Light at the End of the Tunnel

The last couple of months have been a blur as I have been coordinating my efforts with those of the contractors I hired to prepare the house for sale.  The finish line is in sight and while I still have a few hours of work remaining, the house will hopefully be ready to list in the next week or two.  It will be a great relief to finally be able to move on, and although I doubt Melinda is interested in worldly concerns, I hope that she will see that I've made the house nice like we always wanted and appreciate it on some level.  For me, the satisfaction is in finishing a large task and creating a home that some other family can move into and enjoy without worrying too much about maintenance for a few years.

Attaining my goals does create some negative feelings, though.  I wish that Melinda were here to share in the joy of accomplishment and it makes me sad that she isn't around to celebrate with me.  On the other hand, I know that we didn't work well together and that if she were here, the house would not be done because a) we'd disagree on how to proceed and b) we wouldn't be able to afford to hire people because of the deep debt we were in.  In a strange way, I feel guilty for enjoying my success because I can't see any way I could have come to this point without losing Melinda.  My feelings are perfectly expressed in the lyrics to It's a Trip by Joywave.

   Creepy little sneaky little foreign places
   Terrifying territories, I can't take it
   It's a great big atlas, yeah
   I'm feeling dumb

I'm on a path that was unthinkable over two years ago.  That in itself is not a negative, but it is somewhat overwhelming having no set path.  It can be exciting to have a world of options in front of me, however I used to have the comfort of knowing that I had someone else to walk with me.  Some of the directions Melinda headed us in were fun and exciting, and she brought a sense of adventure to my life.

   When you've gotten what you want
   Maybe I should start over
   There's nothing left to want
   Up and at 'em again
   You don't know what you want
   Yeah, I'm thinking it over
   Just tell me what to want

 

I compromised so much of what I wanted in order to keep Melinda happy that I lost a part of myself over the last couple of decades.  I finally have the financial stability I desired for years.  Without the constant stress over bills and arguments over the house and other issues, I finally feel at peace for the first time in a very long while.  So I've gotten what I want, but I'm forced to start over.  Unfortunately, what I really wanted was Melinda, so "there's nothing left to want."  I have positive changes in my life, but it came with a cost.  She was the most important part of my life, but I'm trying to focus now on what I want my life to be.  I have short term goals, but I haven't figured out my long game yet.  Part of me wishes she were still here to "tell me what I want", only because that's how I ended up living for years and it's easier to blame someone else if problems arise when you remove yourself from the decision making.

Another recent song triggers some specific feelings.  It's Sober Up by AJR.

   Won't you help me sober up
   Growing up it made me numb
   And I want to feel something again

   Won't you help me sober up
   All the big kids they are drunk
   And I want to feel something again
   Won't you help me feel something again?
   Can I finally feel something again?

To me, the most grown up experience you can have is to lose someone dear to you.  It's why people are most sympathetic to a young child that loses a sibling or parent.  You don't want them to have to deal such a difficult problem at a young age.  I've lost grandparents and I lost my brother Billy when I was 34, but nothing has numbed me more than losing Melinda (and it didn't help that her mother Jean passed the following year, as she and I had become close friends).  February will be three years since Melinda passed and I'm still not sure how I feel about the possibility of being in a relationship again.  We had so many issues that it unfavorably colors my idea of what it will be like with someone new.  Plus, I'm not certain that I will be strong enough to go through such a loss again.  I want to feel love again, but there's a certain level of comfort staying in the numbness because there's no risk. 

This may sound trivial, but the catchy song Best Friend by Sofi Tukker, which is featured in the iPhone X commercial is what I really want with someone.  It makes me sad both because I wish I had that with someone now and because Melinda and I had glimmers of it throughout our marriage (but not nearly often enough).

   I think that I'll keep loving you, way past sixty-five
   We made a language for us two, we don't need to describe
   Every time time you call on me, I drop what I do
   You are my best friend and we've got some shit to shoot

I would love to have someone in my life like that, and perhaps one day I will.  At the moment, it's too scary a proposition to love someone like that.  For now, all I can do is focus on becoming a better version of me.  The way life works, my new best friend will come into my life when I least expect it and my guard is down, and I look forward to that moment.  Contrary to what you may see on Survivor every week, blindsides are not always a bad thing.

I find myself with fewer bottled up emotions as I've been writing these blogs.  I feel like once I've gone through the process of writing one that I'm able to let go of at least part of that emotional baggage.  Losing Melinda will always be a part of who I am, but I refuse to let it define me.  I became a widower at 49 and I will always carry that with me, but I am so much more than that.  I may have more to say in the future, but I want to give my thanks to those who have continued to read my ramblings.  You have been a part of my journey, even as a passive observer.  Hopefully, something I have written resonated with you and was helpful in some way.

I'll leave you with a verse that's very meaningful to me from Kitchen Sink by Twenty One Pilots.

   Are you searching for purpose?
   Then write something, yeah it might be worthless
   Then paint something then, it might be wordless
   Pointless curses, nonsense verses
   You'll see purpose start to surface
   No one else is dealing with your demons
   Meaning maybe defeating them
   Could be the beginning of your meaning, friend

 

Overcoming Fear

I have lived most of my life afraid to take chances, fearing the outcome or consequences of my actions.  I'm not saying that I never made bold moves, but it's not in my nature to leap without looking and without considering the repercussions of my actions.  In some cases it would lead to a term I heard many years ago called analysis paralysis, which is what happens when you are so bogged down in choosing a path that you are unable to decide on any course of action.  On rare occasions, I have been surprisingly bold.  Years ago, a friend and I had talked about possibly going skydiving.  I likely would never have actually planned it, except that he and Melinda had secretly scheduled it for my birthday.  Although I was nervous, I clearly remember how confidently I stepped out of the plane once it was time to go.  I'll never forget that moment, because I sometimes wonder who that person was and where did he go?  Literally taking that leap was a memory of a lifetime and one I would happily experience again, and yet that is not who I am on most days.

