Wait: we forgot something

We spoke of many things. We discussed impending death; we talked about final arrangements; we made plans. The one thing we never talked about was what he wanted for me in the future. Did he want me to meet someone else? Would that make him happy or not? I hate it when people justify their actions by saying so and so “would have wanted it.” But I do wonder sometimes what my direction should be. How do I honor him? Is it disrespectful to find happiness with someone else? At the moment the very idea of that is so foreign to me I almost can’t fathom it and have no desire to even think about it. But other people seem to think I should be looking to meet someone. I can’t imagine it. The funny thing is that when people I know find a new partner after losing their spouse, I am only happy for them; I think, good for him/her, people deserve to be happy. I wonder why I can’t think the same way for myself.

The Florence Griswold Museum

Florence Griswold was the daughter of a wealthy sea merchant in Old Lyme. She survived her parents, her siblings, and her entire family. She inherited the family home, a grand house with spectacular gardens, but she had no income and began taking in boarders. Lucky for her: her home became the hub of artistic activity around the turn of the century. Important American artists came to stay with her and her home became a well known artists colony. Some of the most important American art, especially Impressionism, came from the people who stayed at the Griswold house. Today it is a museum and has an impressive collection of American art. The house itself is open to the public too, as are the gardens.

Small Victories

For whatever reason, some things seem easier on vacation than they do at home. While not exactly earth shattering, I’ve gone outside my comfort zone in some tiny ways. Twice now I’ve eaten lunch in restaurants without reading a book. Hey, we take our victories where we can. Admittedly, I ate at the bar both times, but I still think it counts. I also decided to take a scenic route home from Old Saybrook, got a little bit lost, and didn’t care one way or the other. I knew approximately what direction I needed to go, and as it turned out I ended up making a giant circle and ended up right where I started. From there I knew exactly how to get back.

I’m learning how to realize that I can take as long as I want to get somewhere; I can detour and go somewhere else; I can do whatever I damn well please because I’m on vacation: there is nothing I have to do. So this is what relaxing feels like. It’s also kind of fun to find out that I know my way around this area better than I thought I would.

You know how sometimes you remember a place, you can see it in your mind, but when you actually go there again it’s nothing like you remember? I had the pleasant experience of finding out that my memories of this resort and of the surrounding towns are precisely accurate. The minute I walked into my unit I recognized it immediately—it was exactly the same as the one we stayed in two years ago, and furthermore it was exactly as I remembered it.

The Beach

I often have trouble reading while at the beach. Uncharacteristically, I don’t become engrossed in my book but find myself just watching and letting my mind wander. Today at the beach I realized that this is the one venue where I am truly able to be in the moment. It’s normally pretty difficult for me to do that, but at the beach what I have always dismissed as distraction is, I think, anything but. My mind is clear, I’m relaxed, I’m listening to the repetitive sound of the water and the various conversations and interactions taking place around me. I’m not really thinking about anything, and it always feels good. For some reason I have trouble doing this almost anywhere else. I’ll have to try and replicate it at other times in other places.

Rhythm and Blues

I had a pleasantly uneventful drive to Connecticut, with only a few sporadic rain showers. I was early but the unit was ready.
As I put all my stuff away, the notion of rhythms occurred to me. We fall into rhythms over time; even those people who perceive themselves as spontaneous and unstructured have rhythms. I’m pretty sure you can’t get away from it. People whose lives are disorganized and chaotic are not fostering this type of rhythm (I would call it a routine, but that word tends to raise red flags). It is simply a matter of trading one set of habits for another; but a lot of people have a hard time with that.
What stuck me was that when we are part of a couple, we adapt to each other’s rhythms and eventually something like a shared rhythm evolves. This is why some people can travel together effortlessly.
But it’s not only while traveling that we do this. Part of the essence of “getting” another person is the ability to understand how we do things. The give and take of this process is what makes a bond between people. I saw myself organizing my vacation villa exactly the same way Philip and I always did it; it felt comfortable and easy. He certainly adapted to my habits over time, and I know I adjusted to many of his. Hand in glove.

