3-29-06
Good Morning My Darling –
Have been thinking about the “little speech” I drafted yesterday. It marks, I think, a transition. Up to recently I’ve wanted people to know that you had died, that I’d been left behind, and the very special things were involved. Early on I think I was even pushing it in people’s faces a bit, talking about you, pain, loss, the “what now?” factor. I think I needed to do that, to keep from keeping too much inside, to vent. But I wasn’t so dense that I didn’t realize how uncomfortable it made some people feel.
So I’ve concluded that I must now be ready to answer a question about you/us (hence the “little speech”) but should no longer flaunt my loss, your departure et al. I realized this as I went back to PT and wondered what I should say to those there who knew me when you were alive. Welcomed the question/dreaded the question. Didn’t want to say, “Hey, since you saw me last, Donna died of a brain tumor after suffering terribly!” So I decided to wait — am still waiting — for the inquiry.
This — the “little speech” held in reserve — is how I’ll handle the matter henceforth.
Lisa wrote a couple of letters, the first detailing the calculations of caloric intake and burn-off she goes through daily as she eats (or tries not to) and exercises. To call it obsessive understates. It was obvious that she believes only the most rigorous self-discipline keeps her from returning to blimpian proportions. I wrote that although I’d be horrified if she ballooned again, I’d love her just the same — though I had to explain later that my horror would be over the medical implications of morbid obesity, and that what I love most about her is on the inside, and that I wish she could accept and feel easy about not being physically perfect.
She wrote back an account of her struggles against binge eating. Apparently she’s a bet-you-can’t-eat-just-one type, who either eats no snacks or goes nuts. No middle ground. I suspect there’s a bit of self-fulfilling prophecy involved, but I know from my own eating (and I remember from yours) how hard it can be to limit your munchie intake. But the thing that troubled me most was her statement that she sometimes takes two to four antacids a night to control cravings. She’s risking acid reflux by doing that, since overuse of antacids can cause the condition they’re supposed to treat. Wrote a quick, non-accusative caveat about antacid abuse.
P.T. was a help. I was still sore of back, but I walked better. Today as well. If I can bring myself to do my exercises tonight, knowing that I go to PT again tomorrow, I’ll have exercised for four straight days, a momentum I can perhaps extend into the weekend.
The only bad moment, related to my topic at the beginning of this letter, came when my therapist, who’s never seen me previously, asked me where I was from. New York City, I said. Do you ever go back? And I had to say how I hadn’t in many hears. How I’d wanted to go with my wife, who was ill, but that we were never able to manage it. The clear implication was that you had since died. I didn’t cry as I said it, though you can guess what I’m doing now.
3-29-06
Good Morning Beloved –
Partly on the basis of what I wrote yesterday, I’ve decided to begin phasing out my sessions with Tony the T. Though, in my opinion, I’ll grieve you the rest of my life, I believe I’ve passed out of the initial acute state, and the “little speech” is an indication. Tony agrees. He feels we’ve achieved our therapeutic goals, but neither of us feels confident enough to end the sessions altogether. I’ll wait two weeks to see him next, and again a month after that. We’ve also agreed that, if I’m in trouble, I can call him.
3-31-06
Good Morning My Love –
In considering all the “diagnoses” I’ve stuck on Lisa in my mind, I recalled how dangerous such labels can be. Wrote her last night that “we are not our problems, maladies or illnesses” — remininscent of “I’ve got MS, but it doesn’t have me” — and we can end them, sometimes, without their ending us. That Lisa isn’t a depression, she has a depression. And can rid herself of it.
And I thought how you struggled with that concept, despite your tough attitude. How many times did you accuse your por body of betraying you, as though it had gone out and deliberately acquired MS et al; or how many times did you apologize, so deeply ashamed, for incontinence or some other problem you had absolutely no control over? And I’d say, you didn’t wilfully acquire this disease; it was inflicted on you, and your poor body. And I’d remind you how hard your body would struggle to cope with what was happening to it, and how many times it would bounce back for you, or tough it out just enough to get by. I hated it when you hated your body because you and it were equally victimized and should have cherished each other, as allies, because you both were fighting against the same enemies for the same goals.
