Words are my prayers, my way of connecting with Bette and I offer them up to her.

At 1:06 AM May 23 2015 the well sealed box hit the back of my head. It took a few days to muster up the courage and see what was inside. On top of the many puzzle pieces was a paper, letter size, with the words “Only Grieve”. Not every day Am I successful in connecting a few of the pieces and the strangest thing is some days the box contains more pieces than other days. I worry about the resulting image.

Your letters, cards, e-mails and social media page Dear Bette are waiting and I’m waiting too. I don’t know when the wait will be over but I dare say it won’t be soon.

Careful when gauging the reality of Grief and thinking you’re close.

I feel like I’m in a cage and the pacing stops when I am paid a visit. The visitor’s look of commiseration is genuine but the words of sympathy are barely audible. I feel regret over the distance and with raised voice say there is nothing to fear but my words trail off as they walk away.

Love to you all

 

 

Bette did not like the cold even before getting older and health issues. As a young woman,and many years before I met her, she enjoyed vacations on the beaches of Bermuda and several Caribbean Islands. She so wanted to get me to Bermuda and in my heart I know she will; in another lifetime.

*

A few Autumns into our relationship a box was delivered and I asked Bette “Why are we receiving a delivery from L.L.Bean.” and she answered “a gift for you.” I being the jerk I can sometimes be said “Honey thanks but you do know their politics is quite conservative.” And she said, “I may have, I’m not sure sweetheart but I do know their clothing is quality stuff-even for a liberal.” In the box was a very warm Winter coat. I thanked her. I kissed her.

Bette was right. It’s a quality coat and has kept me warm over the years. I put the coat on today and whispered “thank you babe”

Love To You All

On Sunday Sept.13 the support group got together for a picnic. I wasn’t sure if it would be awkward considering we were away from our formal setting; it wasn’t. I felt I’d known the folks longer than I have and that was comforting.

On the way home it struck me that the willingness to share our sorrow and pain of losing a loved one is a testament to the grace we bestow on one another.

We scale the wall of grief with assist from the shoulders of others.

Love to you all

How can you not wish for death when your other half has passed away and you are no longer whole and you have no interest in living a half life.
How can you worship an entity that gave us death and not life everlasting Yet gave us love which wants nothing more than life everlasting.
How can you live with the memory of your loved one and not want to live the life of addiction to mind altering substances where the chance of forgetting even for a minute is possible.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…I don’t know.
Love to you all

I am admonished because I haven’t written enough about our girls and Bette is the admonisher.

When Bette and I met I had Greylock (named after the mountain in northern Massachusetts) and Bette, Sammy (I don’t remember the genesis of Sammy’s name-damn). They graced our home for many years.

About two weeks into our relationship Bette comes over to my apartment which was down the hall from hers and expresses concern and panic over Sammy swallowing a small rubber band. We called the Vet… and was told it would probably pass and to check her feces; if no rubber band to bring her in. I don’t know how many guys out there can say their girlfriend fell in love with them because they didn’t mind checking said girlfriend’s cat poop for a rubber band. Fast forward to our living together and guess who had litter duty, yours truly.

We got Enya (named after the singer) shortly after Sammy passed and Tammy (named after the Debbie Reynold’s movie) not long after Greylock passed.

Bette is with Sammy and Greylock now. I close my eyes and imagine the homecoming. If there are no tears in heaven that’s okay because I’m shedding enough tears of joy to compensate.

Enya is seven and Tammy four. They are indoor cats. We adopted them from shelters. They are our companions and we love them dearly.

At the shelter Bette picked up several to hold but only Enya leaned into her and I said “she chose you” and Bette nodded with a smile. Enya is a calico with soft brown hair and peach highlights and Bette would say the cutest nose.  Tammy is a munchkin with the tuxedo color pattern. Bette found her photo on line and couldn’t get over how cute she was. When we got to the shelter home we found out she was the runt of the litter and that endeared her even more.

Enya is our royalty; an aloof Princess. When she deigns to have you pet her, the rub against the leg couldn’t be harder. Bette and I loved that about her.

Tammy makes Bette and I laugh with what we call her flops. She would take several steps, tip and then fall to her side.

