Week 1

Melissa died, and I didn't. I went from loving husband to heartbroken widower; a role I dreaded that I might have to play. Melissa died, and I didn't. I went from loving husband to heartbroken widower; a role I dreaded that I might have to play. ℹ️ Info           Created: 2023-03-30

2023-03-22 to 03-29 - Passed

• Grief/Day 0 - Melissa wanted to go, but It was over. I knew that. She'd begged me to let her go while there was still much more hope -- but the odds for a better quality of life had evaporated, so I had to fight it for her, even knowing the loss I was causing. So we drugged her up, took her off everything, and let her fight to the end. Bye bye babe, the world and I lost someone special.

• Grief/Day 1 - When people ask "How are you doing?", I hear, "Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?" This is the beginning of the firsts... a list of things I have to do without her, or can't share with her later. The joys of finding a funeral home (cremation), sending pictures of her to remind me what I lost, and trying to keep it together.

• Grief/Day 2 - Drug induced sleep (NyQuil bought me 8 hours of sleep, more than the prior two days combined), I got Mary (Mom-in-law) to the airport. Then I had to fill papers for cremation; and my dark humor started kicking in. Then I got an incredibly touching but horribly timed package from her brother+wife about all the sweet things Melissa could do, when she never got out.

• Grief/Day 3 - Life goes on for the living; and there's work to do. I got our property insurances worked out. I started talking to myself, working on post-cremation/memorial plans. And skipped all the other stages of grief to get to acceptance. (Or piled them all on at once)...

• Grief/Day 4 - Diving in to study grief. Not to be consumed by it, but to understand it. Grief is like antidepressants on me; it makes me more emotional. Basically, my emotional cup is filled, and adding anything else, causes it to spill over. But still making small steps forward -- as long as forward isn't away from Melissa/past, but bring us both forward.

• Grief/Day 5 - Picked out an URN. Went to Dr. Longfinger about my prostate. And just kept working on administrative stuff around the home and banking, and so on.

• Grief/Day 6 - Every day is a new day without my wife. It's not the many things that she did for me that matters, it's not being there that matters. Not wallowing in grief, but still studying it. Many seem to suffer more than me -- not emotionally (I have enough of that), but they have all these fears/denials/insecurities that don't seem to impact me... as much.

Day 0

           Main article: Grief/Day 0

Stop the suffering The day of her death, I had a purpose; end her suffering. We all die, she couldn't take any more, there was no good path out, so (with the Hospitals help), I could help her die in her sleep (on happy drugs), with her Mom and me by her side (crying our eyes out), telling her how much we (and everyone) loved her. It took 7 hours, but at 11:52 they called it. The last words I got to say to her while she was conscious, was "You know I Love You more than anything in the world, right babe?" She looked at me, blinked once. and squeezed out a tear. She knew she was dying, and that I loved her. It didn't happen the way I thought it would (or the way the movies show) with everything just going flat. Earlier, she was stopping breathing for 30 seconds or a minute, her SpO2 (Oxygen in blood) would start crashing, then she'd gasp up to the 90s again. I thought she'd go by just forgetting to breath until her heart stopped. But after an hour her breathing was regular and was having none of that easy exit. Many hours later her heart stopped beating, but the ECG line kept sending signals. Then blood pressure crashed from 44/22 or so, to 8/8, and she kept breathing the whole time. Then that stopped, and I watched the color in her face drain to white. Then 30 seconds or a minute later, she breathed once. (After death). Then a minute, and one more gasp. She wanted to go, but didn't want to give up her life. Life is for the living The nurse listened for her heart. Called in the doctor, who called it. The love of my life had just passed, turned white while I watched, and was gone. But life goes on for the rest of us. Now what? I had the supreme indignity of living. I had to put all her things that no longer mattered on a cart, and push them out to my car. While walking out with Mary, I said, "She broke the deal, Husbands are supposed to die before wives". Mary replied, "Mothers are supposed to die before their daughters". I cried. She wins. The best marriages end with one person heartbroken... I'm glad she isn't feeling what I'm feeling. But sad that she's not the one alive. I prayed to take me instead, don't take her light from the world. Not that I don't love life. I just have this undertone of I've had a good life, and she's touched and brightened more lives than I will. I'm a good person... but she was a better one. While walking out, I told Mary that "in some ways, I'd wished Melissa had just passed while running. This was a long harder path for her. But she got to see her friends, and feel how many loved her and doted on her, and see what a little fighter and spirit she was (even in a broken body). Mary got to mother her again for 3 1/2 weeks." I'm not sure I wanted Melissa to have to pay that price for that reward, but I'm not exactly sad about it either. Melissa lived her life, and exited it, scrappy, stubborn, and she did it her way.

