Letters to Donna/from 5-24-06

5-24-06

Good Morning Beloved –

Tried to go to PT.  They told me I had no appointment. I did, but…my approved visits expired on 5-16, and they haven’t heard back about more. So, since they weren’t guaranteed to be paid by HCHP, they cancelled the appointment. Only problem is, they didn’t say boo to me until I got there! Unprofessional.

Wasn’t real upset, though. Yesterday and Monday were physically taxing days at work, handling stock and some hefty special orders, and I ached in various places. And I didn’t mind hanging on to the copay.

Today and tomorrow, though, the copays go bye-bye: Tony the T tonight, my first appointment with the osteo surgeon tomorrow. And $200 for a new wiper motor; $150+ for two new tires so I can pass inspection for another $40. And don’t forget $40 a pop to gas up. Even if I get a $5K raise I figure, with Janet, to get only $82 extra a week. Still not enough, though a prolonged hiatus from ebay buying would help.

Ain’t makin’ it in Mass., kid. Miss that PCA money, but miss you more. At least, when I work extra, it’s not at the expense of being with you. Thanks again and as ever for loving me.

Submitted the BU Bookstore application.

Did I mention I miss you? Well, I do. One of the things I miss most is setting you up for some ghastly shaggy dog story/pun, and springing it on you. You almost always fell for it — you really were a wonderful woman! — and it was my delight to run the joke and have us both enjoy it. (By the way, I suspect that you weren’t quite as dim as you let on….)

Baby, so often it was just wonderful to be with you! We laughed a lot, didn’t we?

5-25-06

Good Afternoon My Best Baby –

Having another GI tract day. Don’t know if it’s those wonderful Trader Joe’s triple ginger snaps that I unwisely bought Tuesday and can’t resist, or some frozen tropical fruit I got at the same time and tried last night. Will try more fruit over the weekend, when I can afford to ride out the shits.

My PT sessions have run out and HCHP won’t authorize any more. I could appeal, but I won’t. I’ll go there Tues. and see if my therapist there has any farewell suggestions. After that I’m on my own, which is OK with me. Up to me anyway, in the long run.

Nice session with Tony the T. yesterday. He and Mrs. the T. are going to China in July to adopt a girl! Asked him more questions re: hip replacement, about which — for some reason — he’s very knowledgeable. I’ll likely have the ball of the joint replaced with a metal one, which will be screwed into the hip bone. Should be in the hospital up to a week, and walking within a day or two of the surgery. Likely to spend a week or two in rehab, which should cover the period where I’d need help if I were home (still can’t say “home” without feeling that my real home is anywhere you are. Dumb, huh? Damn — ), and perhaps can return to work shortly thereafter. I should walk better, have less discomfort — except on cold days, when the metal ball gets cold and aches. And Tony reiterated that the longer I wait the more problematic things can be, so he’s pleased with my decision. Will see him again in a month, more often in September.

I was supposed to see the ortho surgeon today, but got a call to come in earlier,  which always pisses me off (my time and job unimportant, his very important. Screw you, doc!) and have rescheduled for June 2 at 4 p.m.

Ginger had a colonoscopy. It shows she likely has Crohn’s Disease or ulcerative colitis. Told Lisa about our anti-colitis lean-protein diet, and strongly advised her to get her own colonscopy, since Jane, Ginger and I have/had GI problems, and Lisa’s got ‘em too. Suggested she apply the same intelligence that recognized the need to deal with her weight, to dealing with this problem, which is likely to worsen as she ages.

I don’t love Ginger, but I respect her as someone who tries to do right (and occasionally succeeds). I’m so sick of watching such folk suffer. You, Freddie, Janje and Curly and others. And I can’t do anything. Just watch.

They’ve also told her that lizard claw she has for a hand is arthritic psoriasis. Seems to me they’d figured out the psoriasis part many years ago, yet nothing much has been done. Why?

I think my reactions to all this have more to do with you and Freddie than Ginger.

Lisa’s dizzying array of potential swains is beginning to dwindle a bit as one by one the candidates reveal themselves shallow, uninterested and/or duplicitous. Do still think there may be a winner out there…somewhere….

Hey, baby, are there tv’s in heaven? I kind of doubt it, considering what’s on and how long the extention cord would have to be. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if, somehow, some way, you’re watching your soaps right now.

Would you believe they’re putting a Home Depot in that dinky defunct mall in Chelsea? Glad they waited till you were gone, otherwise we’d be there every day — and the thought of that giveth me the willies!