Do they miss their Mom; yes they do. They will visit her side of the bed and curl up. They are less active and I wonder about depression. When I come home they are at the door with a look of expectation (that’s how I interpret it) but less so lately.

I know they know Bette is not here. That sentence alone tears at my heart. But somewhere in their being the wondering why rips it out!

Love to you all

and notably

those with pets

 

 

 

And then Bill writes about the men and women as players with their exits and entrances. I find it curious he doesn’t write entrances and exits; maybe I’m missing something.

Today has been difficult (a lot of crying) and after one of the spells the Shakespeare quote popped into my head (who knows why). And I saw myself on a stage sans furniture, sans lamps, sans wall paintings, sans Bette.

I do not have Bette to say my lines to.

After awhile my eyes adapt to the darkness and I realize the only adjustment is being able to see the edge of the stage. I surmise it best I don’t fall off the stage but have an inkling that at some point in the play the worst may be the best.

The Director has not shown up and I’m not sure what to do with pages and pages of dialogue. I sit on the stage floor and give them a cursory look knowing a more focused and attentive reading will drive me closer to the edge and I am not sure that’s in a pending script.

It has been days and weeks now with no show of the Director. I do hear what sounds like stage direction given in whispers but not loud enough to discern.
I’m not keen on anyone making an entrance. The loneliness I feel is due to the absence of Bette. I would question the value of anyone on the stage at this point but I am beginning to derive a little comfort from the sound of backstage whispers.

The pages for the previous act are not to be found so reliance on memory fills some of the abundance of time left me. I say abundance because grief seems to stretch the boundaries if time can be said to have boundaries.

I never thought there’d come a day I could survive a life without light but here I am. Each day is tentative and full of trembling hesitation. One morning I did wake to find some items strewn about the stage. They are difficult to make out.

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me and I swear I hear and see Bette make an entrance. I check the stage floor to see if any pages fell from the catwalk and find none. My pockets are empty thinking the Director slipped some pages in while I was asleep. I stand quietly hoping to hear and see but nothing. Benign silence seems to be the prevalent theme of this current production.

I will admit to the darkness sometimes getting the better of me but I believe in time the backstage whispers will become intelligible and the stage truly visible.

Love to you all

When I step outside and get to the car I lean against the car. Anyone watching would think I’m waiting for someone or if they know me will think I’m waiting for Bette. I don’t know how long maybe a few minutes I open the car door and get in. I don’t start the car right away. I don’t have to go anywhere and when I do start the car I will have decided.

The grocery store is a safe bet. I will probably find the something I may need as I walk up and down the aisles. The first aisle I go to is the organic one and realize as I stand there leaning over the carriage bar that old habits die hard. What the hell am I doing here; I certainly don’t feel the need to extend my life.

I move on and look up with a smile toward Bette and imagine her frown as I fill the cart with anything containing a lot of calories and high amounts of saturated fat. Needless to say fiber is of no concern.

I then tell her I’m sorry and know way before the food could do any damage she would arrange for one of the dark angels to take me out. I am sure by this time (three months and fourteen days) Bette will have made connections everywhere.

I know walking faster is what some folk think I need to do because by moving along I will probably miss some of the food memories ‘and that’s okay because you have to move on’.

The entrance of that thought into my mind makes me angry and the thought of missing a memory no matter how painful brings me to a very sad place. I don’t want to be spared. I want any and all grief has to offer.

Moving on is overrated.

I know I will never forget Bette and that goes without saying but it is the NOW I want to preserve. I linger in the Now to maintain the immediacy of her loss.

I wonder if the lingering is my way of prolonging that slice of the pendulum blade; wanting the memory bleed to continue out of love and respect for what we had.

I understand that grief is a formidable opponent and there is nothing fair in its waiting behind the curtain for the right moment to cripple you. I have no choice but to withstand the assault and welcome it for it defines the wonderful love we had for each other, continue to have and the overwhelming loss.

The hands of time are held tight by grief and I don’t see them going beyond 1:05 AM May 23 2015.

Love to you all

My world has taken on a sedate and forlorn look since you passed into the spirit world my beloved Bette.

It is hard to see the beauty in the morning dew. The clouds no longer capture images; they just bear contrast to the lonely blue sky. The valleys and mountains are just territory needing to be traversed. The trees, plants and flowers seeking to adorn the earth find no appreciation in me. The sun, moon, stars and planets are void of the wonder they once held.