Day 1

           Main article: Grief/Day 1

How are you doing? When people call, greet, or want to truly offer sympathy and condolences, it often starts with the greeting, "How are you doing?" I KNOW that they are being kind, showing compassion for me, and they are trying to give me an opening to share. So it comes from a great place. But when people say that, I hear, "Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"... my first thought at a response is, "Other than having half my purpose and soul being torn from me, I'm doing just great". The first swim, the morning after Melissa passed, a guy in the pool asked me, "How are you today?"... I answered, "Worst day of my life, but it was very kind of you to ask". He didn't know how to respond to that. I decided to handle future encouters with more aplomb and not go raging dick on people that didn't deserve it. (Though I did say the latter part with sincerity and not snark/sarcasm). Over time, I think the question will lose the bite it has now. And my canned response is, "Doing the best I can, given the circumstances". A neutral plattitude that sums up a lot of the grief into whatever they want to make it into. I laugh, I cry, I try to find joy/humor, all while missing the great life I had with the greatest person I had known. But life goes on. Cards, pictures, flowers Along those lines, people send cards, flowers and pictures, "Here's a great picture of Melissa". And I'm like, "Thank you for reminding what I've lost and never get to see or hold again". But they mean well, it matters as she mattered. In that instant -- I love seeing her and remembering, and I love the moment they shared together and they are sharing with me. They are saying "she touched me", like so many others... right before I hate it, am bitter/angry at her for leaving me/God/world that she's gone/and at myself for pulling the plug (metaphorically), depressed that my life will never be the same, and accepting all the reasons why this had to be this way. I suspect when the feelings aren't an explosion, but more a whispering echo, that I'll be past the worst of it. But today is not that day. Swimming I did my morning swim to keep some sense of normalcy (I was just trying to get in and out without losing it, plus under-water, no one can see you ugly cry -- they just think you're breathing ugly). As I was changing to leave, one of the guys I know from the locker room was lamenting that his wife had him doing an errand that was going to add 30 minutes to his commute. So I ambush imparted some wisdom that someone who’d lost their wife had shared with me decades ago, through choked sobs, “Dude. I lost my wife last night… and I’d pay ANYTHING to have the opportunity to do that errand for her”. Poor guy didn’t know what hit him, the guy he was talking too gasped, "Oh fuck!". I didn't do it for malice or revenge, but from love. I bet he’ll look at that chore a little differently. Fleeting Life is fleeting. My wife and I had the benefit of one of the first trials as newlyweds was that she was having angina (chest pains), and had to have Heart Surgery. This reminded us both throughout our marriage that I would be there for her, how it could all "change in an instant", to prioritize what was really important, and to cherish the moments we got. The persian phrase, this too shall pass was seared in our minds, in good times and bad. Firsts A friend that lost his wife of 25 years mentioned that grief is a lot of counting firsts. This is the first morning where she was gone, the first time I swam without her eventually being there when I was done, my first shopping without her or her in mind, the first time I went out to dinner with friends without her or the possibility of sharing the evening in story with her. I went into the Hospital a Husband and came out Widower, and everything I'd thought I known was new again, because I was doing it without her. Not a fresh new, but a colder more lonely new. I'm told I'll be counting firsts for a while, and that my face will continue to leak at remembering why this time the same old routing is different. Balance Again, the voice of experience said, "don't change anything for a year". Some people leave a shrine to the person, and won't touch/change anything. Others go whirling dirvish and try to remake their life to hide from the greif; sell their house/move, start fresh, remove everything that reminds them of the "old". I've always believed in balances. So I decided to compromise. Each day, I'll pack up one thing(s) that are hers. NOT to forget her. (At that pace it would take 50 years, and I'd have to raze the house, or world, to do that). But just to symbolically go forward, remember one great thing / treasured memory or momento, and remember life goes on. (Life is for the living). The same way that I write about something, so I can savor it, understand it, and get past it. Some things can never go. But some things have to. You can't live a life in a temple to your greatest loss. Sharing Grief Melissa's friends and family were putting up tributes to her. My first thought was selfish. NO! My GREIEF! MY LOSS! You can't know and share in MY pain. She was MY wife, and you know only a fraction of the joy of our life together, and the devistating tragedy that losing that means. (I'm wordy and redundant, even in my selfish grief). Then I recognized that they all hurt too. Melissa touched so many lives. She was so special that her absense hurts them too, and they deserve to be able to pay tribute to her. They are going through what I am, even if it is different. And the world needs to know how much it lost with her passing. They were magnifying my pain for the world to see, and sharing out to the world what I tried to tell her daily (or at least weekly), "Baby, you were so special... and I'm so lucky to have had you in my life". Funeral Homes Unfortunately, you can't dawdle when picking a place to send remains to -- the hospital is not in the meat packing business, and they want you to find place to park your loved ones in like 12 hours, or they're feeding them to the hogs or something. I asked a neighborhood group and got a few choices. My inclination was to send to the first place, and a close nice one was Rosewood. But Melissa would be pissed if I did that without price/site shopping. So I drove by, they weren't very helpful, nice facilities, but I got a smarmy vibe, and $4K to BBQ my spouse sounded excessive. The second place was called Darst Funeral Home, and talking to them (Libby) on the phone they were much more helpful (and I liked the person I talked to), and they were half the price ($2K in fuel, shipping and handling seemed fair. But it wasn't about the money alone, as much as who I was working with). I called a third place and they were in-between and further away. Normally, I tend to purchase mid-grade, unless someone convinces me of the value/quality -- but I was pretty sure none of the places were leaving any meat on the bone (so to speak), and I liked Libby, had a recommendation, and called the Hespital and got Melissa fed-exed over. I'd decide on other details later. When I met them, I was glad I did. Not as many bilboards or as nice a facility, but nice dog and good people.

