John sits on the park bench and sees there is plenty of room. The coffee cup is warming his hands and when he needs his hands free the cup balances well on the wooden bench slat.

It is 7am and he has been here since 5am. He watched the sun rise between the trees and buildings of Central Park, Manhattan.

He got it in his head to leave home in Connecticut and drive to New York a couple hours away. It was a trial run. John will do it again on January 29 the day of Bette’s birth. John Lennon’s memorial “Strawberry Fields” will be the destination and he will sit opposite the ‘Imagine’ mosaic.

John was Bette’s favorite. George was a close second.

John will have to buy an iPhone by then and imagine he is holding a transistor radio in memory of Bette’s youth; porch sitting and finding the right station.

For today he brought a small boombox with a CD of John’s greatest hits. He also brought The Temptations greatest hits with especially “My Girl”.

There is a chill in the air and Bette would be very cold due to that bloody anemia.

She was a lot more spontaneous and John suspects the trial run is her idea. How easy it is for her to get him to do something by getting inside his head.

John sits there with eyes closed and listens to “My Girl”. He so wanted to get up and dance a little knowing she’d appreciate that but shyness got the better of him. Before the song ended he opened his eyes to see a woman comparable to Bette in height and weight but not as cute dancing by herself. There was no prompting on the lady’s part but John knew what Bette was trying to do anyway and he wanted no part of it.

MindSpeak

“How could you Bette? My Grief over you is not to be assuaged by another woman. Nice try.

I have to be honest with you love I don’t see a way out. I’m not drinking. Alcohol holds no appeal and to be away from you for a foggy few hours is the last thing I want. I hardly watch TV. I will occasionally borrow from the library a book or a movie and the themes are serious; I have no interest in comedy. I can’t imagine laughing without you and remember if I didn’t find it as funny; there you’d be all a chuckle.  So forgive me for letting this woman dance by herself. She’s gone anyway.

I don’t dare go to the Whitney Art Museum. You and I were so excited about becoming members. I remember one painting that inspired an interesting conversation and it wasn’t the painting itself but the fact that it was on loan from the estate of Frank Sinatra. Something didn’t seem right about individual ownership. We agreed on that.

I guess I should be on my way. I decide to let go breakfast on Columbus Avenue; too much memory. I’m not really hungry anyway.

We loved New York. We often went into the city for music. I think of that when I’m home listening.

And as music was a very important part of our life it is now in our separation. It took me awhile to get back to our favorites but I’m there now and you, my love, are there also sitting in your recliner forsaking the cold and letting the warm harmonies caress your soul.”

Love To You All

I thought I knew what melancholy was and then Bette passed away; how wrong was I?

So many simple acts challenge me to overcome (even just a little) my despondency.

The grocery store and some of the aisles where I see a few of her favorites.

The writing of checks and copies of the previous ones done by her.

No longer to hear Bette “I’ll put the clothes in the washer and you the dryer.”

No longer to hear Bette “I’ll make the popcorn while you go through the trailers on the DVD so when I’m in the recliner all I have to do is push play.”

Getting a family member or friend on the phone is not what it used to be.

The willingness and thought of a ‘getaway’ weekend is gone.

Getting the fitted sheet on the bed used to be fun; for the two of us.

The word party is five letters measuring half an inch and signifying nothing.

During a commercial break Bette and I would talk about what we had just seen; I hardly watch TV now.

I have Bette’s meal recipes but I don’t know when the day will come; if ever.

I don’t know how to get through a morning, afternoon or evening without feeling devastated by her loss.

I have to ask and though she will be disappointed there is no helping it.

What good are tears if not for drowning?

Call me a slow learner but I just came upon ‘eat’ in Create and Death. On saying this I can see Bette smiling and thinking this should be fun for a little while.

“You are not that slow a learner, dear.”

“I mean it Hon. It’s odd is it not?”

“I give you that, John. Now what concerns me is how long you’ll go on about it.”

“And what do you have to do that is so important you question how much time I give it. Anyway aren’t these the little kernels of life’s mystery I can deliver that you bought into?”

“Yes my love but I’m not sure this (same letters in a word) qualify.”

“Well leave that up to me. Can I warm up your coffee?”

“Please and I’ll have toast and a bowl of rice krispies also.”

“I see what you’re doing, Bette. You are taking advantage and who can blame you for having to sit through this gibberish.”

“Ah sweetheart, you’re being too hard on yourself. No way do I consider any of your preoccupations with language’s minutiae gibberish; a bit misguided maybe but that’s all.”

“I can live with that, I guess.”

“I’m still waiting on my breakfast.”