A good example of my natural tendency to stay on the safe path was when I was still working grocery back in 1987.  For several years, I had played around with different computers, starting with the TI Color Computer my parents bought me when I was a teen, then the Commodore 64 and eventually the Amiga.  I loved playing with them and learning all about the internals of the systems.  Quite frankly, I was really good with them, almost like I was born to do so.  Melinda recognized that and encouraged me to pursue a career in programming.  I was so comfortable following the well traveled road, I was hesitant to consider taking a detour, even if I was merely content and not necessarily happy with my job.  But Melinda persisted and eventually convinced me to take night classes for a programming certificate at Texas Institute.  I took the entrance exam and I thought that I did okay.  When the person at Texas Institute gave me the results, she did so with her mouth agape, and told me I had scored higher than anyone she had seen before.  In that moment, I knew that Melinda was right to push me in that direction. 

I attended night classes for seven months, and it wasn't easy.  I was working at the grocery store 45-50 hours a week and I was tired by the time I got home and fell into bed.  But Melinda was supportive and propped me up when I needed a hand.  I received my certificate at the end of November 1987 and the entire class was told it could take months to find a job.  I was hired less than two weeks later by a small company operating in Plano TX.  So much for waiting around for an opportunity.  Because it was a small company, I did actually start for less money than I made as a supervisor at the grocery store.  This was two years into our marriage and money was tight, so I ended up working back at the supermarket on Saturdays to make up the difference until I received my first raise some months later.  In the end, even though it was a difficult path, it was the right choice for me and no words can possibly convey the gratitude I feel toward Melinda for being bold on my behalf.

On the other hand, I wish I had been more assertive and asked Melinda to work during those early years.  It was quite stressful for me, occasionally paying the previous month's bill instead of the current one because I couldn't keep up by myself.  I partly blame Melinda for not offering to work, but I mostly blame myself because I was prideful and I thought it was my responsibility to be the provider.  I'm fairly certain I actually told her that more than once, but that was 30 years ago and looking back, I'm a little fuzzy on specifics.  I believe we laid the foundation for many of our future problems in those formative years of our marriage.  When I finally started to crack under the financial pressure, I would attempt to discuss it with Melinda, but it always ended up in a fight.  Eventually, I gave up on communicating with her about it and kept the money worries to myself.  I had "learned" that honesty led to problems, and over the years, I treated other problematic topics in the same way,  with avoidance and secrecy being the norm.

The cost of those secrets was very high.  In my desire to not rock the boat, I failed to trust that we were able to handle the problems together and I know that only caused the rift between us to grow.  This has been weighing on my mind a lot lately because of a song by The Bleachers, "Don't Take the Money".  Here are some key lyrics:

  Somebody broke me once
  Love was a currency
  A shimmering balance act
  I think that I laughed at that

Love doesn't exist in  a vacuum.  People either grow together or apart, and most relationships have natural ebbs and flows.  Without positive contributions to the relationship, that love can eventually run out.

  Will we fight, stay up late?
  In my dreams I'm to blame
  Different sides of the bed
  Roll your eyes, shake my head
  Now we're stuck in the storm
  We were born to ignore 

I completely identify with these lines and it feels like a good summation of how I felt most of the time.

  You steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it
  I pray for everything we lost, buy back the secrets
  Your hand forever's all I want
  Don't take the money 

"Buy back the secrets."  When I hear that, it makes me realize there was a cost for every secret we kept from each other.

  When you're looking at your shadow
  Standing on the edge of yourself
  Praying on the darkness
  Just don't take the money

This is me, standing alone staring at the sole shadow cast by the sun.  Alone and futilely wishing I had known then what I know now. 

I want to be fearless in all aspects of my life, especially if I end up in another relationship.  I want to be able to trust that we can tackle problems together.  This takes me back to another song that came out around the time Melinda died and it has stuck with me, especially as it deals with dying.  These are words of advice that I hold onto dearly and try to remember daily:

  Well I met an old man dying on a train.
  No more destination, no more pain.
  Well he said one thing, before I graduate
  "Never let your fear decide your fate."

A Celebration of Moving On

I was born in Bossier City, Louisiana in 1965.  If that seems like a long time ago, well it is (of course, that's relative to whoever may be reading this).  I happened to be born there instead of Dallas because my father was stationed in Louisiana at that time during his stint in the service.  It was a source of amusement for Melinda and a few others throughout my life.  I can remember my grandfather Helsley often greeting me with "Hey hippie" when I was in my early teens, as I had long straight hair at the time.  When I turned 14, I was enrolled in a private, Christian school and I had to cut my hair.  To my best recollection, the first time I saw grandpa with my short hair, he greeted me with "Hey Cajun".  Even though he was a gruff person, it seemed as if he said it with a slight twinkle in his eye, the greeting being more a term of endearment than an insult.

In my heart though, I've always considered myself a Texan.  Other than the first year or so of my life, my entire existence has played out in this great state.  Honestly, until I decided this year to move to Arizona to be close to my parents, I just assumed that I'd eventually die here.  But life is full of curve balls and it rarely goes according to plan, which is summed up nicely in my favorite lines from the Twenty One Pilots song, House of Gold.

   Oh, and since we know that dreams are dead
   And life turns plans up on their head
   I will plan to be a bum
   So I just might become someone

Even though Texas has been my home for over 50 years, I've recently come to the realization that my spiritual home may actually be Missouri, because the Show Me State attitude is congruent with my natural state of mind.  As a child, I was raised as a Christian, but through the course of my adult life I continued to question what I was taught to believe.  Faith is not something that comes easily for me, if at all.  I believe in what can be observed, measured and categorized.  So while I still believe that something bigger than ourselves exists out there, the details of such an entity are unknowable in this life.  Admirably, many religions have attempted to put the unknowable into a box complete with a pretty bow, however none of them have a monopoly on the truth.  When we arrive at the other side of this life, we may find the truth to be an amalgamation of  ideas from various faiths. 