Day 2

           Main article: Grief/Day 2

Sleep I woke up rested. After only 3 hours of sleep the prior 2 nights, I slept 8 hours thanks to my drug of choice: NyQuil. I started working on this Grief Journal. I might have no control over the grief, but at least I can write and release some of my feelings. Airport I got Mary to the Airport. We talked, and just before she left, she was looking around and sigh/crying at what Melissa had left. I stopped her, and wanted to wallow. So I said no, let's look around at how much of this house is Melissa. (What I see every time I look). I took her into Melissa's room and pointed out the Teddy Bear I gave her on our first date (I was her Martial Arts instructor), all her running medals, and around the house looking at the things that mattered to her. Which is everything from paint colors, or these three candles on our island that she re-decorates to match every season (still with hearts for Valentines day, or my broken one). We wallowed in the agony of grief, and left. I feel so much better that she's going home to commiserate with her Sisters. One of whom (Betsy) lost her Husband (Cousin Julie's Dad) just shy of their 50th Anniversary. And her Husband Bill was meeting them there -- so they could grieve together. Darst Funeral Home I don't know why, but I got to the funeral home I'd picked to sign papers on the cremation, and I was darkly on a roll. I'd talked to Libby the night before, and just liked her immediately. Their shy dog quicky adopted me (knowing a good person? Most animals love me back). So I sat signing papers and cracking dark jokes. - We have to take her pacemaker out before we cremate her. (They explode). Do you want it? - Me: Do you wash it first? - Libby Laughing: Yes. - Me: Then sure. It’s only a week old, I’m sure it’ll be worth something on the black market. "slightly used”. (I actually think it'll make a great momento). - Libby: (Laughing) - Me: How about the titanium rod through her tibia? - Libby: that’ll remain after the cremation as well? Do you want it too? - Me: Sure… I think I’ve got all I need to make a nice Melissa wind chime. - Libby: (On the floor). I could feel Melissa's ghost kicking me under the table. - Libby: Do you know her Social Security number? - Me: (For some reason, it had popped into my head the night before. I rattled it off like it was my own.) - Libby: Thank you, it's for the $250 death benefit that Social Security will send you in a few weeks? - Me: $250? If I'd known that, I would have offed her a long time ago. - Libby laughed like she's never heard that one before. Debi and a poorly timed package So I'm having a good long chat with Melissa's OLDEST friend Debi (She hates when I say it like that, instead of longest friend, which makes it funny), on the ride back from the Funeral home. Lots of reminiscing, reconsiling, healing and grieving. Debi is talking about all the cards Melissa loves to send... and I notice a card that I have to mail (to her friend Mandy) on the counter. And I mention it's the last card Melissa ever signed. We bawl. I mention it's mean to hit Mandy with that from beyond the grave, without warning. So I later called Mandy and warn her it's coming. But I am waiting for a package to arrive before sending it. (Melissa was asking about that daily, sometimes multiple times). And I notice a package had arrived. So I quickly open it, and was going to share a photo of it with Debi. Nope, it's something else. They were these running cards people put every mile along a course for inspiration to keep going. There were 14 cards (13 is a half marathon, and a finale). I was reading them to Debi thinking they came from Melissa's running group. I was bawling -- they were taken from my blog or knowing Melissa trial and were so dead on target. Then we got to Mile 8, and they went beyond where she had gotten to, and started talking about the future that had been taken from us. I finished them ugly crying. It was the sweetest, and cruelest gift I could have gotten. I will keep them. And probably share them at the memorial. Then I found the card that said, "Open me first", and realized it was from Melissa's newly found brother (Mark) and his wife Robin. Debi commented, imagine how bad they felt knowing they'd sent that, and that Melissa had passed before it got there. And it strengthened my resolve to let Mandy know something was coming, before ambushing her. Mark and Robin So I called Mark, thanked him, for the sweet-cruel gift. That was wonderful, inspirational, and poorly timed missile through my heart. He accepted the thanks, apologized, and we went on talking. And I was mentioning I was going to do a poll/RSVP to try to firm up between a few dates in April-June. He mentioned that April 9th was out because of Easter. And I quipped, that'll work if she's planning on coming back! We busted up. Then we were reminiscing on Melissa and relationships, her organizational skills, and our failures as spouses and I quipped, "to be fair, if I could walk on water, Melissa would complain that I tracked wet footprints on her tile". And we laughed. She does that when I come out of the pool and pad across the kitchen to my room.