“Oh, sorry. Here you go, my lady.’

“Thank you kind sir.”

“Now to create. Create has ‘eat’ in its spelling and eat is about sustaining life. After all the creator would not create something that did not eat. So it is about the present and being alive. Now to death. Death on the other hand is about the past and I’d venture to say it is the opening chords of the past. We do not eat in death and yet there it is; death. Yes I see you’re almost done with the breakfast, boy you eat fast.”

“Wanted you to have all my attention when you get to the…sorry you know what I mean.”

“Yeah the winding down well don’t worry I’m there. In order for death to be true to its tense there has to be a change in letter placement and that change would constitute ‘ate’ as in Bette just ate that breakfast. And what I like about ‘eat’ being in the required spelling for death is that ‘eat’ asks more of death than ‘ate’. So death is not only the maestro of the past but also conducting lively notes and the select audience is privileged to listen in a place where the acoustics are celestial. That’s it I’m done. You can go about your day now. I hope I didn’t bore you.”

“You never bore my love. After I met you it didn’t take long to know that boring wasn’t in our future.”

“I’ll say the same for you. Where you off to now?”

“Well considering I ate, it’s time for me to move on. Things to do and all that.”

“Want some company?”

“No that’s okay. You stay here; you have things to do.”

“Not really. I’d rather be with you.”

“Not now, later. I’ll be back later.”

“Okay. Have I told you lately I love you?”

“Not lately.”

“Well I do.”

“Right back at you sweetheart. Bye.”

“Bye love.”

Love To You All

“Hey John, have I told you lately I love you?”

 “Not lately, no.”

“Well I do.’

“Right back at you.”

“Hey Bette, have I told you lately I love you?”

“Not lately, no.”

“Well I do”

“Right back at you.”

The words were spoken many times over the course of our relationship. Now on any given day since Bette has passed away when I ask “Hey Bette, have I told you lately I love you?”, the response is not forthcoming so I say her lines. I don’t mind having to fill in for her and the time will come when I will hear her reply.

It has been nearly six months since Bette passed away and living in her absence has been numbing, minimally paralyzing and incredibly enervating.

The one thing I look forward to is sleep only in that it affords Bette and I the opportunity to steal away and live in the shadows.

I know there is a place in the deep recesses of my mind where she visits me.

We engage in stolen kisses when Simon Peter isn’t looking.

We talk about her new life and she insists on my eyes smiling  through the tears.

Bette teases me with cryptic talk of signs to come.

She demands I see her leaving as inevitable and there was nothing I could do.

The conversations we engage in are sprinkled with little hints on making a quality go of it.

On her last visit she feigned a curtsey to me and asked if I would court her spirit. I said, as I kissed her cheek, it would be my honor.

At night I go to sleep and wait.

I wait for my reason to go on living.

Love To You All

Close to six months and waiting, sweetheart.

The door has been left unlocked.

The carpet has been vacuumed for we know what a stickler you are for clean carpet.

The sheets and pillow cases are recently washed and the bed is made.

The curtains, your favorite color, are new for the bedroom window.

I’m sure you’re tired from where you’ve been and nothing like a relaxing bubble bath and everything is within your reach including the favorite candle and your husband the crooner who has gotten better in preparation…

Your toothbrush is next to mine, as always, and I’ve rinsed it under water every day to keep it fresh.

The remotes are on the end table next to the recliner, as always, with buttons ready to be pushed.

One of your favorite dishes, cottage cheese and fruit, is in the refrigerator and an Angus burger is ready for the cooking when you say the word.

Your clothes are clean and fresh and if you want to buy something new; we can do that. The other day I found a beige angora sweater I know you would like.

I have made the internet ‘favorites’ of Yale, Wesleyan, Trinity, University of Hartford and UConn schools of music for their concert schedule. It will continue our way of bringing warmth into our hearts when the nights are cold.

Your 2016 ‘planner’ arrived the other day and I know how happy you’ll be to get that organized and ready for countless entries.

In the past few months there have been times when I’d swear you came home and even our beloved felines Enya and Tammy were at the door.

They no longer are.

You’re not coming home, are you love?

“I’m not sure if I have the right room.”

“Are you grieving?”

“I am”

“Then yes, you are in the right room. My name is Professor.”

“I’m John. Is that it, just Professor?”

“Yes if you don’t mind?”

“Fine with me; to tell you the truth…”

“We accept nothing less.”

“I’m sorry-oh yes-I see-well as I was saying I’m not sure why I am here. The way I understand it; you suffer a loss and you grieve. What more can you do?”