On the Verge

Tomorrow I embark on my first solo vacation. I have no idea what it will feel like, but I am looking forward to it. The Therapist reminded me that because Philip and I went to this resort together I will probably have moments when I miss him pretty badly. But since I miss him badly most of the time, I think it will be ok–nothing out of the ordinary. Mostly I’m looking forward to being away, having some genuine quiet time and maybe trying to relax. I’ve been so stressed out about mom, worried about her health and safety, that I’m coming unraveled. The Therapist pointed out (how does he manage to be right and logical all the time? Oh yeah: that’s why I talk to him.) that there’s no reason to worry and that it won’t do me or her any good. She’s got support systems in place, and besides, bad things can happen whether I’m home or not. So I will go, have a good and relaxing time, and step a little bit out of my comfort zone.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I am frequently amazed at my capacity for disappointment. I have long believed that people don't change, at least not in fundamental ways. Yet when people consistently behave badly it still pisses me off and disappoints me even though I have no reason at all to expect anything else.
After putting it off for way too long I finally cleaned out our storage unit, got rid of most everything and brought a small amount of stuff home. It' a great relief to be out from under the $80/month I've been spending for no good reason. Some of what I brought home were scrapbooks of old photos, including a truly wonderful book my grandmother kept of pictures of my father from birth through adulthood. It was meticulously captioned, and each page is full of pictures: "1 month." "2 months." "3 months." And on and on, right through college, and including pictures of him with my mother when they first met, when they married, when they had us kids. There were some framed pictures of his father, and of my grandmother.
So. I decided to try and do a nice thing. I didn't really want the clutter of more pictures, and there's not going to be anybody who wants them when I'm gone. But I thought maybe my brother would like to have them--I packed up and sent several scrapbooks, some award plaques given to my father for various achievements and contributions, and some of the framed photos.
I also had a large, framed montage of newspaper articles and obituaries that appeared in various papers when my father died. After my dad's death, Philip put all of that together and had it framed for me. I thought my nephew would like to have it, so I sent it to him with a note.
And the bottom line? Not a word from anybody. Not. One. Word. Why do I try to be nice?

Animal Instinct

Here's how I tell whether a person is someone with the right qualities: if they don't like animals, it's a total dealbreaker for me. I've said more than once that, in general, I like most animals better than I like most people. And I think people's attitudes toward animals tells a lot about them. I am automatically suspicious of someone who doesn't have an affinity for animals. Lots of people, for a variety of very good reasons, may not have a pet in the house. But they can still be "animal people."

For the past couple of weeks I have been watching a pair of eagles raise three chicks in a nest high above a property in Iowa. There is a 24-hour live camera feed, and it is fascinating and wonderful. I work for a person who has, as near as I can tell, the bare minimum of empathy and humanity required to be an actual person. This person has absolutely no sense of humor (another dealbreaker for me) and a sense of personal entitlement that is truly staggering. What brought it home for me was when this person asked what I and a couple of coworkers were looking at online. When we explained about the eagles, it was dismissed with a flick of the hand and an "oh," and that was it. No interest whatsoever. To me, that demonstrates the worst side of a person.

Lost and Found

It's the little things that rattle me the most and upset my equilibrium. When is the last time I lost or misplaced something important? I just do not do things like that. I know where things are, I keep things where they belong.

Yesterday I took the car in for routine maintenance and the annual inspection. Late in the morning the service guy called to say they couldn't find my registration. The registration is always in the glove box; why would it be anywhere else? They took everything out of the glove box--no registration. I can't begin to think what could have happened to it. How long have I been driving around with no registration? Of course, my first thought was that Philip would surely know where it is. Instead, I ordered a replacement online for $25 and I still have to get my inspection done.

Every day seems to bring another unfamiliar path I have to navigate, more questions unanswered, things lost that I cannot find. I'm a competent, organized, capable person, but I feel as though I'm floundering. Who loses their car registration? Downright embarrassing. Nothing will be normal again.

Bargain Basement

For the past couple of weeks I have felt an (even more) oppressive grief. Why now? Over and over I replay those final days in the hospital--did I act too soon? Could I have waited, and perhaps he would have been able to come home? I asked the doctor directly to tell me if I was wrong, to tell me if she thought I was jumping the gun. I couldn't consult with Philip; I couldn't ask him what I should do. All I could do was to believe in myself, believe that Philip was clear about his wishes and that he was ready, believe the doctor when she said the antibiotics weren't working and that he was not going to get better. But still. Could we have had more time?

The Therapist says this is a form of bargaining as well as a sort of survivor guilt. He also said it's normal, which makes me feel marginally better. He said it's my way of (somewhat masochistically) keeping him alive and with me. I don't think I would have thought about the bargaining part, but it makes sense. I do want to keep him alive; but the thought that I actually hastened his death horrifies me. The Therapist assured me that I did the right thing--I made the only possible decision under the circumstances. My head knows this. My heart is a little behind the curve.