Day 3

           Main article: Grief/Day 3

Insurance I keep doing so much better, I can go hours of living life almost normally. Then something silly happens and the sob monster clobbers me. I need to write an entry on the blog (some sting), of call on Melissa's phone; insurance is overdue, and I need to pay it. I just have to call them and explain Melissa has passed, and to contact me. Seems so easy, until the words start strangling me in my throat. With my brain going, "dude, hold it the fuck together". Cheating I kinda want the 5 stages of grief to be over. But I don't know that I believe in it as a rule. It's more these are a pool of things you can feel, all at once, but not like this is the recipe and order. I skipped denial; and acceptance was easy. But it doesn't change that some of the others are still hanging around, along with their less well known buddies. Denial - not really. From the moment Theresa called me on Feb 18th, it was sureal, but real. This is the call you dreaded from before you got married. She might not die (she's so much stronger than people think), but this could be it. I never have the convenience of denying it. Anger - starting to get there. Is it wrong to be a guy, and try to divert hurt into anger? "You left me alone! You cheated me. Guys do stupid things so we get to die first! You left things unfinished! Now I have to do them. God damn it, you covered this home with things that remind me of you. Everyone who didn't love you was a dick! How can I go on, when everything reminds me of what I lost?!?! Why won't my face stop leaking?!?! You did this to me. Take it back. Please come back. I'm sorry. I need you!"... I'm starting to make mental lists of the things that annoyed me. I can finally park somewhere without my choice of spots being questioned, or drive without the quip, "I would have taken the other way". I can leave the toilet seat up. And so on. There was no Saint Melissa. She was a great person, and I loved her -- but like all people, their quirks can be annoying too. Bargaining - that was way earlier in the process. Along with prayer. There are no atheists in a foxhole. Feb 18th as soon as I got in the car to see if she was alright, that started... "God, we both know she's the better person, save her and take me... but make it quick and painless please". Or the ever popular, "I'm ready to get baptized again, for the low, low price of just saving my wife". "If you kill her, I'll never ever forgive you". And so on. Depression - I don't usually do depressed. When I'm "depressed" it's really more terminal apathy or anhedonia. The malaise and futility of everything... while still going through the motions. And there's a little of that. I combat and Overcoming Anxiety disorders, dealt with prior grief, and so far -- malaise part of depression can happen, and the lack of motivation, but not most of the rest. Acceptance - I often jump to that step. By day 3, I was pre-accepting many potential outcomes. So there's no real denial. She's completely gone. My life has changed. I have to start adulting, and stop depending on my partner. I'm alone. (Not as far as having no friends and family, but as in the person I looked forward to sharing with every day). Thus, this step is easy for me. But just because I'm there, doesn't mean the other steps are closed out. Those take more time to go away. New Habit One of Melissa's annoying little habits was talking to herself. (And then talking to me in the exact same tone of voice, and getting annoyed when I didn't recognize that the last 15 seconds of that 30 minute monologue was directed at me). She got it... and we'd laugh about it, or I'd tease her about it. Men talk 7,000 words a day, and Women generally talk 20,000 -- and Melissa was above average. So a good lot of the 13,000 excess was directed to herself or the universe. It's part of the reason, I had man-land or the bathroom. While I don't have the same spoken word debt per day that she carried, when alone in a house or car, I am overdrawing my account. So I've found a little cathartic release in just talking to her. Telling her how my day is going, what I'm thinking, hoping that she's happy, and calling her out for leaving me. Infrequently arguing at her inflexibility, or telling me I'm wrong. Surprisingly, I'm getting some benefit out of occasionally being able to win and argument, or get my whole thought out without being interrupted -- even if we both know it's just verbal masturbation. Parting Melissa Out So we're getting Melissa cremated... which begs the question about cremains. For now, like Laura Palmer, she's getting a nice decorative plastic bag (wrapped in a plastic box). (We used to do Twin Peaks / David Lynch parties, so I'm 100% sure she wouldn't mind). But we're also parting her out. She touched a lot of lives in life, and I expect to keep that tradition in death. Her Mom wants a tablespoon for a charm to keep with her : Melissa would love that Her OLDEST friend Debi wants a little for Día de los Muertos (that they celebrate): Melissa would love that too Melissa had talked about having some of her remains sprinkled on Newport beach (a place she loved as a child) Besides her Cyborg parts, I'm going to want a little piece of organic Melissa in a momento holder (if I'm going to talk to her/myself, I might as well have something I'm talking to, or something to hold on to when thinking of her) Melissa would certainly want some of her remains in her happy place (our backyard/lake)... and since Lake Houston is Houston's water supply, it means everyone eventually gets a taste of Melissa I was thinking of giving little party gifts with a little ash at the Memorial, but she wasn't that kind of girl Adminstration Created a Celebration of Life (Poll) -- to allow people to pick potential dates for Melissa's Memorial, leave assets/commentary, or just give me contact info. This will hopefully give me scale on how big a venue to book, as well as nuggets to add. I can't edit this (having my brother and friends help)... if could philibuster congress giving testimonial praising Melissa -- the best person I knew. I cleaned the Tesla out. Both washed it, and removed Melissa's stuff. I have no idea where she squirreled her "key" (Card), since we both use the phone most of the time. Started doing mail. Melissa had her way of doing things including bills (don't touch her stuff)... thus I'd been keeping things in neat piles for when she got back. Since that's not going to happen, I'm not going to become the hoarder or ignorer that my mother was. (We pulled like 20-something trashbags of mail/paperwork out of her house a year and a half ago).