For those readers that are Christian, please do not take offense, as I'm not attacking your faith.  I sometimes wish I still believed in God, but that's not likely to ever change.  Nor should you be concerned for my eternal soul.  Any being that would design humans with intelligence and independent thought should be happy that those gifts were used to ask the deeper questions, regardless of the answers each person arrived at.  If there is such a being, I can only hope that I will be judged by what was in my heart and not by what I may have believed regarding their existence.

With my skeptical nature in mind, I want to tell you a bit about my experience with my sister, Cissy, when Melinda passed.  Cissy and I were out of touch for several years.  There was no particular reason that comes to mind other than we both had our hands full and we just rarely talked.  Several years ago, I became aware through Facebook posts that she had become a Medium.  With all apologies to Cissy, I shook my head at that for a long time because I had no belief in such things.  If the subject came up with a friend, I would say "she's into crystals, rainbows and unicorns."  I never let Cissy know about my feelings because I would never want to hurt her.  Little did I know how wrong I was about Cissy and how large a part she would play in my dealing with Melinda's death.

On February 11th at 10:48 pm, about 24 hours after Melinda's body was wheeled out the front door of our house, I was sitting with Melinda's mother Jean and her uncle Paul at Jean's house.  Still in shock and full of questions over what had happened, we did the only thing we could, which was to gather together and provide comfort for each other.  If the following account seems disjointed, it's because I'm simply following the order of my conversation with Cissy.  Also, I'm skipping through to the parts that pertain directly to the point I want to make.  I retained all of our texts because they mean so much to me, and were so integral to the way I was able to deal with Melinda's passing.

I received a text from Cissy saying that she had people from Melinda's family coming to her the night before.  She kept seeing an uncle and a father waiting for Melinda.  Melinda's father David was estranged from the family, but we did know that he had died years before.  Also, Melinda's uncle Jimmy passed in the mid 90's if I'm remembering correctly.  Another piece of information Cissy shared with me was "I have already been communicating with Mindy and there wouldn't have been any time to save her body she went quick like a split second."  Weeks before I knew the cause of death, Cissy was letting me know that any guilt I might feel for not finding Melinda sooner was misplaced and that the outcome would have been the same.  The single biggest issue I wrestled with in the wake of that night was wondering if I could have saved her.

Then Cissy told me she saw an image of a man with a full beard and a hat on.  I only met Melinda's grandfather, Frank Woerner, a handful of times before he passed many years ago, but if I were to describe Frank to someone, those are the two iconic attributes that I would share.  In the middle of our text conversation, I was sharing information with Jean and Paul.  I then found out something from Jean that I hadn't known before (or perhaps had forgotten).  Melinda's maternal grandmother had passed at age 49 from a cardiac infarction.  I shared this with Cissy and she said "Well I asked actually and was told stroke. But this stuff started in the head so what comes next is chain reaction.  She went so fast she was in her body then out like someone flipped a switch", reiterating the suddenness of Melinda's death and the lack of control I had over the event.


Later in the conversation, Cissy asked me who Ann was, saying she was "quite the woman", that Melinda kind of looked like her, and that Ann said that she was Melinda's grandmother.  As it turns out, Ann was actually her great grandmother, but because Melinda's actual grandmother died so young, she was raised calling Ann her grandmother.  Looking at pictures of Ann, we all agreed that they shared a resemblance, especially in the nose.  According to Jean, her grandmother was fiercely independent and outspoken, and so "quite the woman" is certainly an apt description.  In fact, Ann was her middle name and Jean and Paul weren't sure at first exactly who Ann was.  They were sure it was Jean's grandmother, but her middle initial was wrong on the Ancestry family tree, which confused the issue.  While we were in the middle of discussing the matter, Cissy told me "I'm being yelled at now. Y'all better figure this out."  I found a picture online of her grave site and we were able to reconcile facts with memories.  For the record, her great grandmother's name was Willie Ann Kindred, and Melinda's middle name came from her.

Jumping forward to February 15th, Jean was at my house and we were going through clothes, looking for something for Melinda to wear for the viewing.  I was again texting with Cissy and I expressed my concern that I couldn't find Melinda's wedding ring, and I felt like it was important that she wear it for the viewing.  Cissy hadn't been in the house for several years, but she remembered Melinda's makeup table and told me I should check it for the ring.  Jean and I looked through all the drawers and on top and came up empty.  Then Cissy told me it would be on top of the desk on the left side.  Jean and I doubled our efforts and again failed to find the ring.  Disappointed to fail at what should have been a simple task, I moved on to other things.  The next day, I decided to look again.  On the top of the table, on the left side, sat a box full of rings.  The day before, I remember looking through that box, but I had not completely emptied the contents.  Once I did, I found her wedding ring among the many other rings she had, right where Cissy said it would be.

I could offer even more examples of how Cissy's insight hit the nail on the head during our many conversations, but I feel like I've shared enough to hopefully convey a sense of her gift.  And it is a gift, at least it was for me.  Nothing will bring Melinda back to me, but what a comfort it is to know that *something* exists beyond life here on Earth, and that she continues to shine like the beautiful star she is.  I don't need to fully understand or know the details of that existence to appreciate the fact that I will see Melinda again, whether we're together in some version of Heaven or floating around the cosmos, taking in the beauty and wonder of the universe.  To the skeptics like myself, I don't believe because I need to or want to, in order to cope with Melinda's death.  I choose to believe simply because the evidence is compelling to me.  My sister knew details about family and things that would be impossible to guess.  I look at it this way.  If there's a supreme being that created all we see, then granting people the ability to communicate with the other side would be trivial.

Compared to where I was two and a half years ago, I find myself in a much better place now.  That can be attributed to a variety of factors.  Certainly, support from loved ones has played a large part in my recovery.  Grief counseling, along with my blog has helped me exorcise some of the guilt and pain that crippled me for so long.  But I want to give special consideration to Cissy, without whom this process would have been much harder.  I love her not only as my sister, but as a healer, because she was there for me every step of the way with information and insight that helped me see things as they really were and not how I chose to remember them.  For that reason, among many others, she is priceless to me.  She has, and is, a gift.  Thanks, sis.