5-26-05

Good Morning My Love –

Feeling better.

One good thing may result from Ginger’s diagnosis: Lisa says she’ll get her own colonoscopy. Her grandmother, father and mother have GI problems and she already has hers. She needs to start monitoring the area.

Craig’s last day. The tensions between him and C.S. have surfaced this week, so the air in the Rental Dept. has been a tad chilly. So unnecessary. Both have sinned but their sins were minor; both are oversensitive and hold a grudge, making minor matters major. Just unfortunate, since they actually made a pretty good team for about a decade.

Assuming my buying on ebay is largely a thing of the past — dunno if it is, but assuming so — to that I add taking myself out to lunch (about 6 times a year), taking myself out to dinner, and spending $5.50 for a chocolate double-malted frappe at J.P.Licks, all little self-indulgences I used to give myself, now six months plus in the past. And I can go further in that direction, as previously noted: no more laundry service, no more Brueggers. Can cut down on the take out. And of course there’s my $50 a week pot habit. If the T fares go up, and they soon will, I see little point in a leave-the-car-at-home day, as I save nothing and actually lose, per day, though that doesn’t factor in the wear and tear on the car.

Is a life without any indulgences worth living?

Finally got through to my ebay guy, who just got his power back on Tues. Two weeks without power. Hope he can survive. I’ll go there after Janet on Saturday.

5-29-06

Good Evening My Love –

Skipped yesterday, thought about you all day and wanted to write you at length today. But after my walk I went to D. & M.’s, and just got back — it’s 11:25 p.m. — won’t write now. But tomorrow I’ll tell you again how much I love you and why. Old stuff, but I don’t mind saying it. I love you, Donna. We’ll talk tomorrow.

5-29-06

Good Morning Beloved –

So a year ago today, you were in the OR with your skull cut open, with Dr. Liu trying to hack off as much of that obscene tumor as she could, much less successfully, it turned out, than she thought, as the tumor had had eight months to work its way in and around your brain, and embraced it like a cruel, possessive, homocidal lover.

You were so scared, so brave. As usual, there was trouble getting and keeping a line in you; remember that patient oriental anesthesiologist? Nobody around — holiday — stillness like a held breath as they wheeled you away — god.

15 months with the operation.

6 to 9 month without.

You lived four months after the operation. Hard for me to get over that.

The other night I recalled how funny you were. A natural zany. Wonderful malapropisms (the Pinocchio Mountains in PA), a wacky way of seeing things. We knew how to surprise and delight each other with language, though I think you just did what came naturally.

It’s amazing really: when you look at it one way we were totally incompatible. Intellectually, culturally. I’m bookish, intellectual, NYC-cultured. You weren’t. Your interests were Elvis, soap operas, and any movie where a woman prevails over tormentors. We found enough common ground to decorate our places to mutual satisfaction, agreeing some, compromising some. And we simply respected and tolerated our differences.

Because we recognized and honored the strength and decency in the other — abetted it, I think — and realized we were soulmates inside because we were both victimizzed as children yet each retained our capacities for love and caring. And we built for each other a refuge of love that allowed each of us to heal, to keep pain and bitterness from souring our goodness, and from that shelter we could be strong, individually and as a couple. It’s as if our styles, culturally and intellectually, were just clothes that looked defining but were in fact shells that covered our inner life. Each of us penetrated those shells and supported that inner life.

I thought, and said aloud to you, that you’re a hard act to follow. I fantasize about sex all the time — have for decades (thank heaven  that most remain secret and never act on them). So I can imagine having sex with another woman. But I doubt I will, at least for the foreseeable future, because I can’t imagine developing another relationship far enough for it to become sexual. I tailored so much of my life to you, your needs and preferences, and I so enjoyed giving you pleasure, and you rewarded me so much with delight and love. How can I approach the kind of melding we achieved? And that melding occured through years of conflict and work, as we exposed more to each other and dealt with the fears and pain such exposure inevitably induced. I don’t know if I can make such an investment again. Doubt it. And who would make any kind of emotional investmen t in me? Who’d want to, when all I bring to any relationship is my personality? No money, no future. No interest.

But even if one did, would I want to subject her to comparisons with you? She’d need to be someone very special to fill the huge space in my heart you occupied. Someone small would disappear. Someone large would resist. I’d need someone of great stature, spiritually, a great soul.