Day 4

           Main article: Grief/Day 4

Photo A longtime friend (Gary) sent his contact photo for Melissa and it captured her light perfectly. Wonderful and horribly cutting at the same time. I love/hate that photo so much. At least it cleared out my sinuses. Diving in Geeks and hackers don't avoid, they twiddle, read, experiment, explore. So I'm starting to do books on tape, videos, and other things on Grief. Some of it is that I can analyze away some pain. Mostly, it's that I can more easily accept what I understand. (Even if my understanding is just a construct or model, it still helps). TED Talk Nora McInerny: We don't "move on" from grief. We move forward with it. -- that added something of value to my understanding. "100% of the people you love are going to die." I knew this. But it helps to remember that suffering is the human experience. Many talk about the dead in the present tense, because they are still a part of our lives (and will be). These experiences still formed us. You don't move on -- because that implies forgetting your past. Just like you can't/shouldn't move past good things (and good people), you can't just cast aside the bad because it's uncomfortable. That's a lot easier bar. Saying, I have to forget about the last 32 years (and the hole in my life) seemed like a pretty insurmountable task. But saying you need to drag that baggage forward with you from now on, isn't easy. But easier. TED Talk Nora McInerny - We don't "move on" from grief. We move forward with it. Grief is like Antidepressants Just a little while ago (20 years ago when we were in Ohio, sigh) I'd mentioned to a doctor that I sleep 5-6 hours/per night. She thought that was way too little, and said it was probably a serotonin deficiency and I should try anti-depressants. (I think it was more internal conflict over not beating the shit out of an asshole boss). I tried many drugs in my youth why not prescription ones? Make me happy, instead of apathetic. A week or two later, I'm sitting there watching TV, just bawling at some dumb commercial that came on. That is NOT my character/personality. I flushed those fucking pills, changed doctors, and became a lot more sympathetic to PMS/moodiness. (Seriously - if my mood could change that dramatically due to a little brain chemistry, I got how that could happen to women via hormones. I went from being casually sensitive to moood swings, to sincerely understanding. It sucks). To me, grief feels like when I was on anti-depressants. It seriously screws with the brain chemistry. Triggers lead to a flood of chemicals. It's not just thoughts (though that's part of it), but it feels biochemical. As Spock would say with one eyebrow raised, "Fascinating". Feelings Look, I get feelings, and I normally keep them nicely organized in their compartments to pull them out when appropriate (and beat them down with a stick when they get out of hand). I kid. I don't really have suppressed feelings, usually more controlled ones -- that I let them play day-to-day, until they misbehave and then try to put them in their cage when they get a little unruly. I had an anxiety disorder (broken fight-or-flight mechanism) that I slowly had to learn how to control and desensitize myself to. It's never "gone", just better managed. I had some teenage anger issues over being the unloved and abused child, which was morphing from being the abused to the abuser. It took my teens to learn to tame that beast, but I reprogrammed it and became the Martial Artist that combatted bullying. Via Martial Arts, meditation, and mind-over-body, I've been able to control a lot of things (body or mind hacking). The first step is figuring out the source of the problem. I'm sort of observing this Grief monster, and pondering the control points. When I get