“I don’t mean to sound mysterious but that really does depend on you. Who suggested you come to the class?”

“No one really. I finally got out and turned a corner and saw this glass building. I certainly got more curious when I saw the word Grief stenciled on the door.”

“That, by the way, is seen by only those who are grieving.”

“I was meant to be here?”

“It’s possible and I say that because you could have stayed home and not come upon us.”

“Us?”

“I’ll explain later, that is if you’re going to stay.”

“I think I should. Not that I feel compelled but Bette, my wife who passed, would want me to be here.”

“I’m sure. Please sit down.”

“Only one chair, I mean aside from yours.”

“That’s right.”

“No one else coming?”

“This class is for you only.”

“But like you said I may not have come.”

“We have a way of knowing before the person does.”

“I’m going to let that one go; is that okay?”

“For the best”

“Yeah I’m tired and it’s difficult figuring things out these days.’

“I’m sure.”

“Is there a woman available to do what you do?”

“Yes of course.”

“No offense but before this goes any further I’d rather it be with a woman.”

“None taken, I’ll see to it right away.”

“Thanks.”

John is going on six months since the passing of his wife Bette. It has been hell on earth because of the missing, the sorrow and the pain. For him entering the world of Grief is akin to being a boy and let loose in a mansion and the boy is alone, afraid and lost. He understands that each room he enters has something that may be of help but there have been a couple rooms where he has walked out of and is forlorn as ever. He thinks about leaving for a landscape where someone may be watching and waiting but for now each room beckons.

“Hi John.”

“Hi.”

“MY name is Dolores. I’m not as formal as Professor.”

“I suspected.”

“Why am I alone?”

“You mean in this room?”

“Yes.”

“You have your unique way of grieving.”

“I see folks outside in the courtyard.”

“Yes and they are sharing but it only goes so far. I and others here are willing to help you understand what you already know deep in your heart; Bette’s passing away has put you in a place where, sometimes, even God has to look for you.”

“That frightens me.”

“Don’t let it. Your mind is doing its best to help with your grieving and mourns for your grief having nowhere to go but to your soul and, yes, your soul is feeling lost and vulnerable right now.”

“I do pray and meditate. I try to make her proud but I don’t think she is working on that level. I feel her close but also far away.”

“A lot of unchartered territory and you do the best you can. We hope to be of help.”

“Good to know.”

“I have some questions regarding body, mind and spirit. Is that okay?”

“Yes, may I have a glass of water?”

“Here you are. Are you taking care of your physical health?”

“No, not really. Between the bed and the couch I don’t move very much. I think what I’m eating is okay nutritionally but it’s not much and I guess that’s why I’ve lost thirty pounds in the past six months. I’m sure my body is suffering the slings and arrows of my mental health.”

“Speaking of, how is your mind holding up?”

“Not too well. It is consumed with sadness and fear. I sometimes think of grief being a lake and I’m out there in the middle and sadness is at the ready to pull me under if it gets too bad. The fear of that happening is real but what I fear, possibly more, is losing my reasons for living. The loss of Bette is primary and has taken place. Other reasons hang in the balance; an interest and curiosity about life and the mind set of having something to look forward to. If my life is an engine and those reasons are my fuel then I’m running on empty.”

“And how is your spirit dealing with all that despair of body and mind?”

“You sound like a therapist.”

“Wonderful people.”

“Yes, they are.

I will say that my soul seems willing to let my Grief be found and my spirit seems to be ambivalent on how close it wants to get to my Grief and does it really want to rise and hover over my Grief, a kind of reconnaissance if you will, and provide a spiritual perspective which I’m not sure I even know what that means anymore because lately my spirit, seemingly against its will, has been in the trenches and receiving an onslaught of messages from the corporeal world concerning closure and such and it seems a bit down and confused and it saddens me because we always want to think of our spirit being kept up but now with Bette having passed away little reason is seen which makes for a doubtful future in that a future without Bette doesn’t hold any appeal so my spirit gaining some distance from the battleground goes on a quest to understand why it’s having difficulty getting through to me even though every fiber of my being envisions a reunion in the hereafter and what frustrates and concerns my spirit is its willingness to manage and carry on but the flesh is weak and strives for a winding down.”

“We appreciate your being so honest.”

“Considering I am in the thick of a core transition, dissembling would make no sense.”

“It takes awhile for some but in your case the awareness came early.”

“There was no alternative to denying the elemental truth of what I was and am suffering.”

“We hope to ameliorate some of that suffering.”

“Can I be bold and rude?”

“We are quite tolerant especially in light of what you are going through.”

