Washed in Black

    In February, it will be six years since Melinda died.  It's strange to me that I still have episodes where I'm transported back to the moment I went to wake her and found her cold, lifeless body lying on our bed.  These episodes aren't as long as they used to be, but they are intense and debilitating.  They are typically triggered by an image in a movie or television show where someone has died and a loved one is grieving, looking over their loved one's body.

    I will occasionally watch music videos that I know will elicit a strong reaction from me.  I wondered for a long time if I did that because I wanted to wallow in my grief.  In a way, it feels like grief is the only thing I have left of Melinda, which I know isn't really true, but reason tends to step aside when emotions are involved.  I believe the truth is more complicated than that.  One reason I subject myself to watching these videos is that it's a form of exposure therapy, to lessen the impact of the moments that are debilitating.  I am very self conscious and would be embarrassed if someone saw me having one of those bad moments. 

    Another reason I watch them is because I love the songs and their associated videos.  I have loved them for years, long before I lost Melinda.  To willingly give them up because they bother me means that I'll continue to lose things long after she died, like aftershocks after an earthquake.  My heart is both touched and saddened when I watch a TV show where a couple shares a tender moment.  I'm happy for the fictional couple and yet a little sad because I'll never have another moment like that with Melinda.  Ever.  I can't unplug myself from life altogether, so why should I avoid one thing and not another?  Somehow, I have to find a way to move forward, and I can't just wear blinders and ignore all of the potential emotional triggers and I think I may have just had a breakthrough.

    I listened to a song recently that I hadn't heard for a long time.  I have a couple thousand songs in my MP3 collection, so unless I think of something in particular that I want to hear, I'm at the mercy of the music player's shuffle feature, and some songs end up rarely being played.  The song is Black by Pearl Jam.  I found myself listening to it several times over the last few days, and my first thought was that I found a "new" song that would allow me to wallow in self pity.  The more I listened to it, the more I wondered why I was drawn to it right now, and I now think that maybe Melinda (or my subconscious) was trying to get me to realize something important.  Here is the part of the song that keeps catching my attention:

And now my bitter hands
Cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures have
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything
All the love gone bad
Turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see
All that I am
All that I'll be, yeah

    It may sound overly dramatic but for me, losing Melinda was as traumatic as losing a limb.  Even though we had major issues that needed to be resolved, she and I loved each other truly and completely, and I didn't even understand who I was without her.  We married when I was nineteen.  Until she passed, I had never even lived alone.  My sense of identity was intrinsically tied to Melinda and our marriage.  Afterwards, I didn't think of myself as a good son, a loyal friend or whatever else you might want to say about me.  I was "the widower", as if that completely defined me, although in my defense, I could think of little else for months because her uncle and mother passed within the next year.  

    Everything in my world was colored in black, stained by those series of events, and that color will never be able to be removed completely.  My world was thrown into turmoil by Melinda's unexpected passing.  How I view relationships, both current and potential ones, has been skewed by my experience.  Any new relationship comes with a warning label.  "This will not last forever.  You WILL lose them one day." I have to ask myself whether or not I could handle losing someone dear to me again.  It has left a permanent mark and has not only affected who I am, but also who I will become.  I may change and grow as a person, but I don't believe the black will ever completely go away.  It may fade over time, but it will still be there.  Paradoxically, this realization led to my AHA moment.

    I have been measuring the progress of my grief by comparing who I am now to who I used to be.  "Oh, this video still bothers me.  I must not be better yet."  But I see now the fallacy in thinking that way.  I will never be the same person I was before losing Melinda, and that's okay.  I simply need to accept that this is who I am now and move forward with my life, whether that's through work, personal growth, or relationships (either new or renewed).  Maybe a little bit of all those.  Regardless, I am resolved to stop waiting on myself to "get better."  Hopefully, I have quite a ways to go before my journey ends and I want to make the most of it.

State of the Disunion

Melinda passed away more than three years ago and I still have difficulty dealing with a number of emotional issues.  Writing about some of them over the last year or so has helped a lot, although it has never been easy to sit down and commit my thoughts for public display.  While I know that most everyone reading these blogs are friends or family, I open myself up to the possibility of judgement or ridicule, something I have generally handled poorly.  Although I want to talk about my current struggles with Melinda's loss, I would like to give you a glimpse behind the walls that I erected long ago.

At my core, I am a very insecure person and have been for as long as I can remember.  When I was 10 years old, I wrote a note and buried it in the back yard.  I don't actually recall writing it, but my father dug it up without my knowledge and then held onto it.  He shared it with me a few years ago when he and I were having a heart to heart, and it was eye opening in that my poor self image started at a very early age.  On December 17, 1975 I wrote:

I'm Dino Helsley.  I am a flop.  I can't seem to do anything right.  I'm a coward.  I have to force myself to do anything brave.  My greatest secrets have just been told to you.