depressed (rarely), it's been because something (like antibiotics, intestinal distress, severe pain, etc) that fucked with my gut biome and that cascades to mood. Grief isn't just pouty, angry, loss, or some simple feeling that I can control. It's more like a flood of chemicals that is randomly ambushing me: triggered by some thought. Almost like a phobia (anxiety disorder). (Phobics aren't afraid of the phobia subject, they are usually afraid of the pain of the anxiety attack they get when they see their trigger). I'm finding two main triggers: Memories with/of Melissa that once gave me/Melissa great joy - because I love her/those things SO much and they are only echos or reruns. No new episodes. Fuuuck! Having to say things that will cause others any pain - because there's enough pain in the world, and this is overwhelming when I'm hurting others (causing just a little of what I'm going through). As I say, the karmetic cup is full, so ANY more hurt causes spillage. The worst is both -- thinking of Melissa not getting to sit on our back deck, and look out on our lake. She doesn't get that joy and I loved that for her. I loved watching her enjoy that. And talking about it hurts others. The problem is that I know that the easy fixes (like avoiding those thoughts/actions), isn't the right solution. This feels like desensitization is the better path -- but then that annoys everyone around you. ("Can you talk about something else Mr. Downer?!?!"). There's a balance to be found. And like when I learned to ride a unicycle, it may take a while. Morris Albert Feelings song with lyrics. Probably more about break-ups. But death is the ultimate breakup. Things like this songs lyrics completely trigger bawling. And I never really liked this song (only remembering it from my youth). I also learn triggers like yesterday, I got my car washed and cleaned the Melissa out of the car, just the brushes/glasses/coats/etc (though she'll always be a part of it). And Teslas suck to try to get to go through an automatic car wash! (Neutral is impossible). Afterwards, I just wanted to go across the street to Savaas Greek Cuisine (Melissa loved it). I just wanted to tell the owner "Thank you for giving me a care package of falaffel/taziki to my wife the day before she died. It was one of the last kind acts of kindness towards her before she passed." and make the owner feel good about herself (she has her own struggles) and pass a little goodness on in this world. Instead, I blubbered most of it, and left her feeling pity for me, instead of pride for herself. Fucked that up; that was a swing and a miss. On something I thought would be easy. Steps Forward I have to keep making Baby Steps forward (just one thing a day). Not to erase Melissa, but life is for the living. Melissa and I always had separate bedrooms. Just after marriage she had her first heart surgery, and needed her own bed to prop up arms (for sternum), etc -- and we sleep so differently, it was a key to marital bliss for us. (She liked a hot room, thin blanket, go to bed late, watch TV until she falls asleep, and is a kicker -- I like a cold room, sleep early, comforter around my ears, and no TV -- only a problem when we have guests or travel). Eventually, I'll move into "her" room. And that means it can't be a shrine to her. (Too fucking depressing). Day before Yesterday, I packed up Melissa's running medals. Those meant so much to her, they hurt to look at. Yesterday, I cleaned the Melissa out of the Tesla. She's infused in our home and my soul - but I don't need to bawl seeing her brush or sunglasses in the car every time I get in it. Today, I'll take down her Flight Attendant Shrine/Map that I made for her. (A map of all the place she, I, or we, had been together. Along with her pins/badges/etc.