Grieving eyes have blinded me to all we once cherished, all we looked upon with childlike anticipation and all we once thought made sense.

I have never cried so much in my 64 years; I think I have infancy beat. I know, of course, it’s normal and fellow grievers in the support groups have admitted to crying several times a day if not more. I believe in the truth of this but I’d like to add another element; we are shedding the tears of our departed.

And the more I think about it; the more I buy into it.

Bette’s consciousness was compromised the last couple days before she passed into the spirit world and I’m not sure if she thought about her dying; she did not bring it up and neither did I. I know in the depth of her being she thought there was a chance she’d pull through and I did also. My bringing up dying in her compromised state would have been so unfair to her so the conversation of her leaving the corporeal self never happened and now I am weeping her tears over the sadness of our last days and nights together. Days and nights where silence prevailed and the time to say goodbye, even for a brief moment, never came.

Love to you all

 

 

 

Lola and Bob live in the apartment above Bette and John. To get to the stairs they walk by Bette and John’s door and sometimes have heard John crying. They have also heard him while in their apartment.

Lola and Bob are in their early thirties and Bette and John are in their early sixties. They haven’t socialized but exchange the courteous pleasantries when paths cross and a few brief conversations over the past several years.

The last conversation, a couple months ago, Lola said she hadn’t seen Bette in awhile and asked if she was okay. Without going into any specifics John said she was in the hospital and should be discharged soon. He thanked Lola for her concern.

“I feel so bad for him, Bob?”

“I know Lola, poor guy”

“I think this is about the sixth time I’ve heard him in the past 3 months”

“You think she died?”

“I don’t know, Bob. I saw him a few weeks ago, bringing in groceries and I asked how Bette was doing and he said better thanks, she’s visiting family in Florida.”

“It doesn’t sound like the cry of missing a loved one who is alive in Florida.”

“That’s just it, it doesn’t”

“Damn Lola, don’t read into this like one of your mystery books.”

“Bob please, I feel for the guy. I think she is dead.”

“I’m afraid I agree. I wish we could help the guy out somehow.”

“Well first let’s get upstairs to our place and away from his door; how embarrassing if we got caught spying.”

“Okay, what do you want me to cook up tonight, Lola?”

“Something light, hon. I’m not too hungry. I’m sad.”

“Because of John?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine losing you. My heart goes out to him.”

“They had a lot of years together, sweetheart. The little bit I’ve gathered from my  brief talks with him I’d say they had a good run.”

“It doesn’t make the grief any easier.”

“You think so?”

“Honey, the moment of knowing I was in love with you, the world of grief lay in wait high above me like a blade wielding pendulum ready to descend and cut-if you go before me.”

“Well, that’s not good Lola. I suggest we fall out of love because grief has made the price of love too high.”

“Too late, Bob-no refunds available. You can wish to die before me but that is putting grief before life and I don’t think we are suppose to go there.”

“Okay you win, our love is here to stay.”

“And remember whichever one goes first the other will treasure what we had and look forward to our spiritual reunion.”

“I know love but damn it must hurt. John’s cry seems so full of pain.”

“I wish there was something we could do.”

“We could invite him up to dinner, or ask him if he’d like to go to a restaurant; our treat.”

“I like that, Bob. It would probably be good for him to be out of his apartment.”

“I think so too, Lola.”

“We’ll let him decide on the restaurant.”

“Of course and we will do our best to make him feel at ease.”

“Goes without saying.”

“One thing, Bob.”

“What’s that?”

“We don’t know for sure he is grieving.”

“I guess we knock on the door and tread lightly.”

“Yeah, simple enough. We ask how Bette is doing and if appropriate suggest dinner.

“I hope he’s honest with us Lola.”

“Do you really, Bob?”

Lola and Bob never did knock on John’s door. If you asked them why, they would not tell you the truth. They would not admit to being scared and anxious about entering John’s world. It occurred to them also that knowing what to say would come very hard. Best to leave well enough (not really) alone. That’s what the young couple said of the older grieving John.

They were so wrong.

Love to you all

 

 

 

 

 

The loss of Bette is my world

And when I look up

To gaze on pinches of sky

Through the branches of trees

I see myself

splintered with grief