“You want to make better the suffering? Kill me now and let’s get on with the reunion.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that John. Please understand we consider life precious and when the suffering and pain seem so hard to bear and death a better alternative we pray that you hold on and wait for the timely ending of your body.”

“I have to leave now. All of a sudden like the quick onset of a fever I’m feeling angry and to stay might be asking for trouble.”

“John I know there is no way you would hurt me.”

“That is true but there is someone else in this room.”

Love To You All

You know I’ll be back in the bedroom. Just wait a little, please. Be patient. You know I can’t stay away from you for too long.

No I won’t delay. You’ve had your arms around me ever since I got up.

I’m not being insensitive. I think you’re the one asking a bit much.

I have to exercise some control. Sometimes I don’t want to leave but you know that can’t be.

You should be happy I’m a bit hungry. Oh, I know you don’t want to make it any worse. I know you are what Love asks of you.

Yes I know, of course, who would ask for something like this?

I’m going to the kitchen, now.

No please, for God’s sake, don’t come with me.

I’m sorry, I wasn’t being rude just a little on edge.

…no, I wasn’t thinking waffles and yes I know I haven’t had waffles in six months, not since we met. That’s okay, Bette was a bigger fan than I. You don’t have to tell me how much she enjoyed them; it was my pleasure to toast them up for her and yes she always complimented me on just the right amount of butter and syrup and don’t get me started on the separate dish with banana slices in the shape of a smiley face.

…how long? A half hour probably…oh you know; her least favorite food…that’s right scrambled eggs.

Why don’t you get some more rest; I’m sure you’re exhausted.

I know I am.

… you wanna be in the kitchen, okay if you insist. I thought I’d have the kitchen to myself but you never know these days.

I’m going to be making breakfast and busy doing that and no I am not ignoring you…

…it was okay, they were edible, I didn’t even think about there being good or no. At least I won’t get the hunger headache.

…just quietly sitting here and sipping the coffee …so you can read my mind; well I’m not surprised because Bette was pretty good at doing that back when……yes I’m going there but I’d rather you not come with me.

…okay come along if you must… God yes “La Boheme” and Bette at the Metropolitan Opera- the opera and the night that followed will forever live in my memory-I just can’t think too much about it now with you around.

No we don’t want to go there-okay, okay I did attack that omelet in New York like it was manna from heaven but what would Bette expect after wearing me out like she did, quite the tigress.  Room service wasn’t lost on her either.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful for a grab the star from heaven memory but…

…please give me some respite. It all hurts, it’s all painful. I know the arm of the couch is not a punching bag and I’m not hurting it so what’s the problem- yeah the hand is a little bruised-so what…anyway I’m not talking about physical pain I’m talking about something much worse-the kind of emotional hurt that asks forgiveness for something you only think about and not likely to follow through with.

You know you have something to answer for too…I’m having trouble getting on with my day…no, now one minute hear me out-I’ll be doing something-no it could be anything but the thing is it is getting done and with you by my side-imagine that…then you have to go off and nudge me ever so little-I want to issue a ‘cease and desist’ order but that is soon rescinded and before you know a tear here, a tear there and then I’m helpless and there everywhere.

There’s moving on for ya.

I have to admit it’s crazy-I do love you and all you represent and yes: You are sorrow. You are eyes closed tight in the missing. You are shortness of breath. You are chill-like shaking. You are clutching my body because there is no longer the beloved to hold onto. You induce a sleepless stay in the bed. And you now join us together; always there to represent Bette and her remarkable zest for life. You are my seawall to any erosion of memory no matter the anguish.

Yes the coffee is good as always and thank Bette for instructing me on the right number of scoops to get it just right-strong but not too.

No I have nothing going on-let me get the plates in the dishwasher and I’ll be there shortly. Yes I know the bedroom…

…I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling thinking of the love Bette and I shared and how beautiful and meaningful it was and is… and then I turned towards her side of the bed and with loving acquiescence let grief gently embrace me with tears and sorrow for she knew how fragile I was and would become.

Love To You All

 

The thing about grief is – after you get up off the mat and grief lay there but only for a moment you think your eyes deceive you as grief takes on extra pounds and suddenly it is no longer in your weight class and you fear the proportions are now asking you to take on ‘the human condition’ and you are just too frail for that and the weight of vulnerability threatens to take you down.

It is how I end up in bed, all too often, and the absence of Bette brings to mind a door to a room I dare not enter. The room is without windows or furniture and lit by a low watt bare bulb placed in the middle of the ceiling. I don’t know anything about the room. It may be a box floating in space or one of many in a mansion not far from a cliff overlooking the ocean somewhere on the planet.