Day 5

           Main article: Grief/Day 5

🗒️ Note: She was often horrified by the way I screwed up lyrics and the way I sometimes saw the world... like when I repeated the line that kissing someone is just pressing your lips against the sweet end of 26 feet of digestive tract, or that giving her flowers was my way of emasculating plants in effigy. URN I got Melissa's Urn delivered. It was more than she would have wanted to spend, but less than the ones you get from many funeral homes. But it's just a temporary container, for her remains, as we're going to let her remains touch many people. I don't think people really understand how creamation works. When burned about 97% of your body is either combined with oxygen and/or evaporated by converting liquid into gas, and it goes into the atmosphere... the 3 lbs. (or ≈3%) of ashes left are just whatever impure chunks didn't boil off and go up the chimney. Once Melissa is cremated, she'll disipate and be everywhere in the air I breathe, or eventually the soil and water (in very minute amounts). With perfect distribution and time, I don't need to go somewhere to remember her or talk to her, because to quote The Police, she is litereally in, "every breath I take, all the food I make, she'll be watching me". Her charred remains are just her left over impurities. There was a very zen (minimalist) wood and leather minimalist cube that I liked; it screamed Dave. But I wanted to find an Urn that was "her" -- and she loved the beach/water, and bling. So I found one with a beach scene, with a heart in the sand. (She liked hearts). It would have been better without as much faux gold, more pink and crystals, and a smiley face in the sand -- but it was something she'd probably like. And it's more about her than me. I liked it, her Mom liked it, a longtime friend of hers liked it. Another new grief friend/coworker of mine thought it was "terrible" (in humor), with a little Persian flair (which works in our house). I laughed and explained, "there’s no such thing as a good urn"... and he really liked that line. The day before, he had just paddled out to one of his wife and his last favorite spots, broke her porceline urn, and let her ashes go into the ocean (after almost 2 years). Chip Clip So I still have this "Chip Clip" on my nutsack. Not literally (a kink I'm not into). I just got this new malady in Jan, that was called Prostatitis, and it feels like that. In my case, it's a little calcification in my prostate that irritates it. Doctor Longfinger violated me and my PSA was used to validate that it wasn't anything more serious. While Melissa was in the hospital, we joked about it. I said, "My chip clip isn't being helped by all the commuting", and while she was laying in bed, recovering from a heart attack and stroke, she said, "Oh poor baby, all that pain must be hard for you". I detected a wiff of sarcasm. But it, and Melissa's passing, reminds me that it sucks getting old... but it is better than the alternative. It reminds me of the joke: I went to the doctor and said, “my bottom hurts”… Doctor said, “Where exactly does it hurt"... I said, “right around the entrance”… Doctor replied, “I expect it’ll continue to hurt until you stop treating it as 'the entrance'”… Administration Insurances: 5 different properties, 2 cars, umbrealla, flood, 2 agents, and it being renewal time, I was able to get with one of our insurance agents and get about 2/3rds of them closed and paid (most of the rest should have been already). Reconciling them into Melissa's filing system? That's gonna put the F-U in Fun. Funderal Home called, needed to get them a picture of Melissa -- they like to double-check photo with body before they Flambé. Needed to run by, and drop off the Urns. Went to the Bank, I love our bank and folks that work there. They helped me get accounts more understood, shared in grief (everyone loved Melissa). I sent off some gifts and cards that Melissa had already had ready for other people -- they'll be getting parting gifts from the other side, because that's how considerate she is.