Why now? I feel as though I'm regressing. He says this, too, is pretty normal. If I've learned anything, it's that grief comes in waves, not in "stages." He surprised me by suggesting that this might be happening to me now because The Therapist is going on vacation for a couple of weeks, and it's entirely possible that I am, at some level, reacting to that; another interesting possibility that I'm willing to consider. I confide in very few people, and The Therapist is the only one I've really opened up to. My reptilian brain may be reacting to this short lived "abandonment." Meanwhile, I'm exhausted and two seconds away from crying most of the time.

On the good news front, I'm going to Waters Edge in Connecticut in June for a week. My first solo vacation, and I'm hoping it will be relaxing and restorative.

Vindicated!

Conventional wisdom holds that humans are social creatures; we need relationships, connections to other people, and associations with groups in order to live fully. Those of us who prefer time alone generate skepticism and suspicion. We're considered eccentric, or depressed, or alientated or lonely.

Finally there's evidence to support my proclivity toward solitude. The Boston Globe ran a story last Sunday about some important studies, including one from Harvard, that suggest solitude may actually be good for us. Apparently we do all sorts of things better when we take enough time alone. Hey--I could have told them that, and probably a lot quicker and cheaper. Things like creativity, memory, focus, imagination, empathy, and--get this--improved social relationships are all improved when we spend enough time alone.

I don't dispute for a minute that bonding relationships are important early in life. Children who don't form close relationships have problems later on. But for adults, even teens, these studies suggest that blocking off enough alone time makes everything work better.

This seems elementary to me. But I know lots of people who are almost never alone, usually on purpose. I've never quite understood people who schedule something every spare minute, or who make sure that every weekend is full of social plans, or who sleep with anyone they can find just so they don't have to be alone. For me, the priority always is: will I have enough time to go home and be by myself if I accept this invitation?

The Therapist has suggested several times that I try to schedule some things with friends that would be fun. It's hard to explain to people that most of the time what I honestly look forward to after work and on weekends is some time to myself. I don't think I'm misanthropic, and this Globe article vindicates me.

I do have friends. But I don't "collect" friends the way other people seem to. The ones I have, and the ones I keep, are few but precious. Most of them have stood the test of time and even distance. I guess I don't need a lot of friends, I just need good ones.

When Philip moved to Massachusetts, I panicked a little bit. Another human in my home? I'd gotten used to my solitary ways. Luckily, he understood. And, of course, over time we could happily be alone together. I think it was different with him. We did everything together, we enjoyed just being alone together. He used to say he didn't need any more friends because he had me. We kind of shared our solitude, our alone time.

So that may be why I'm comfortable spending most of my non-work time alone; it's not that different from my life before. As I said, I have friends who have to carefully schedule the times we get together, and basically squeeze me in, because they have scheduled every time slot and have none to spare. Frankly, that would drive me nuts.

According to the studies, even our memories are more robust, more lasting and more accurate when we spend enough time alone. When I'm by myself I can summon memories both good and bad and process them; I love the silence, the feeling that this time is mine and I can do my best thinking. We even do a better job on tasks when we're doing them alone, due to a phenomenon known as "social loafing." In short, if we know there's someone else doing the same task, we don't try as hard.

I love this. I have proof that I'm not alienated or suspect or somehow defective. I'm just doing what the psychology community is now saying we should all be doing: recharging my batteries, taking a breather, and in the process becoming a better social animal.

Back to our regularly scheduled life...

That vacation frame of mind is way too quick to disappear. Now that I remember how nice it is to get away both mentally and physically, I must do it more often.

The Therapist keeps trying to impress upon me that opening myself up to people who care about me will make me feel more connected and less emotionally adrift. And yet I persist in keeping my emotions in check, in maintaining the best facade of normalcy that I can. Honestly? I've been this way for most of my life; I've always found it somewhat embarrassing to show my emotions in public. Where this came from, I have no idea--certainly not from my parents. I can come up with lots of reasons (excuses?), many of which might actually be true. I also know that it mostly boils down to fear. I am trying my best to keep my equilibrium and I don't want to do anything that might disrupt my carefully constructed balance. Something like not looking directly into the sun.