Tough to find. I’ve only found one in my life: you.

By the way, D. told me that Je. has had long-term relationships, first with the head of the college she worked at, whom she almost married, and with the black sportscaster Jimmy Myers, who comes in and out of her life and is currently in. Funny it should be Jimmy Myers, though. Myers was a sportscaster who was more interested in stirring up controversy over Boston racism than reporting sports news. He saw racism everywhere and most of the time he was right. His reward was to be driven off the air. So of course he focusses his personal life on a white woman. Hey, why not? She’s pretty (and probably taller than him). But if Whitey is so evil….OK, if he rejected her just because she was white, wouldn’t he be racist too?

I wrote Lisa about writing you. I wrote:

“Wrote Donna — a year ago she was just coming out of surgery, but I wanted to tell her again that I love her and to explore again the whys of it. Still amazes me that two people so dissimilar in those aspects that supposedly determine ‘compatability.’ No computer dating service would ever have matched us up. But in our hearts we recognized the pain and hope the other felt, and responded to them, and then spent the first ten yeas or so duelling with each other until we’d figured out how to live together. It really is a wonderful story, and to my mind one small aspect of it is that it’s nothing like the typical American boy-meet-girl/love-at-first-sight mythic bullshit. Instead it was real, hard, gritty, grown-up and so much better as a result. Good things rarely come easily; in fact they rarely come at all. I feel all the prouder about Donna and me because we earned our specialness, worked at it, fought for it, even (I can’t resist saying it) unto death.”

My Memorial Day message.

You can see, baby, that I try to find the positive and stress it. The problem is that the positive is all “ago”, in the past, and it’s my bad luck to live in the present and face the future, and there don’t seem to be many positives in those directions. I never want to forget what we had and did together — even though I do forget, insidiously, on a daily basis, bit by bit — but I still have to deal with my day-to-day. At least my regret, my guilt are minimal.

But baby, not having you, missing you, hurts every damn day. Just wanted you to know. And I’m sure that, in between heavenly frolics and unlimited Twinkies and Haagen-Dasz coffee ice cream, you miss me too.

5-30-06

Rough Day, My Love –

Had some fried Chinese food last night and woke up feeling terrible. Took two immodium, avoided coffee, decided to postpone bringing the car to Patrick’s, finally threw on clothes and got in to work feeling a bit better but still pretty crummy.

Then I started remembering you in SICU at Mt. A, all bandaged up, IV lines coming out of you, monitors all over you, with that awful fishhook-shaped incision on the right side of your head, a legion of metal staples as precise as baseball stitches holding the incision together. You were still pretty blotto, but were delighted to see me. Still in a lot of pain, poor thing, that awful headache that never really got much better. But you were happy to be alive.

That was it about you, my beloved: no matter what you were suffering, you were happy to be alive, happy to be with me. And remembering all this, hey baby, I’m just a mess right now. Crying as much as I have for quite a while.

Two days from now, a year ago, you hit your high point. Your right leg had much more mobility, and your left was better too. You were still on massive steroids, but systematically you stablized. At that point the promise of improved functioning seemed about to come true. We’d have a short time of real hope….

…And then the clots started and your life began to end. God, Donna, I’m so sorry. It was so cruel to you, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about any of it, though we both tried everything we could think of. Those evil, wicked clots.

Ah yes. The Time of False Hope.

Letters to Donna/from 5-17-06

5-17-06

Good Morning Beloved –

Awoke to sunshine!!

They opened Rte. 1 south this morning. North still closed.

After having spent $38 to fill the car, leaving me $80 to last me 1 1/2 weeks, I’m alarmed at my finances. My bank account is dwindling, now down to $1500. I have to cut back more, but particularly I must earn more. If Home Instead doesn’t give me more hours soon I’ll have to look elsewhere, though just where elsewhere is I’m not sure. Have resolved to cut back on ebay, yet there I was last night, bidding on three items that together cost over $100. I lost all three because I set limits, but had things gone differently I’d have been shelling out a C-note I can’t afford.

I just can’t seem to finish growing up!

Of course, if you were still alive you’d be telling me it was OK, if I want stuff I should have it, that you enjoy seeing me get stuff I like (just as I loved seeing your pleasure when I’d give you stuff you liked). Not that it’s your fault I remain infantile. I know the situation and if I choose to behave irrespossibly I can’t blame anyone but me.

