kill me via a heart attack via sleep deprivation if I didn’t do something about it. My therapist, Cricket, told me years ago that being a morning person or a night person is just part of your nature and is very difficult to change. Interestingly, I had had coffee with my friend Alan that morning (a friend of Cricket’s, actually), and he suggested that it’s much more malleable than that. I decided, sitting there on the gurney, that I would become a morning person. That I would start living like my dad, with order and discipline. That I would, at 37 years old, finally become a grownup.

Now, the mind of someone with ADHD is full of grandiose plans. The irony was that this was just another grand plan. (plus a bargain with myself in order to stay alive until Emma turns 18). Luckily, I still had several hours of wait ahead of me, so I figured out a way to actually turn my plan into concrete reality. It was time to make some real changes in my schedule and in my mind:

• Go to bed when the kids go to bed. Shower after Alyssa is down at 9pm and be in bed by 9:30, reading until 9:45.
• No laptop at night. Looking into a bright light right before sleep is dumb.
• Step #3: Stop focusing on stupid shit like learning how to weld and build crazy bicycles. Occupy my mind with more important shit like when Alyssa’s Girl Scout sleepover is and where I can get a decent Batman costume for Ian for the stars he’s earned.
• No more coffee. Decaf or tea in moderation.
• Wake up at 6am or so and Get Things Done.
• Let go of the idea that I’m going to be the next Martin Sexton or Iron Chef. I suppose this is obvious, but some little part of my brain hadn’t done this yet. I have dozens of songs I want to record with my new Christmas present. It’ll all have to wait.
• Sadly, dear readers, give up the idea that I’m able to blog and read blogs as much as I might like. I don’t really put blogging or reading my friend’s blogs in the shiney things category (in other words, I really do see staying in touch with people this way as worthwhile), but it can be time consuming.

The doc came in and told me my heart is totally fine. That I need to keep losing weight (I’ve actually lost about 8 pounds since MLK day, thanks in part to SparkPeople - Thanks again for the tip, Kat). That what I had was probably PVCs and there’s no link to fatality with those whatsoever. That if I had something more serious, there would be signs. The PVCs are often linked to too much caffeine and too much stress (and, I surmised, too little sleep).

So I’m doing all those things above. I’ve been early to bed and early to rise nearly every day since that night. It’s glorious to be mostly caught up on sleep again. It’s quite nice to be up early and see the sun rise. I’ve always liked this, actually. Now, it’s a regular occurrence. No, I haven’t picked up my guitar for more than 5 minutes in the last week and a half. No, I’m not blogging as much as I’d like. No, I haven’t watched Iron Chef or Good Eats in that week and a half. But I do have my next actions list current and I do feel good and I’m much less tempted to overeat now that I’m not sleep deprived. I’m much more focused on parenting being my shiney thing for the next, oh, 20 years. 3 hours alone with my thoughts in a hospital gown and no computer or anything to be shiney was an unexpected gift.

Having more sleep helps keep my ADHD in check to a decent extent. But it’s still there. And I do still get tired of so much soup and garbage can. I made a deal with myself there in the E.R. that if I don’t get my shit together by March 1, I’m going to treat my ADHD. My shit is now much more together and hopefully keeping it together isn’t just another shiney thing itself and it will stick. If not, I may consider ritalin or strattera. I’m considering it anyway. In a classic ADHD move, I ordered the book “Scattered,” only to find I’ve read it already (and can’t find my copy). But it’s a worthy re-read.

People have told me I’m doing such a great job raising my kids by myself. I’ve always appreciated the compliment. And, in a lot of objective ways, I am doing pretty well. Before the holidays, I was managing our family better. But I never felt like I really was doing the right thing in my heart. I’m getting there now. Sometime in the future, I may take the compliment and even believe it in my heart of hearts.

Today would have been Anna’s 45th birthday. We left cards that the kids made. My sister-in-law was nice enough to laminate them. We’re going to have cake tonight.

It’s been a hell of a day. I couldn’t fall asleep until about 2:30 AM, lying here thinking about how it doesn’t feel real to keep living with Anna gone. Sometimes I wonder if it’s an illusion and I’m the one that had cancer and died and this is just my weird post-death reality. I left work early, unable to concentrate. I went to Anna’s grave and cried and cried, kneeling in the snow. I cried until the snot and tears started running down my chin and freezing. I thought my eyes were going to pop out I was crying so hard and loudly. Luckilly no one was there and the nearest house is visible but through some woods and across a ravine. I told her how much I missed her and how much I wanted her back. And how truly sorry I was that this happened to her.