With me, it was the perception of myself, reinforced by my youthful years of therapy, that there was something fundamentally wrong with me, that I was a “flawed vessel.” I think it’s very easy for someone in therapy, especially long-term, to accept the notion that s/he is basically unsound. I even think some therapists, consciously or unconsciously, reinforce this — this “I’m OK/You’re Not” game. And I wonder to what extent Lisa has labelled herself, as a binge eater, unattractive, unlovable. To a great extent, I fear. But if that’s all she is, she couldn’t function. The fact that she is functioning means there’s more, much more inside, and some of it is pretty good, pretty strong (maybe even pretty!). Trick is to get her to see it that way.
Have been hurting some with my exercises, and fear I may have aggravated the right sciatic. Jeff, the therapist I work with, says it’s a matter of seldom-used muscles complaining. Hope he’s right. At this point I see no improvement, other than the fact that I can do more reps now. I want to get an exercise mat I can bring into work, because I don’t want to get up a half-hour earlier to do exercises before work, and I have a very hard time doing them after work.
Stanley asked if having your picture as a screen saver might be too painful. Odd: when it comes up every morning, I tell you I love you, no problem; I tell you I miss you, big problem. Tears every time. I can’t let it go yet, but I may have to.
Tomorrow would’ve been 28 years. Baby, if I knew what the future held all those years ago, I’d have done it again: that’s how wonderful it was to live with you, in spite of everything. I would not deprive myself of the special pleasures of your company, my love. It was all worth it.
4-1-06
Happy Anniversary My Love –
In my mind I’m bringing you food you love, maybe if you’re up to it going to a movie, maybe if you’re up to it going to dinner (lobsters at Kowloon or the Mt. Vernon), coming home and making gentle, tired, sweet love. That’s our day, baby, and to hell with the rest of the world.
Instead, in fifteen minutes I have to visit Janet who, on her best day, is no Donna Boyce. Will shop afterwards, maybe see Mr. P for the last time, call J., Freddie and Donna S., just to see how she and Bobby are doing. None of these people or activities in any way, shape or form can begin to replace you. Baby, you’re irreplaceable.
Oh — and I love you, with all my heart and soul. That will never change.
Back from Janet. She’d spilled prune juice all over her kitchen, so I did a fair amount of housekeeping today. IHOP for brunch. They have a new shrimp and crab omelet — think you’d like it.
Got my exercise mat, did my grocery shopping. Baby, you have to come back today: there’s a fair running in the cinema parking lot! After, we could see a movie, then go to the Mt. Vernon on 1A (no lobster fest at Kowloon yet). and for dessert we can have some Haagen Dasz eggnog icde cream. Please, baby, just for a day, I have a wonderful day planned, and afterwards we can make love and sleep snuggled together like we always do. Please, baby? Just for today?
Finally heard from Debbie and Stevie, who are seeing Freddie tomorrow. They’re OK, just the kind of folks who procrastinated about calling back for six lousy months. Freddie says he’s better — got out to get a haircut — but later in the conversation said he’s having more digestive problems, so don’t know if he’s really better or not.
Called J. and Donna S., left messages. Talked with Lisa, who’s doing better this weekend.
4-2-06
Good Morning My Love –
I met Mel, my Sunday client, today at 12:15. A bit nervous, but think I’ll be OK.
Talked to J. last night. To hear her talk (and talk, and talk) you’d think her life was perfect. The odd thing is, it just about is perfect, if she’d relax enough to enjoy it. She’s got enough money, she’s got her health, a good challenging job, a snug dwelling that suits her (despite antipathy toward neighbors), friends, support, freedom from domestic responsibility. She can go to NYC, drop $2-3k, plan an even more expensive trip to England, contemplate relocating to N.C. (which I don’t think she’ll do since — as I say — she’s constructed a perfect life). Her only significant problem is her own screwiness, which makes her frantic for no reason and undermines hr relationship with her kids.