Day 6

           Main article: Grief/Day 6

One day at a time Every day I wake up, and the first thought is... "(sigh). Another day, without my wife". The most important person in my life, and best person I knew. It is basically one week ago. Or a bit over a month since she was fully her. I'd "prepared" for (known about) this possibility from before we married. And yet the void isn't any less empty, and I wasn't fully prepared. She thought I'd miss the daily stuff she did for me/us... cooking/cleaning/shopping/paying bills. That mattered to her.... but is all stuff I can adapt to pretty easily. I appreciated it, and told her. But actually, doing it fills my days with the mundane. I'm making lists, and knocking things out. I'm more productive in many ways than I was. I might not be "on top" of them all. But they'll get them done -- and it helps fill the emptiness. What I miss is her presence/company/smile/laugh/caring... someone to laugh/groan at my jokes, hold my hand when we watched bad TV that she liked, tell me about their day poorly (non-linear rambling about who did what, losing her place in the story, referring to people I don't know by pronoun and expecting me to get it), then get bored listening to me do the same back. Who did all these little chores, then trolled for appreciation (and got it). Or to gloat when I didn't do them as well. Just her being here. I'm reading/watching shows/videos/books on grief. Not to wallow in it -- but just the whole, immersive understanding. Learning/analyzing. A ton of them talk about things like the giant fog, or trying to accept it. The fiction about the stages. The incredible depression/despair. I don't have that. It's real, and it's forever. Life is crystal clear. I just need to keep going forward. Doing errands (many that she would have handled for us), as well as catching up on past mail, cleaning up little parts of her/us. Trying to plan out the loneliest party I'll have ever thrown, so that other people can grieve and remember a fraction of what I experienced with my wife and the loss, hopefully celebrate what a fantastic person she was and a life well lived (as a reminder of how big a loss it is). Yet I still feel like nobody but me knows how much bigger that loss is than they know. (Her Mom and family have a closer idea). And still, the person of honor will still be a no show. I'm getting more used to it. I cry less. Far less in public. I cried when I woke up, but not in writing most of this. Cried out? I have told the stories so many times, to so many people, that I am desensitized to most of them. I can wallow in the analytics of what happened or how, and not drowin in the emotions of what it all means. (I know what it means and have accepted it; now is just the slow process of moving on. One foot in front of the other). I learned my landmines and can tip-toe around them. I sometimes think, "do they think I'm callous?" that I can tell the story/jokes without the overt emotion? But that's what happens when you re-live your loss 20 times a day for a week (or 5). You become the mortician or foresnic specialist; immune to the smell or the gore, and just do your job. Thus I march onward, finding purpose in the mundane, trying to find happines in little moments, being with people, small jokes or memories, enjoying a meal, the company, or just in finishing tasks like sending a card/present for my ex-wife that she wanted sent. Maybe even getting more organized on things that she cared about, and trying to let some of her personality traits live on through me. Live in the moment, and the moment isn't that bad. The past was fantastic, and someday the future might be as well. One foot in front of the other; the march of time goes on. People tell me they worry about me, but I'm fine. Not happy. Not even depressed (in the clinical sense). Not putting on a facade or faking it; just slogging through. I lived most of my youth without the overt love/support of a parent (I got most of it by proxy from grandparents or friends Mom's who felt pity for me, but occasionally from my own parents, who did care but just didn't express it often/well). So I feel like I'm far more prepared for the absence of erotas (intimate love) than most. And I have great community, friends, and family that give me more philia and agape (brotherly love and freindship) than I had the first 26 years of my life. (And even that wasn't THAT bad, and I'm older, wiser (?) and more able to cope with those feelings). So even if it isn't the joy of having my life partner... for now, there's still some small joys in life, and it's still enough to avoid despair. Live in the moment, and there are people out there with a lot bigger burdens than a spoiled first-worlder, losing his wife after a fantastic life of mostly bliss.

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Grief 02/18 my wife had a 2023_Heart_Attack, and passed away on 03/22/23; the hardest day of my life. Except for the ones after it.

Tags: Grief/Weeks