Have I ever mentioned how beautiful her site is? It’s secluded, on the edge of a wooded park. There’s a tree right next to her grave that is actually three trees that have woven themselves together into one big tree. I think they represent my three babies watching over Anna. I’ll have to post a picture soon. Someone had left a little basket of smooth glass pellets and seashells and bubbles and a star wand that said “Wish you were here”. Funny that I don’t know who left it. Sometimes I have the illusion that I had some sort of monopoly on her love and a monopoly on grieving her. Silly. She had a lot of people who loved her. And her grave blanket that we put on at the beginning of December still rests on top, green and dusted with snow. I brushed the snow off and adjusted the little white dove that’s attached.

It’s funny, I’ve had this idea that perhaps it might be fun to look into dating maybe at the one year anniversary of her death or something. I went to an Umphrey’s concert for New Years Eve and, aside from it being an awesome show, I found myself asked to dance at the end of the show by a beautiful 22 year old goddess as they played Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” over the sound system. After 17 months of Anna’s illness and, on NYE, 5 months of widowerhood, I had kinda forgotten how wonderful it was to just touch a woman’s skin. Not that Anna and I didn’t find a few moments of intimacy in the 17 months, but chemo, radiation, fatigue, vomiting, drastic weight loss, not to mention the usual being tired after putting kids to bed meant those moments were few and far in between. I mean there’s a huge hole in my life where Anna used to be. Kneeling by her grave this afternoon, the idea of being with anyone else seemed utterly ridiculous. I mean, Anna’s the only one I wanted to be with and the only one I still want to be with. If only I could.

Anna came to me in a dream two or three days after she died. It was a dream that was not like a dream. It was another state altogether. She held my face in her hands and told me everything was going to be ok. Over and over. And that she was ok. Since then, I’ve been at least a little bit less afraid of dying. I do have the sense that, in some way, we’ll be together again. I’m not much of a subscriber to the supernatural, but I also have the feeling that there’s more than meets the eye (and the rational mind) to our existence. As I knelt there today, I longed for the day that I was lying next to her in the ground so that maybe somehow we could be together again. Not that I want to die or kill myself or anything like that. But I do hope our spirits in whatever form they may take, find communion again someday.

Alyssa told me she was thinking a lot about Anna today and feeling sad. She didn’t want to say much more than that. She and I went to Tae Kwon Do tonight. Usually a good workout and it just doesn’t hurt as much for a few hours afterwards, but tonight it still hurt. I missed Anna the minute we climbed back in the car. Ian was talking about Anna today too. Remembering some bruise she got hiking. Emma and I watched some video of Anna today and she didn’t seem to register that Anna in the video was her mommy.

My grandfather passed away on Friday night. So my almost-90 year old gram and I are in the same boat, looking at the future without the one we love. I was thinking today about what made it the same and what made it different. I suppose we all maintain the illusion at some level that we’re immortal and that keeps us going. At 35, this basically was working for me. Most of us at this age know few people our age that have died, and if we’re lucky, it’s not someone we loved dearly or even knew super well. At least in the west, we can generally maintain the immortality illusion past our thirties. Anna’s death has, obviously, shattered this illusion for me. My gram is almost 90. She has lost lots of people she’s loved. I imagine at that age, it’s hard to maintain the immortality illusion with your own death rapidly impending and with so many reminders of loss having paved your path. So that’s one difference.

Also, at almost 90, she’s not exactly going to be hitting the dating pool. She really is looking at the unblinking eye of loneliness. Yeah, she’s got my mom and aunt and uncle. And that’s really good and important (and hopefully they’ll all be able to put aside their differences in my Gram’s best interest). And she has my brother and I and my cousins and some other family members. With the exception of my aunt, none of us are geograpically close, unfortunately. I wish that weren’t true. Every once in a while, the eye of loneliness blinks for me and I can imagine dating or somehow having adult companionship at some point in the future. I’m in no place to do so now, but I have time on my side (Alyssa was talking about wanting a stepmom today - one that is nice. The whole idea is still way too scary to me). So that’s another difference.

Anna and I spent so much time adapting ourselves so that together, we’d overcome anything and our marriage would survive. When she died, it was like someone ripped out a few major organs. I imagine it’s like that for my Gram, but probably more. They were just about to celebrate their 70th wedding anniversary. We barely made it to 10. Crappy circumstances in either case.

It’s funny, when I am doing better, I find myself a bit guilty still that I’m not grieving harder. Then when it hits, it’s at least familiar, if not comforting. I think I have a lot more work to do, grief-wise, and perhaps it’s frustration even more than guilt that the work isn’t progressing faster. Anna’s 45th birthday is coming on the 31st. The 6 month anniversary of her death is coming on the 29th. I hope I can ride this wave out ok.