Sometimes the full weight of what has happened to me hits me, and it's scary. I hate looking weak, so I try very hard to always be "fine." Reminds me of what Gil used to say when he asked me how I was doing, and I said, "fine." Fine: fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. That about says it all. And besides, I'm not really that sure other people want to hear about it. It must get boring after a while. And I sure as hell don't want to give my mother something else to worry about.

I've come through two pretty huge, life changing traumas and I think it's fair to say that I've been pretty resilient, at least I hope so. If I'm insulating myself as a protective measure, so be it.

I need more vacation!

We pause for a few moments of sanity

In spite of my general dislike of all things Florida, Sanibel was truly lovely. I was thrilled when my cousin Julie invited me to go with her and her friend, Eileen, for the week. Our place was essentially right on the beach, and we took full advantage of that. Our biggest decision every day was: pool or beach? So we went with both--mornings on the beach, afternoons at the pool. I walked for miles, especially in the mornings at low tide.

Once I got over the morning pain in my knee, it felt surprisingly good walking on the sand. I wish we had "real" beaches in New England, because they are so nice for walking. I got lots of great photos, especially at the Darling National Wildlife Refuge. We saw spoonbills, a great blue heron, an anhinga, a reddish heron, even a couple of bald eagles.

 We took a late afternoon cruise into Tarpon Bay (also part of the wildlife refuge), where there are huge rookeries for all kinds of birds: pelicans, egrets, ibis (ibii?), ospreys, you name it. And, right on schedule, they flew in to their nesting areas at sunset. The best part of this vacation was that we really didn't feel compelled to "do" something all the time. We did go to a marina where the manatees like to hang out, and saw about four of them, which was exciting.

We watched the sun set at the Mucky Duck, where, when I was working at Biogen, the executive team went during their executive retreat a few years ago. Hans Peter bought a baseball cap for me there, which I still have, and wear all the time.

I was able, for a few days, to clear my head. I couldn't help thinking how much Philip would have enjoyed the place, especially because there wasn't a speck of humidity in the air.  Being away was exactly what I needed. 

Ok, now I'm pissed off

Maybe not in the full blown, raging eruption of temper way, but still. Anybody who knows me knows I'm a huge coward when it comes to medical procedures and especially dental ones. So now it turns out I need to have a tooth extracted. My dentist referred me to an oral surgeon who, thank goodness, is going to give me a general anesthesia. I'm a wreck. Of course, with a procedure like this, you can't exactly drive yourself to and from the appointment; they require that you have someone with you who can take you home. And who might that be? All my friends are working. Philip is gone. That leaves my mother, who, at 85, is great at moral support but not exactly in a position to do much in the way of physical assistance (should it be needed). If it was Philip having the procedure, J would be ready, willing and able to be his designated ride home if I wasn't able to do it. But J is not going to do that for me, and I feel funny asking him, anyway. We're good friends; but J has been having problems of his own lately, and recently admitted to me that he's been drinking again and avoiding everybody, including me. When I explained my predicament to the woman at the oral surgeon's office, she surprised me by asking me where I live. When I told her, she said that she, too, lives in Braintree and offered to take me home afterward. I was dumbfounded at what a nice gesture that was. So I'll take a cab to the appointment and get a ride home from this very nice woman. I will make sure to send flowers or something.

But he should have been here to help me and to hold my hand.

Nice moments can be brief, but they're still nice

I ran into Attorney X in the elevator today. He's a senior partner, and one of the nicest people I've had the privilege of working with at the firm. After Philip died, he took the time to commiserate with me; he lost his wife more than 20 years ago and is now happily remarried. He told me not to worry about following anybody's rules but my own, that "this is a very exclusive club, one that you didn't want to join." He even lent me his marked up copy of C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed. Despite the Christian references (I just skipped over those parts) I found it a wonderful book and quite helpful.

In the elevator, he asked me how I was doing, to which I replied that I was doing all right, things were basically going pretty well. He said to me, "You look a lot better, like you're getting back into the swing of things. It takes a while, I know."

So nice.

I'm Not Angry. Why Not?

What am I afraid of? Keeping myself under control feels like I'm protecting myself; but what am I protecting myself from? I like to think that I'm sparing other people from having to deal with an uncomfortable situation, that nobody really wants to see another person's pain. I definitely work hard to protect my mother, who worries too much anyway although she'd never own up to it. I have to be ok for her. I find it embarrassing and scary to allow other people to see weakness in me. I see myself as stronger than that.