Black Sun (or Total Eclipse Of My Heart)

If you've been reading my blogs, then you will have noticed by now that I like to reference songs.  Music can have a powerful effect and lyrics with which I connect are what speak to my heart.  Black Sun by Death Cab for Cutie was released in January 26, 2015, just 15 days before Melinda died.  I don't recall if I heard it before she passed, but it left a lasting impression the very first time that I did listen to it.  Some songs have certain lines that echo my feelings.  It's easy to latch onto those lines and ignore all the others that I don't necessarily relate to.  Black Sun is not one of those songs.  I don't get as emotional when listening to it now versus two years ago, but the meaning has not changed.  I will always consider this my most personal grieving song because I feel like my story is reflected in the lyrics.  I will try to explain those connections by going through the lyrics with you.

There is whiskey in the water
There is death upon the vine

Melinda's death was sudden and unexpected.  After waiting for weeks to hear from the medical examiner, I found out that she died due to atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease.  Basically, her arteries were severely narrowed.  The doctor was unable to determine the actual cause of death as he didn't find evidence of a heart attack or stroke, but it's reasonable to assume that a blockage caused her death.  Her cardiovascular system were the vines and death was literally inside them.

There is fear in the eyes of your father

Melinda only saw her father David when she was very young.  He suffered from alcoholism and after he left, he didn't keep in touch.  Melinda tried to find him early in our marriage without success.  She was able to determine that he may have still been in the Dallas area and was homeless.  I don't remember how, but at some point we learned that he had passed away, so Melinda was never able to reconnect with him.  I can see David fearing Melinda's death.  Not only would he not want his daughter to die, but I think he might have feared the reunion.  As happy as he might have been to see Melinda, he must have felt regret over abandoning his family and it would have weighed on him heavily.

And there is "Yours" and there is "Mine"

I truly felt in my heart during our marriage that everything we owned belonged to both of us.  I rarely thought of something as just mine.  I remember catching myself saying "my car" at times, but Melinda didn't drive and that's just how I referred to it.  We actually had an argument about that once when she pointed it out.  It would sound strange to me to say "our car" and I never intended that wording to infer my sole ownership of it .  At any rate, after she died I had to sort through everything in the house.  During that process, many items that were "ours" fell into these new, separate categories.  It felt very strange and changed how I look at possessions.

There is a desert veiled in pavement
And there's a city of seven hills

When I read these lines, it makes me think of the distance that now separates Melinda and I.  I'm still here living in a concrete jungle, while she's moved on to another plane of existence.  It's been so many years since I believed in God or even read the Bible, but I remember a reference to a city of seven hills.  Whether my memory is correct or not, for me it conjures an image of a heavenly place and I can imagine her being there.

And all our debris flows to the ocean
To meet again, I hope it will

Our lives were heading down the same river together and now she's been swept down another path.  I hope that her stream is less rocky than mine.  With all she endured in her life, Melinda deserves to float down a gentle river for a time.  My hope is that we'll see each other again once we both reach the end of our respective journeys.

How could something so fair
Be so cruel
When this black sun revolved
Around you!

When I hear the words "so fair" in this context, it makes me think of beauty.  Life can be quite beautiful at times, yet there are moments that make you feel as if you are being punished.  In reality, good and bad things happen to everyone and actual cruelty would require that a higher being consciously decides to inflict misery on someone.  The "black sun" could be taken as a bad omen, as a superstitious person may view a solar eclipse, although I am not superstitious myself.

There is an answer in a question
And there is hope within despair
And there is beauty in a failure,
And there are depths beyond compare

These lines give me strength because I know that some good can come as a side effect of bad situations.  I especially love "beauty in a failure".  I don't know if I will ever be ready to love someone again, but if I do, my failures as a husband with Melinda can be used as lessons that can help inform my behavior in the next relationship.  Becoming a better version of myself is a beautiful thing and something I would like to achieve.

There is a role of a lifetime
And there's a song yet to be sung

I have often wondered what worth I have brought to this world.  It's probably natural to reflect on one's life after a certain age.  I used to consider all of the possible paths that lay before me when I was young and think that so many doors are now closed.   I've come to realize that those doors might be closed, but they aren't locked.  I just have to trust in myself and venture through them.  Whether or not I'm successful down a particular path isn't as important as the satisfaction of having walked it in the first place.

And there's a dumpster in the driveway
Of all the plans that came undone

The message here applies to my life both figuratively and literally.  The life I had no longer exists.  All the plans Melinda and I had, both for the house and for our lives, are irrevocably changed.  For example, I still wanted to get her to Tokyo Disney.  I had no idea how we were ever going to afford such a trip, but I knew that I'd get us there eventually.  None of the things we were going to do will ever happen now.  In a literal sense, even though I didn't rent an actual dumpster, I have thrown a great many items into the trash.  It was a difficult task to separate items by worth.  If you can't sell something or give it away, and you don't personally want to keep it, there really is no other choice.

There is whisky in the water
And there is death upon the vine
And there is grace within forgiveness
But it's so hard for me to find

The imagery from the start of the song is reinforced here, along with one of the hardest lines for me to take.  As I've detailed in other entries, I feel like I could have done so much better as a husband.  I inflicted pain on Melinda many times.  Even though hurting her was not my intent, it doesn't change the result.  I'm trying to forgive myself, but it's difficult.  It's my only option though, because I can't seek forgiveness from Melinda.  One day, I hope we can reunite and find peace together and leave behind all the baggage from our time here on this plane of existence.

The Reason (to Leave)

Once again I find myself unable to sleep.  I've had many thoughts bouncing around in my head for weeks and I suppose that I won't rest until I finally express some of them.  It's 1:45am and I'm sure that I will be editing this blog later, as I fear I may not be as coherent as I believe myself to be at this late hour.

For many weeks, I have been preparing for an eventual move to Arizona so that I may be close to my parents.  I will miss my Texas friends, but I will be near my two closest friends.  I miss my parents terribly every time I have to leave after a visit and I look forward to spending a lot more time with them.  Preparation for the move has involved separating items in the house into three categories:  keep, donate, or throw away.  It's been an emotional process and it has left me fairly drained as I reach a critical juncture.