It's hard for me to imagine a 10 year old having those kinds of feelings, yet it's plain from the note that I was struggling with self image, even then.  Looking back on that point in my life with the benefit of therapy and introspection, I'm sure that the note was related to an incident with someone I considered to be my best friend at the time.  His name was Steve.  He ended up making a new friend one day and, completely out of the blue, threatened and humiliated me in front of his new friend.  I was no stranger to a fight as my older brother Jerry and I went to blows on a number of occasions, so my confession of cowardice doesn't ring true to me now.  What I remember is that I felt betrayed and confused at that moment.  Anger wasn't even part of the equation.  I do remember thinking, "What did I do wrong?", as if I had brought it on myself somehow.

That was not the only time I was betrayed by someone who appeared to be my friend.  In 3rd grade, I trusted a friend with something very personal and as soon as we returned to class, he announced my secret to the whole class.  I can still picture them all pointing and laughing at me.  I believe those incidents affected how I have viewed myself over the years.  Thankfully, my self confidence is better than it was when I was younger, but back in my late teens and early twenties, if I saw a group of people laughing and they even looked in my general direction, my first thought was that they were probably laughing at me.  I remember when Melinda and I were dating that she wanted to go roller skating.  I had never been on skates before, of any kind.  When I got out onto the floor, I'm sure I looked like a foal taking its first steps, my legs flailing around for some sort of balance and my arms swinging wildly.  In retrospect, I can appreciate how humorous I must have looked.  In that moment though, when she was laughing and said I looked like Robby the Robot, I became furious and demanded that we leave.  I wasn't able to separate a good-natured ribbing from mockery.

I struggled with that insecurity for years.  It lingered below the surface and affected my relationship with Melinda in very negative ways..  It informed how I approached arguments because I was always on the defensive, struggling to prove how I must be right and blind to the possibility that she might have a valid argument.  Being "right" was more important to me than resolving the issue.  Early in our relationship, I would fight to my last breath rather than admit I might have been wrong.  Sadly, I believe Melinda had similar issues.  In retrospect, it was a terrible combination.  If she had been open to counseling, I believe our marriage could have been so much better.  We both developed unhealthy habits those first years in how we communicated and although we improved over the course of our marriage, we never fully shook those bad habits.

The lack of self confidence also contributed to my infidelity early in our relationship.   Please understand that I am in no way excusing my behavior.  We are all responsible for our own actions and I was clearly at fault.  I just remember how I felt when this other woman showed an interest in me.  I could hardly believe Melinda was into me, but here was another woman who was attracted to me.  I still recall how I felt after we hooked up.  It certainly wasn't love and it wasn't even lust.  It was simply validation.  Unfortunately, I was oblivious to how that would make Melinda feel if she found out (which she did).  That led to trust issues that we never fully worked out, even years later.

What I failed to understand at the time is that she struggled with her own issues.  Melinda told me that her step brother raped her (I think the year before I met her), but I had no concept of how that affected her, so betraying her trust was probably one of the worst things I could have done.  I would get upset in our last few years when she would make comments like 'How was your girlfriend?' after I'd get home from seeing my friends.  I had remained faithful for so many years, yet my old sins were never forgiven.  What I recently realized though is that I've never fully shaken off what happened in 5th grade with Steve, therefore can I blame Melinda for not getting over my infidelity when she didn't have the necessary tools to be able to move on?  Again, counseling could have helped us rebuild trust and develop a healthier relationship, but I believe Melinda felt like it was an admission of failure to do so.

As you can see, our marriage was far from ideal and we struggled with basic communication near the end, when we were in the middle of the kitchen renovation (something that can test the best of relationships).  We fought a lot, sort of made up when possible, and avoided subjects that we knew would end up in arguments.  The only thing I was sure of at the time was that I loved Melinda more than I could adequately express to her and I wanted to give her the world.  In that, I failed.  Melinda died before the kitchen was done and we were so deep in debt because I gave her practically anything she wanted, thinking that would provide her with some level of happiness.  She and I had so many unresolved issues and they will remain so unless I am fortunate enough to see her again.

So here I am, three years and five months since Melinda died, and I feel like a war veteran with PTSD.  On a day to day basis, I'm actually doing quite well.  I am happy in my new house in Arizona, just ten minutes from my parents, who happen to also be my two best friends.  Indigo loves having me around all the time since I'm working from home, and he is content to follow me around and nap somewhere close by.  But I'm still not free from near crippling moments of sadness when watching a movie or TV show.  In any scene where a spouse or loved one dies, if I'm invested in those characters and the actors are convincing in their portrayal of their grief, I cry.  I'm not talking about becoming a little teary eyed, which is how I might have been before losing Melinda.  This is full on blubbering, making Indigo wonder if I'm okay kind of crying.  The kind I would try hard to stifle if someone else is around because I would be embarrassed.  What I have noticed is that these emotional outbursts are not directly caused by the death.  Instead, they are triggered by the grief expressed by the survivor(s).