Why am I not angry that he left me? I keep experiencing things that should have been shared, and it's just not fair, damn it. A hundred times a day something will remind me of a funny story about him, or something will make me think "he would have loved that." It's the essence of missing somebody. But am I angry? We spent so many years knowing that our time together would be short that maybe I got over being angry a long time ago. Am I disappointed to my core? Yes. Do I wish he had been here to help me when I broke my knee? You betcha. But I'm thinking that he probably didn't want to die any more than I want to live without him.

The truth is that my grief and sense of loss is all-encompassing. I'm not a spiritual person nor a religious person; it might be easier if I was.  All I can rely on is my own control over how I present myself to the world, my own inner resources and my own ability to put one foot in front of the other and do what I need to do.

So: what would happen if I let a few people take a peek behind the curtain?

Insanity

Just for the record, I will put aside my aversion to the tedium of talking about the weather to say, without qualification, that This Winter Sucks. 'Nuff said.

There are lots of forms of insanity. In my own little way I can qualify by my irrational inability to take his glasses off the dresser. The very day after the funeral I went through the closet, loaded up the car with all of his clothing and drove to Interfaith Social Services to donate everything. I knew if I waited it would never get done. What I did not do was to take his watch, glasses, and jewelry box off the top of his dresser. Joan Didion wrote about not being able to get rid of her husband's shoes--he might need them when he comes back. The top of Philip's dresser looked as it did every night when he put his glasses and watch there. Which is to say, it looked like his dresser.

After a little more than a year I took everything off the dresser, rearranged some things, put his watch away in the drawer with all the other watches (he collected watches the way some women collect shoes), moved some pictures over there, and generally changed the look. What I still have not done is remove the glasses. So sue me. I'm not making a shrine, I'm just, well, a teeny bit insane. At least I recognize it, so maybe I'm saner than I think.

Pandora's Box

Ok, so it's no secret that I live inside my head, maybe a little too much. Just ask The Therapist, who would probably laugh out loud at the "little too much" part. No doubt I'm one of his more recalcitrant projects, not that I do it on purpose. (But you don't try not to do it on purpose, either, would be his reply.) Anyway.

My dad always said that feelings are neither right nor wrong--they're feelings. And I do have plenty of them, I'm not without emotion, I just don't parade them around like a personal billboard. At any given moment, for no apparent reason, I feel the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. I don't cry. Especially in front of other people I don't cry. More than anything I don't want to appear weak; from the beginning I was determined to show strength and grace under pressure and not fall apart for others to see. It's possible (I haven't thought this out) that I think if I let the feelings out into the open, they can't be put back. The Therapist is trying to convince me otherwise; he's probably right, but it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff.

I've been rereading the older posts from our travels. I had forgotten that I didn't put any photographs into those posts, so I'm working on that now, bit by bit.

Journeying in Two Directions

This journey I'm on often seems to go both forward and backward. I have to live my life, and adjust to my new normal. But I also look back, savoring the memories and finding surprisingly many things to be grateful for.

I still say "we." I worry that people will find it tiresome, but often it slips out before I can make the correction. I don't know if I should try consciously to break this habit, or whether it will work itself out over time. I don't want to pretend that "we" never existed; I don't want what I had with Philip to be put on a shelf, out of sight. I hate it when people say, "I can't help it," but sometimes, I just can't. Something to work on or at least think about.

I actually think I'm pretty lucky. My marriage, short as it was (12 years is pretty short, compared with many people's marriages) gave me much more than I ever expected. We had a wonderful time together. We had problems, to be sure, but even those taught me a lot about myself and what I'm capable of. Not everyone gets the kind of relationship we had. We had some serious obstacles to overcome before we got married, so I think we were always conscious of how valuable our time together was. We were, as Kurt Vonnegut said in "Mother Night," a nation of two.

Where have I been?

It is surprising, even to me, that it's been almost three years since my travels have prompted any narrative here. But I'm back, and will perhaps take this blog in some new directions.

After San Diego in 2008, we stuck a little closer to home due to Philip's health. I put him in charge of finding someplace for our next vacation and he came through with a winner. In June 2009 we went to Water's Edge Resort and Spa in Westbrook CT. Less than two hours away, and on a private beach on Long Island Sound. The place was gorgeous, and we had a wonderful week. And, almost exactly a week after we came home, my wonderful Philip, my best friend, my teacher, the love of my life, died at Mt. Auburn Hospital with me at his side. What a great journey we had together.

More to come.