I lay there and in vain try to understand what it is about the room that frightens me and soon begin to realize it’s not the room but the door; a door that could close and lock and leave me without a key.

How long would I be in that room waiting for someone to come and unlock the door and then, maybe, find the room empty.

Love To You All

 

 

“How you doing Bette?”

“I’m worried about John. He’s had a rough few weeks. I wish there was more we could do Simon Peter.”

“Simon is fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Peter is more for the formal occasions.”

“I see.”

“You’re new; give yourself time.”

“I will. I hope He doesn’t mind my preoccupation with John and his grief.”

“Not to worry. When it comes to matters of the heart…well I don’t have to tell you.”

“No you don’t Simon. “

“He’s still going to the bereavement support groups.”

“That’s good.”

“And he’s picking up the signs and writing them down but he hasn’t gotten them all.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure he’s gotten the ones that give him the most benefit.”

“He has.”

“Good and what else?”

“Enya and Tammy hear me and are right there for John. Did I tell you that Tammy, on her own mind you, sleeps right next to John’s pillow and when he faces my side of the bed Tammy is right there.”

“That is beautiful and you’re sure she’s not getting a little nudge from you?”

“Not at all. I swear to Him”

“We would rather you didn’t.”

“Oops.”

“Don’t worry about it. By the way I love cats.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. I always have.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard for me to be there. I don’t know when the overwhelming emotion will come and when it does and he succumbs my heart is broken. I feel so helpless.”

“You are helpless my child. We can not have it any other way. His Guardian Angel will notify us if anything is terribly wrong.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I think we were told that on Day 1.”

“You were. What else?”

“You know he wasn’t the best in keeping with his medication regimen. I fear it has gotten worse. I know in my heart John is not suicidal but too damn careless or absent minded for comforts sake. I worry.”

“I understand he will be more attentive, don’t worry Bette.”

“What else my dear?”

“He’s holding onto the grief and I know why. It’s his way of not letting me go. Even though the grief tears him up inside he has no use for a griefless alternative. It’s his way of treasuring our love. Is there anything we can do Simon?”

“I’m afraid not. He loved you very much Bette as I know you loved him and the quality of the love, often times , dictates the duration of grief. He may be at this for awhile.”

” In the meanwhile?”

“You pray.”

“And have faith.”

“Of course.”

“He is stubborn and I’m so afraid in spite of everything We stand for he may embrace nihilism. I suspect in a dark corner of his mind it waits for a tug.”

“Remember Elizabeth you are his beacon and your light will penetrate. “

“I wish I could leave it at that Simon but there is one more thing that really worries me. John loves the Arts and especially music. One night I went to bed early and awoke at 2 upon hearing John cry. I asked him what was wrong and he said it’s over. ‘I don’t understand honey.’ ‘It’s over love, the music is over.’ Yes sweetheart but you can play it again.’ ‘I know and again it will be over.’ ‘What can I say, John?’ ‘Nothing Bette and listen to me; you are my music and aside from the occasional discord harmony reigns. I love you and us for that.’ ‘That’s beautiful John, how’s about we go to bed now.’ ‘I can live with that but I can’t live without my music.’ ‘We can play it again tomorrow.’ ‘No I mean I can’t live without you. I can’t ever be in a place where I am unable to play you again, you understand?’ ‘I do sweetheart and I’m not going anywhere so I will be in the player at all times. I love you and now let’s get some needed sleep.’

“We really frown on tears up here, Bette.”

“He was like a little boy, caught up in the beauty of music and not wanting it to be over and I should have slapped him right then and there. The music will die but that doesn’t mean the notes go forever un-played. He has to come around to that. Please help him Simon.”

“He is already. There is a sweet melody in a bright corner of his mind that is now a little faint but soon will be heard for the beautiful song it is and it is your song Bette the notes are made of your essence and John will know that. Trust in Us.”

Love To You All

I am ever thankful to my siblings and friends for being there. The thought of my passing first and Bette embraced by your love and support brings solace beyond measure.

Let me also give sincere thanks to those who read my journal and share in a little of Bette’s life and my grief over her passing. Needless to say if you are grieving my and Bette’s heart go out to you. For those who visit and grief is not a part of your life at this time know these pages will be here when and if you need them.

Every end has a journey that precedes it or so we think. Our journey, Dear Heart, began without an end and that’s why we never talked about it for we intuitively knew our lives and love would continue beyond this one and yet my grief is so profound. Is it because I envy your life in the eternal realm and I’m not there to share in the glory and wonder? If that be so then how human of me.

Love to you all