Death is a common dramatic tool used in telling stories, so I refuse to simply avoid them.  I feel like I need to face my feelings head on.  I just don't understand why scenes like that provoke such a strong reaction after so much time has passed.  I don't think I'll ever be ready for another relationship until I can get a handle on the pain I feel whenever I see someone dealing with grief, even if it is fictional.  A verse from Holding Onto You by Twenty One Pilots has resonated with me for a couple of years now, and even though he's talking about depression, it still feels relevant to my situation.

Fight it, take the pain, ignite it
Tie a noose around your mind
Loose enough to breath fine and tie it
To a tree tell it, you belong to me, this ain't a noose
This is a leash and I have news for you
You must obey me

I need to take control of my grief and not let it drag me down.  I'm not entirely sure how to do that, but I refuse to let it control me.  Until then, I will continue to live my life the way I want, watching the shows or movies that I like, even if they kill off all the characters I love.  Death is a natural part of life, and I have to figure out how to process that (real or fictional) without becoming a complete mess.  I know it's possible, because everyone else seems to handle it better than me.

Suicide

Music can be such a pure expression of an artist's thoughts and emotions.  Those artists who lay it all out there and write songs based on personal experiences share something quite special, because when a listener connects with those lyrics, they know that they aren't alone in their struggle.  A song by Arcade Fire called Creature Comforts has been on my mind for weeks now.  It's an excellent piece of music, but the lyrics speak to me on a whole other level.  I have flirted with suicide on multiple occasions, so my connection with the song is very genuine.  What follows is my interpretation of the lyrics and how I relate to them.

Some boys hate themselves
Spend their lives resenting their fathers
 
Fortunately, even though I have self image issues, my parents are not the source of my problems.  I have always looked to them as examples on how to conduct myself, and they never set unrealistic expectations that I felt I had to live up to.  Still, I often felt like I came up short when I measured my life against theirs, and I don't know the reason.  Most people are their own harshest judge, but I feel like I've had Simon Cowell inside my head my entire life, ready to dispense disapproval at every decision.  I am trying to accept that I won't always make the best choices and that's okay as long as I put forth my best effort.

Some girls hate their bodies
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback

Speaking of self image, I have a perfect example of how skewed my thinking has been for a long time.  For almost my entire life, if you asked me to rate my own looks, I might give you a 5 (or 6 if I was having a really good day).  I never thought I was ugly, just simply average.  It wasn't until a few years ago that I had a realization.  I had always thought my father was handsome, a sentiment echoed by friends and family throughout my life.  Looking at pictures of us at the same ages, we look a lot alike, enough so that I once did a double take at a video of my father, because I thought for a second it was me.  So it finally dawned on me that I might actually be attractive to somebody out there.  A small victory, but a lesson I try to remember and apply to other areas in my life.

Some girls hate themselves
Hide under the covers with sleeping pills and
Some girls cut themselves
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback
Some boys get too much, too much love, too much touch
Some boys starve themselves
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback

The theme throughout the song is about people who are unhappy with themselves.  It's not a pleasant topic, but one that's worth discussing.  I'm trying to understand what may have happened during my childhood to affect my self image at a fundamental level.  Although I may not recall a lot of details from my teens, some memories are quite clear.  I can tell you that at 16, I had little confidence in myself or a sense of self worth.  I went to a Christian school and one day a man visited us to give a speech and to briefly speak individually with each student to give us a message from God.  I remember him laying his hand on my shoulder, leaning in and saying "God has great plans for you".  I could barely contain my tears because at that moment, I felt like my life would count for something.  As if, without that prophecy, my life previously had no value.

God, make me famous
If You can't, just make it painless
Just make it painless

I've discussed this line with a few people, and I believe it can be taken one of two ways.  From a non-suicidal viewpoint, it's a plea to be known and loved, giving some meaning to life, and if that's not to be, then at least make life bearable.  For me, the song is clearly about suicide, so I tend to go with the darker interpretation.  It's like someone saying "I'm going to end my life so people will think of me, and that's the only way I can be relevant.  If it doesn't make people remember me, then at least make it painless."  It's a sad and yet very poetic way to encapsulate a tragic thought process.