My next task is to get quotes for work that needs to be done in order to sell the house.  Once contractors are selected and work schedules set, it will be time for me to leave the house.  I will move into an apartment nearby so I can supervise the repair work and so the cats and I will be out of the way of the workers.  Even though the house will still be mine until it's sold, for all intents and purposes, I will soon be leaving the house that Melinda and I were supposed to grow old in.  It's proving to be more difficult than I expected, even though I have many good reasons to leave.

I realize that what I'm about to write will sound very negative, but emotionally this is where I am.  This house is full of memories, both good and bad, however the less favorable ones are what I tend to hold onto.  For that reason alone, it will be far healthier for me to leave than continue to live in this house.  I also believe that the more I focus on these (for now), the easier it will be for me to let go.  Our house used to be a ship that carried us through life.  With Melinda gone, the ship is damaged and and taking on water, and for two years I have held tightly onto the anchor, oblivious to how it might be affecting me.

So what negative memories do I have of this place?  Let's start with the master bedroom.  More than 15 years ago, we hired a friend of Melinda's brother to remodel the master bedroom and bathroom.  Naive and compassionate, I listened to his sob story halfway through the job, felt sorry for him, and paid him the rest of the money.  He repaid us by skipping town and the work he did do was shoddy at best.  Melinda and I had a lot of tension over that and if you've read some of my other blogs, you'll know that we tended to bury problems instead of confronting them.  So, the master bedroom became a storage room because we couldn't agree on how to proceed.  It was a storage room for far longer than we actually got to use it as a bedroom.

The second bedroom, where Melinda and I slept for many years is now the place where Melinda died.  I lay my head down  a mere two feet from where she left me.  It's a different bed, but that doesn't really change how I feel when it's time to call it a night.  I used to think it was a comfort, but that's changed and I don't know why.  It's also the room Melinda would run to when things got heated between us.  It was so difficult for me, managing her expectations of what we could afford in terms of the kitchen renovation and the large debt we had accumulated.  Unfortunately it was enough for me to lose my temper at times.  Once, she went to the bedroom and locked the door.  I was so angry and I wanted the fight to have a resolution, unlike so many of our other arguments.  So I told her we weren't done talking and when she wouldn't let me in, I kicked in the door, splintering the door frame and leaving an odd lever handle shaped hole in the drywall where the handle struck it.

The third bedroom, my office actually, is where I first saw a picture of my son.  I didn't know I had a son until Melinda encouraged me to do some research.  You see, when we were dating I slept with a friend of hers who then became pregnant.  I was told that I was the father, but a simple blood test showed it wasn't possible.  Melinda always suspected it was mine for whatever reason, and when she brought it up again one night, I decided to prove her wrong.  Little did I know that the picture of the 28 year old man looking back at me would look so much like me.  We met a few times and had our DNA tested to verify that he was in fact my son.  I even got to see my grandchildren once.  You would think that's a happy memory, but my son lived his whole life without a father and decided not to change what works for him.  I now know that I have a son that I will most likely never see again, and a part of me wishes I had never known.

The kitchen is just a reminder that Melinda and I did not work well together.  It was one stressful decision after another, with most of the grunt work left to me.  In the moment, I believed I was happy to do it, but in retrospect I was very resentful of how much she expected from me.  When we encountered problems, I was expected to deal with it, but it really needed to be done her way or she was unhappy.  For example, when some of the the cabinets we ordered arrived with damage, I was not allowed to deal with them my way.  I was much more patient than her and understood that some processes take time.  Melinda would frequently ask if I heard back from a vendor or contractor and "encourage" me to send additional queries, however she refused to deal with the problem herself.  Serving as the middleman was stressful and was just another wedge that drove us apart.

The living room holds perhaps one of my saddest memories.  Early in our marriage I was unfaithful.  I cannot defend my actions, but I realize it was due to a lack of self esteem on my part and not something that was missing from our relationship at the time.  Those early mistakes haunted me the rest of our marriage.  Melinda appeared to forgive, but she never forgot, and even 15 or so years later I would occasionally be reminded by offhand remarks like "Are you going to see your girlfriend?" when I would head out to see my friends.  I didn't know how to get her to trust me again, regardless of how much time had passed.  Over the years I had matured and I wanted to be the best version of me possible, especially for her.  I fell in love with a song on the radio called The Reason by Hoobastank.  It spoke to how I felt at my core and I wanted to share that with her.  So I sat her down in the living room and asked her to listen to the song, letting her know that the words were important to me.  When the song was over, she made some casual remark like "That's nice."  That was the moment I realized that I had lost her and that our marriage was never going to be repaired.

I have so many other bad memories of this place.  I have good ones too, but they are far outweighed by the negative ones, and it's becoming clear to me that it shouldn't be as hard to leave as it has been. I have to stop staring at the rear view mirror because it's making it difficult to focus on the road ahead.  Once I've left behind these constant reminders, my hope is that it will be easier to focus on the good times Melinda and I had.  Despite everything that happened between us, we did love each other deeply, and she had so many great qualities that I cherish.  One of the ideas I have for a blog is to list the ways in which my life was made better by having her in it.  Perhaps next time will be the one.  For those interested, the lyrics to The Reason are below.  Look it up on YouTube as it's a wonderful song.


The Reason - Hoobastank


I'm not a perfect person
There's many thing I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you

I'm sorry that I hurt you
It's something I must live with everyday
And all the pain I put you through
I wish I could take it all away
And be the one who catches all your tears
That's why I need you to hear

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you
And the reason is you
And the reason is you
And the reason is you

I'm not a perfect person
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you
I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you

Famous Last Words

In the process of deciding what to write for this blog, I've had a lot of thoughts bouncing around in my head over the last few weeks.  I am weighed down by so many regrets over how I handled myself in our marriage and now that Melinda is gone, I have no way to make them right with her.  I'll never be able to move forward without jettisoning this emotional baggage.  I am in a much better place than I was two years ago, however it's surprising how quickly I can feel melancholy given the right reminder.