She still misses you. You understood her best. Plus, she glommed a fancy new computer system, and wishes to hell she could brag on it to you and go through all its bells, whistles and gewgaws with you. I will always be the poorest of substitutes, though I make up for it a bit by sharing baseball mania with her.
Anyway, I found her in very good spirits.
My first session with Mel is over. It’ll be OK. He’s 90 and his life is orderly and he relies on that. So when the Home Instead staffer and I arrived 15 minutes early, it threw him for a total loop. Didn’t get over it for an hour, and didn’t stop referring to it for three. Some of Mel’s mental gears are stripped, and slip, and repeating himself is one sign. Memory, especially with names, is another. Probably shouldn’t go out by himself because he’s easily spacially confused.
All that having been said, he’s a genial, decent old coot, like you very sure in his own space and place, and considering his age in quite good shape. Hearing and eyesight diminished, but he walks well, slow but steady; he works at memory and is good with meds, is proud of what he can still do and fierce about doing it.
What with the intro and its aftermath, and the fact that his granddaughter and her food-poisoned boyfriend (looking slightly green and popping immodium. Bad shrimp at Kowloon — glad we didn’t go there yesterday!) were visiting from California, it took us an hour to settle down. Then we went to Mel’s favorite eatery, Brothers, where he’s known and coddled. Nice diner-type place. OK food, cheap. Then to Shaw’s, then back so I could vaccuum rugs.
So if the repetition doesn’t drive me nuts, I’ll be OK with Mel. And Janet.
Afterwards I saw Mr. P for a couple of hours. Like I’d never left. He expected me to do the usual tasks and I expected to do them too, and they were done. I was still an employee. Brought him coffee and diet tonic, did what I could, shook his hand and left. Doubt I’ll ever go back.
4-3-06
Good Morning My Love –
I’m tired/sleepy/sore; it’s Monday; I love you anyway.
John sent a cd of pics of the craftsman house he’s flipping. It was a pigsty to start with, so comparatively it’s much better now, though I think another $1k in landscaping, trim and snazzier fixtures et all would’ve been a good investment.
This town may soon be called “the City of Murderesses.” A couple of years ago some woman killed her husband somewhere out west; the nationwide womanhunt ended where she was captured: here! And last week some woman in Epping N.H. murdered a companion on her farm, burned his body to a crisp, and lit out — only to be captured…here! Now I know why Sandy keeps coming back: peers!
I know I’ve said it before, but I miss so much your toddling up to me in your little girl mode, all bright-eyed and hopeful, and asking so sweetly, “Have you got a coo-kee??” And, when I did, to see your wonderful face light up with pleasure and anticipation. Miss it so much.
I have to add something to an earlier entry. I think one way of describing how I was just after you died: I got caught up in the drama of it. I was a tragic heroic figure, and I couldn’t help playing the role. I didn’t enjoy it, but I felt important somehow, living through the theatricality of our story. I’m a bit embarrassed by it. But I think I’m past it now.
Wish I was past feeling tired, sleepy and sore….
My mind keeps going back to “Do you have a coo-kie?” Baby, I have two of the wonderful Au Bon Pain oatmeal raisin (OK, if you insist, just raisin) cookies, and if you’ll stop by or let me know how to find you, I’d give ten years of what’s left of my life to give you a coo-kie. Please let me….
Forgive me, baby. It’s just a bad day.
4-4-06
Good Afternoon Beloved –
You and your damn cookie bedevilled me all evening long (I know, not your fault). Just a sad day. Woke up tired to raw rainy weather — so much for Spring — the rain much needed just now.
At work I’m wearing two hats (Andy C. out with one of his “headaches”) but the work’s so slow that I can do both and still find time to write.
PT after work, then another night with sore sciatic nerves. Hope I’m allowed to sleep better than I have been, since sore sciatics on both hips means I’m sore no matter what side I lie on, so end up on my back, which means snoring and less than stellar repose.
Not much to say just now. But I’m always up to telling you that I love you with all my heart and soul.