Creature comfort makes it painless
Bury me penniless and nameless
Born in a diamond mine
It's all around you but you can't see it
Born in a diamond mine
It's all around you but you can't touch it

People who are fundamentally unhappy try to cover up their sadness with material things.  It may help for a while, but if you're unsatisfied with yourself or your life, those are merely diversions and not a solution.  You have to be able to find worth in both yourself and those around you.  To me, "Born in a diamond mine" means that we come into this world surrounded by love and possibilities.  The problem is that not everyone can see it, or if they can, they believe those things are out of reach.  I certainly felt that way when I was young, and during some of the darker times in my life.

It goes on and on, I don't know what I want
On and on, I don't know if I want it
On and on, I don't know what I want
On and on, I don't know if I want it
Well if you're not sure, better safe than sorry

The daily struggle to go on for someone who is feeling suicidal is not something I would wish on anyone.  I've been there and quite frankly, it's a miserable state of being.  Here, that mindset is plainly laid out with the confusion of someone wondering if they want to continue living.  I like the last line in particular.  If you're still not sure what to do after hearing the song, then "better safe than sorry."  You can cut your hair too short and it'll grow back if you decide that was a bad choice.  You can't undo a suicide, so the plea is to consider the permanence of that decision before doing anything rash.

It's not painless
She was a friend of mine, a friend of mine
And we're not nameless, oh

I want to cry every time I hear these lines.  No matter how painless you think your suicide will be, you are only considering your own discomfort and not the people that love you.  You may think that no one cares, but trust me when I say that you have people in your life that care about you, and they will be suffering because of your choice.  You may not think you matter, but you are not "nameless".  Every life has value.  You may touch other people's lives in positive ways and not even be aware of it, and that's a big reason why I'm still here.  I'm keenly aware of what suicide can do to a family, and I wasn't even old enough to understand it at the time.

My father lost both of his brothers in the space of five months.  I was only two years old, so I only know second hand what transpired, and honestly I usually avoided asking my dad about it because I feared it would be too painful a memory.  We did have a very open and honest discussion about it recently, because I was thinking about writing this blog and it gave me the courage to ask.  The details of our conversation are private, but it was helpful to speak so candidly with him about something so personal.  Their suicides left an indelible mark on the family.  It's a shame that their children had to grow up without their fathers.  I didn't even know them and I feel robbed.  My father is a warm, funny and loving person.  If Denny and Terry were anything like him, then I missed out on two great uncles.

Please understand, I'm not judging them for their actions.  If you've ever contemplated suicide, then I only want you to consider the effect on those you would leave behind.  And as I mentioned earlier, I've come dangerously close to it myself.  What's stopped me every time is knowing it would hurt the ones I love most.  Of course, that doesn't take away the pain that you're feeling.  It's merely a deterrent to doing the deed.  What I've found to be the most helpful during my lowest times is to focus on other people, because everyone has their own set of problems.  Reaching out and helping someone else in need not only removes the focus from your depressive thoughts, but contributes to your sense of self worth, and hopefully you're making their life just a little better.

The closest I came to checking out early was the year or two prior to Melinda's death.  We were drowning in debt and unable to discuss it.  We were slowly becoming strangers and she didn't want to see a therapist. I felt I couldn't leave because she had never worked and I feared she would end up at a shelter (she told me her mother would not take her in).  Also, I loved her deeply and what I wanted most was to make it work.  I was paralyzed in my misery and didn't see a way out.  I thought about ending my life often during that period, searching for information on sleeping pills and other drugs.  After all, if I was going to commit suicide, I really didn't want to fuck it up.

The reality of the situation is that I had a number of options that all involved making tough choices, none of which I was prepared to make.  I could have insisted that we seek counseling.  I'm not a fan of ultimatums, but with our marriage in that state, it was probably warranted.  Maintaining the status quo certainly wasn't working.  I could have been firm about the finances as well.  I was afraid of driving her further away and besides that, it seemed to be the only way to make her happy.  The vacations and house projects gave her something to look forward to, and I couldn't bear to take that away from her.  The thing is, I felt I had no control over my life when in reality I was too afraid to do what was best for everyone involved.  In the end, if Melinda truly loved me (and I know she did), she would have respected my decisions.  And if not, then at least I would have been able to move forward with my life.  The point I'm trying to make is that you may believe you have no other options, but maybe like me, you are afraid to make the hard choices available to you.


Another thought to keep in mind is that whatever is weighing you down today is not permanent.  What seems insurmountable now can and will be overcome, although not always in the way you might expect. At my lowest point, I would cling to the words from Amazing by Aerosmith (our all time favorite band).  So much of it hits home and is relevant to the conversation, but the most important lines to me are what I'll leave you with:

That one last shot's a Permanent Vacation
And how high can you fly with broken wings?
Life's a journey not a destination
And I just can't tell just what tomorrow brings


Dedicated to Dennis and Terry Helsley, who I hope to meet in another life.

Denny Helsley

Terry Helsley

Denny, Terry and Tom (my dad)

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.