I have a number of songs in my music library that take me to certain places in my head.  I could simply avoid listening to them, but I have two reasons for not avoiding them.  First, I truly love these songs, whether it's for the sound, lyrics, or both.  In many cases, the lyrics didn't hold the same meaning for me before I lost Melinda.  For example, Gone Away by The Offspring is such a sad and heartfelt expression of losing a loved one, but the words did not evoke an emotional response from me until I had lost someone I truly loved.  Now I can't listen to it without tearing up.  Secondly, it's more productive to me to face those feelings head on.  Over time, as I have listened to Gone Away, my feelings have become less intense.

I'm not in the same place with every one of those "Melinda" songs.  Some still hit harder than others.  The song that's been coming up on my MP3 player more recently is Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance.  The lyrics speak to me about my relationship with Melinda and the struggles I went through, both during our marriage and at her passing.  I'm going to share the lyrics and what they mean to me when I hear them.

Now I know
That I can't make you stay
But where's your heart?
But where's your heart? 

And I know
There's nothing I can say
To change that part
To change that part
To change
 
Oddly enough, this holds two separate meanings to me.  You see, Melinda's life choices were a bit of an enigma to me, and frankly to anyone who asked me what she did for a living.  Melinda never worked and didn't even have a driver's license, yet she could come off as fiercely independent if you were to talk with her.  I mention this because we had a handful of times where she wanted to leave but felt like she couldn't because she couldn't support herself.  She wanted to leave and if she had the means, I wouldn't have been able to stop her.  I know that she loved me deeply, but I question what her heart really wanted.  The second meaning is very literal, in the sense that I could not prevent her from dying. 

So many
Bright lights that cast a shadow
But can I speak?
Well, is it hard understanding

I'm incomplete?
A life that's so demanding
I get so weak
A love that's so demanding
I can't speak

Melinda and I married too young and we each had our own emotional baggage that eventually drove a wedge between us.  I recognized early on that we would benefit from marriage counseling, but she wouldn't stand for it.  We did go to see a counselor once.  The therapist quickly recognized that we had a dependent relationship.  Melinda relied on me for almost everything, from grocery shopping to playing chauffeur if she had places that she wanted to go.  When the counselor suggested that Melinda become more independent, she stormed out.  Responses like that eventually caused me to give up and simply accept our relationship as is.  I loved her so much that I couldn't just walk away, even if the relationship was unhealthy.

This pattern continued throughout our nearly 30 year marriage.  Everything was on my shoulders.  We couldn't talk about our relationship, nor could we talk about our ever growing debt, especially as we stumbled head first into a major house renovation that we could neither afford or had a healthy enough marriage to be able to work well together.  I eventually began to give up on things that I loved as the debt grew, thinking it was for the greater good and not realizing just how much I would begin to resent my sacrifices.

So with that bit of history laid out I can better explain the lyrics meaning to me.  "But can I speak?"  I didn't feel as if I had a voice in the marriage.  I usually took the path of least resistance and avoided confrontation, if possible.  It's moments like the marriage counselor incident that made me feel helpless and unable to affect a change.  'Is it hard understanding, I'm incomplete."  This is the hardest part for me.  Melinda and I loved each other, but I rarely felt like I had an equal partner.  "A life that's so demanding.  A love that's so demanding"  In the last years of our marriage, I often felt crushed under the weight of my responsibilities, and because we weren't able to communicate effectively with each other, I would take on problems myself and hide them from her.

I am not afraid to keep on living
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Honey, if you stay
I'll be forgiven
Nothing you can say can stop me going home

I'd like those first two lines to be true, and most days they are.  My life is now completely different from what I expected.  Melinda and I would work out all our problems, the house renovation would be complete and wonderfully decorated.  Melinda had a real gift for design and I feel she would have been very successful had she pursued a career in the field.  I believe in that respect, everyone lost out.  The world missed out on a talented interior designer and Melinda missed the opportunity to do something for a living that brought her joy.  "Honey, if you stay I'll be forgiven."  If Melinda were here, I could apologize for every name uttered in anger, every hole in the wall made when I couldn't see a way to resolve an issue  I want to be forgiven, but now she can't do that for me.  I have to find a way to forgive myself, and I am getting there.  I understand that the problems were not all mine.  I just have to recognize the faults that were mine and ensure that I learn from them.

I see you lying next to me
With words I thought I'd never speak
Awake and unafraid
Asleep or dead

These words hit me the hardest whenever I hear them, and it's usually the part where I tend to lose my composure.  All I can think of is trying to wake Melinda up the night she died.  It was by far the most frightened and confused I've ever been in my entire life.  The third line is the only one that doesn't reflect my actual feelings and is completely opposite to how I felt at that moment.  It's funny how our thought processes can be shaped by what's come before.  I remember going to my best friend's house one day and saw his father asleep on the couch.  I had a feeling of dread and then I watched his chest for movement; some indication that he was still breathing.  His father is in his 80's, but in relatively good health and I had no real reason to jump to that place in my head.  I had a similar moment with another family member of mine recently.  Hopefully, I won't always be apprehensive and assume the worst.

Because Melinda died unexpectedly, we had no moment of atonement, confession or forgiveness.  No famous last words.  But looking back on her last words to me, it showed how she was always thinking of me first.  It wasn't always easy to see that love, as I believe she was suffering from a deep depression and wasn't always in a place where she could express it.  That night, I laid next to her and tried to comfort her as she was dealing with a migraine.  She knew that I would likely become ill if I waited too long to eat.  The last thing she told me was to go eat some dinner.  So the last thing she ever said to me was an expression of her love and concern for me.  That is the single moment from that evening that I need to hold in my heart.

I love you Melinda and I'm sorry for everything.  I'll never forget that wonderful smile and pure joy during the better times.

Anniversaries and Regrets

I've been thinking about writing this entry for more than a week now.  April 20th would have been our 32nd anniversary.  I think about Melinda every day, but of course there are dates on the calendar that hold more significance than others.  As a husband, the first part of the year was a minefield I had to navigate for almost 30 years.  Valentine's Day was up first, then March 10th which was Melinda's birthday, and finally our anniversary in April.  It was a gauntlet that I dreaded because I always felt like I couldn't live up to her expectations.  She wanted grand romantic gestures that didn't come naturally for me.

So I tried in my own way to show her that I loved her.  I decided at some point that the best way to do that was to make sure she was able to have whatever would make her happy.  I wanted to give her the world, which is a large part of how we ended up in soul crushing debt over the course of many years.  That one's on me, because I was our sole income and I paid the bills, so I knew realistically what we could and could not afford.  In my desire to make her happy, I actually crippled our ability to realize bigger dreams and it caused problems in our relationship down the road.  It broke my heart when I had to tell her that we couldn't afford the 25th anniversary vacation that I had promised her the year before, but we were up against the wall financially.

In the end, it was a terrible decision on my part to shoulder the burden of our finances.  I believed that I was protecting her, when in reality I was hurting our relationship.  I didn't treat her like an equal partner, but more like a protective parent.  It's unbelievably difficult to realize that I can never make it right.  If Melinda were still alive, we could go to counseling, learn from our mistakes (yes, I understand that she fell short as well), and have a stronger marriage as a result.  That isn't an option now that she's gone.  I can only hope that she can see the love in my heart, realizes that she was the most important person in my life, and is comforted by that thought.

I shared a little about our relationship to give you at least some small idea of the significance of the gauntlet I ran at the first of every year.  Melinda passed away on February 10th, 2015, just four days before Valentine's Day, before the usual ordeal would begin.  As difficult as I believed those dates to be when Melinda was alive, they were so much harder in the wake of her death.  Each one of those days was a cruel reminder of just how badly I failed her.  Particularly that first year, my mind was overrun with regrets and I had no way to apologize to her.  As time has passed and I've received counseling, I realize that we were both at fault, but I find it impossible to completely let go of those regrets.  Perhaps that's a good thing, though  Should I ever decide to be in a relationship again, it's important for me to remember past mistakes, as I don't want to repeat them.

The one constant during those difficult first few months was Melinda's mother, Jean.  I always liked Jean, but we weren't that close before Melinda passed.  I know they loved each other, but because of reasons I'll never understand, there was a certain distance between them.  During most of our marriage, Jean lived only a few minutes away, but unless it was a birthday or holiday, we didn't see her.  Based on what I know now, I believe that Jean wanted her daughter to reach out to her more often, but I also know Melinda didn't think that Jean wanted to talk to her.  When Jean did call, Melinda would remark about how short the conversation was, feeling that her mother was trying to keep the phone call as brief as possible.

But that's not the Jean I had the privilege to know over the next year.  She was always there when I needed her.  She was very supportive throughout the entire process and she deferred to me when it came to final decisions on Melinda's funeral arrangements.  She was considerate and caring, and I wish that Melinda had known the same Jean that I did.  We had dinner together almost every Wednesday night.  We also spent many weekends together cleaning out her brother Paul's house that April when cancer took him (yes, a whopping two months after Melinda's funeral).  There's so much I could tell you about Jean, but in short, she was a good friend and those are so hard to find.  That's why it was a such a blow when she passed suddenly on February 14, 2016, just one year and four days after Melinda.  I take comfort in knowing that if there's an afterlife, they are together again, but I do miss them both.

Valentine's Day will always be a little different for me now.  It's a date I will forever associate with losing both the love of my life and her mother, who I grew to love and respect over a relatively short time.  Melinda's birthday will always be a reminder that she's not here anymore.  I don't think of her as dying at 47 years old, but dying exactly one month short of 48.  I think of her age in relation to what could have been (what should have been).  Our anniversary will always be a somber reminder of what might have been.  I was proud of our longevity, especially with the current divorce rate.  I must admit that I was looking forward to celebrating our 50th.  I would have considered it a badge of honor since so few couples make it that far.  Unless I marry immediately and live to more than 100 years old, I guess I better give up on that particular dream.

Giving up on one dream isn't an ending, though.  At least, it shouldn't be.  My goal is to embrace new dreams, whatever they may be.  I love writing, and frankly I have rarely made the time to do so.  Writing may be just one of the things that becomes a more important part of my life, though.  The possibilities seem endless.  It may not be the life I had in mind two years ago, but it can be a happy and fulfilling, but different version of my life.  I'm still struggling, but beginning to see the light.  A song was released close to Melinda's passing that resonates with me still.  I can relate almost every line in the song to our marriage and her death, and I may go into detail in another entry.  The song is Black Sun by Death Cab for Cutie.  This one verse holds so much sadness and potential joy for me and it's my final thought for today.

There is an answer in a question
And there is hope within despair
And there is beauty in a failure,
And there are depths beyond compare
There is a role of a lifetime
And there's a song yet to be sung
And there's a dumpster in the driveway
Of all the plans that came undone

The Night My Life Changed Forever - Part 2

My long night had just begun.  I was in shock and it was difficult to focus on the myriad of questions that came from the EMTs, medical examiner and policemen that entered our home.  After two years, it's difficult to recall the precise order of events.  Truthfully, it was such a blur even the next day.  I do remember answering a lot of the same questions in separate interviews with at least  three different individuals, and I'm certain that two of those were policemen.  I realize that they were only doing their job.  After all, many people are caught harming or killing others on a daily basis.  I just couldn't help but feel as if I was on trial.

At one point later in the night, after answering the same questions to yet another person, I paced up and down the front sidewalk.  Suddenly I felt ill and dropped to my hands and knees on the concrete, at the mercy of dry heaves.  When I felt able to stand, I looked around to see if anyone was looking at me, and all I could think was "Would a cold blooded murderer look so pathetic?"  In the end, I didn't actually care what they thought.  I wanted to know what had happened, and enduring the seemingly endless questions was the quickest way to move the process forward.  At least, that was my hope.

At some point I realized that I needed to contact our families.  It was late, but it wasn't the middle of the night.  It was probably around midnight.  I first tried to call Melinda's mother, Jean, but no one answered, so I had to leave a voicemail.  I have no idea how I sounded, but I let her know that she needed to call me ASAP.  I can only imagine what she thought when she heard my message.

I then called my parents in Arizona.  My father answered the phone and through sobbing I tried to say those impossible words, "Melinda is dead."  I remember the sound of Dad's voice as we spoke about what was happening.  I can hear it in my head and it's still a great comfort when I think back on it.  It seems a little silly to me, as I've always known him to be a loving and caring father.  I suppose it made such an impression because that was the lowest point in my life and I simply needed that compassion so badly.  My father endured a lot in his life, including losing both brothers to suicide when they were young adults, so he knows about loss firsthand and I'm sure it broke his heart to know that I was experiencing such a loss.

I don't remember if I had a chance to talk with my mother on that first call, although I shared many conversations with both of them over the next few weeks.  My mother has always been a wonderful source of comfort and compassion in my life.  I suppose that's fairly common as women are typically seen as more nurturing than men, but I have always felt like I could tell her anything.  She's also one of the strongest women I've ever known.  Around 1999, Mom had to deal with losing William (her father), Jerry (her only sibling), and Billy (her oldest child and my brother).  I'm not sure how she was able to process it all.  In the coming year, I would have to deal with a deluge of losses, but none as heart breaking as she had endured.  

I believe I had to excuse myself from that first call to my parents because Jean was calling me back.  Telling my parents about Melinda was difficult, but I could hardly form the words as Jean asked me what was wrong.  How do you tell a parent they've lost their child?  I had lost my beloved wife, but Jean had lost her daughter.  Melinda and I never had children, so I doubt I can truly understand how that must feel.  We spoke briefly because at that point I didn't actually have much information and she lived only a few minutes away.  She and Melinda's Uncle Paul came over and we comforted each other as official business buzzed all around us.  It felt like the night was never going to end.  Eventually, someone from the medical examiner's office came and took Melinda's body from the bedroom.  It still felt like a bad dream, but the reality began to sink in as her body was wheeled out the door, never to return.

Jean was great.  She seemed stronger than I was in dealing with Melinda's loss, but Melinda usually handled herself well under pressure, which is something she must have gotten from her mother.  Even though Jean was reeling from the loss, she was determined for the longest time to stay with me to make sure I was okay.  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I convinced her to go home and get some rest and that I would try to do the same.  I went back to the bed where my wife passed hours before and I laid down.  I hugged her pillow, which still had her scent, and I cried myself to sleep.  My worst night was finally over.  Tomorrow I would start my education in dealing with death.

The Night My Life Changed Forever - Part 1

I've been told by various people, including my therapist, that keeping a journal can be very helpful in sorting out feelings.  I don't know how often I will end up posting new entries, but I have decided to write in a decidedly more public place than in the pages of my personal journal.  My hope is that what I write may be of some help to others who have had a similar experience.

A little over two years ago my wife Melinda passed away at 47 years old.  It was sudden and unexpected, and the night it happened was by far the single worst night of my life.  I don't know if it would have been easier if I had known ahead of time, say if she had been battling cancer or some other terminal illness.  In my mind, I feel that I would've had time to become accustomed to the idea of losing her.  In reality, it would have been horrible either way, but it just felt like such a gut punch, one for which I hadn't braced myself.

I had come home from work one evening around 7 pm.  Melinda was lying in the bedroom with an ice pack on her neck.  She was having another migraine.  It was nothing new, so I didn't feel like I should be worried.  She occasionally experienced them as long as I had known her, which was more than 30 years.  We met and started dating when she was 15 and I recall her dealing with them even then.  I had laid down on the bed next to her to see how she was doing and I stayed there for a while.  She asked me if I had eaten dinner and I told her I hadn't.  She told me I should go eat something and just let her rest in the dark and quiet room.

So I left her lying on the bed, not realizing those would be the last words I would ever share with her.  I ate dinner and since I couldn't watch any of the TV shows we enjoy together, I started playing GTA V on my XBOX.  I was nearly done with the game and I was just cleaning up a few collectibles and achievements.  I don't recall how many times I went to check on Melinda, although I know it was several.  I would look in and see her sleeping with Indigo (one of our cats) under the blanket at her feet.

Sometime between 10:30 and 11 pm, I had just experienced a moment of great satisfaction as I received the achievement for 100% completion of the game.  Then I noticed that Indigo had come into the living room. Thinking she was possibly awake and hopefully feeling better, I decided to check on Melinda again and offer to get her something to eat.  I crawled up on the bed as I had 4 hours before.  I reached up to shake her lightly by the arm and recoiled as her skin was cold.  I had an icy feeling in my chest.  I knew what that meant, even though I had never dealt with a dead body before.

I was frantic and I didn't know what to do at first.  Melinda would have known.  She was always great in a crisis.  I was sobbing and calling her name as I held her.  I then called 911 in case there was anything that could be done, although in my heart I knew she had been gone for a while.  Her legs appeared bruised all over, which I assumed meant that blood had been pooling for a while.  Her blood was no longer circulating and God only knew how long ago her heart had stopped beating.

So through tears and incoherent wailing, I spoke with the 911 operator, listening to her instructions.  She had me roll Melinda over and perform CPR on her.  I told her that she was dead, but the operator encouraged me to do chest compressions and to call them out loud.  Two years have passed and I can still hear my shaking voice call out those numbers.  Thankfully, I didn't have to do that for long as the EMTs were knocking at the front door.  I let them in and they rushed into the back bedroom to her aid.  I don't recall how long they were in the room, but it felt like only a minute or so.  One of them then confirmed what I had already known.  She was gone and had been for a while.

The most important person in my life was ripped away from me.  We hadn't even considered creating wills because we were supposed to have so much more time together.  I was lost and adrift on a sea of emotions.   I had to deal with police questioning and I had relatives to notify. My night was just getting started.