And just to add to the general fun, my windshield wipers have taken it into their heads to end their wipe cycles in a vertical position. They still work, they just won’t lie down. Probably electrical, ccaused by rain. Will wait a day for Patrick to deal with what I’m sure is a plethera of more serious problems, and call tomorrow.

5-19-06

Good Afternoon My Love –

Yes, baby, I skipped a day. And I’m not trying to fake it. I had the shits; they started so-so, got worse in the afternoon  before they settled down, and I spent the day shitting and resting and vegging. And not writing you. I apologize, my love.

The repair of the wiper motor will cost me almost $200. Killer. Will have it done March 31.

Set up an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, for May 25. Then I got a call back that Burke, the muscular/skeletal guy, wanted to seed me first. So I see him June 8 at 4 p.m. and have no idea what I’ll be doing May 25.

Have been blue and lethargic in general. These financial hits are very discouraging, and soon the car insurance will start up again. Hard to figure how I’ll be able to tread water the rest of this year. And there’s Freddie, and there’s you or, to the point, there’s no you. The part of me that found myself increasingly alone as your health worsened, that part’s OK. But the part that was welded to you,  conjoined with you, that part will be sad and lonely for a long time yet.

Just for the fun of it, it rained like hell on the way in. Called my ebay guy in Peabody, and his phones are still screwed up. Not even sure from his message if he’s open. In any case, it sounds like anything electronic is compromised.

5-20-06

Good Evening Beloved –

8 months gone. And now, the anniversary of the Beginning of the End. Your agonizing pain, the MRI, that ghastly evening that ended with Dr. G. giving us your death sentence, the decision to have brain surgery. And then, the last nightmare that I don’t want to recapitulate just now. God, baby, how did we go through all that? We went through it together, as we did everything else. I’m honored to have been with you when you needed me.

Yet my feeling of our closeness continues to erode bit by bit. Holding onto you in my mind is like trying to grip air. These entries have gotten shorter, less intimate; I talk more at you, chit-chatty, than with you about the things our souls shared and, as much as I can manage, still share. But the immediacy of memory is eroded by time, and that’s what’s happening to me. I apologize to you, baby. This living alone gets to be a mental habit, this thinking for one. I have to do it, but it’s like every day a scintilla of you disappears and I can’t get it back. And scintillas add up, maybe to as much as a modicum!

Jeez, just realized I never wished Jane a Happy Mother’s Day last week. Sorry, Jane — I said it a few times, just never wrote it down. I’m losing touch with all my dead women!!

Good talk with Lisa. Her dating thing has been a mixed bag, as should be expected, but she’s had a couple of good dates where she’s been pampered, and has met one guy, Jimmy, who could be the real thing.

She sounds better: stronger, more self-confident, though I’m sure that’s temporary. She’s doing enough good things to remain positive. And I like some of the things her therapist is saying. Wish Lisa could see her more often, but if they start really getting into important stuff, that may change.

5-21-06

Good Evening My Love –

Back from the memorial service for Freddie. All together not too bad. Michael D’Antonio, Abra and D. spoke well and movingly. There was a lot of love in that church (Unitarian) today. It was a bit goofy too: a friend of Freddie sang Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” totally off-key and out of synch with the piano. It was so bad I thought you were singing. Then the lady minister asked if anyone wanted to say a few brief words, and Stevie said about 10 thousand of them till we were alternately laughing and yawning. But everyone lauded Freddie’s optimism, generosity, humor, curious mind and love of others.

There was a recedption, where I got to meed Je. again at long last, and for the first time Brother George. First, Je. My god, she’s tall. Put Je., D. and Sandra in the same room and you’ve got three Amazons. She’s blond now, surprisingly pretty, has a giggly style I ascribed to nerves. Pleasant, hard to read.

George. Also tall, about 6′1″. Heavy now, maybe my weight. The good looks of his youth have evolved into slight facial puffiness that made me think “alcohol.” Absolute bullshit artist from the moment he opened his mouth. Rapid, self-absorbed, I-know-everything manner of spech. You may have your opinion about a person or event, but George will tell you the real poop! Had a woman with him who never said anything. That kind of woman fulfills the same role for a man as jewelry for a woman.

To George, Mina was a beautiful woman who simply never mastered the rhythm method and who never abandoned any of her children; the state evilly took them. He would see you as “My Sister.” A possession. And he would expect you to accept everything he said as gospel. You’ll be surprised to hear I really didn’t like the man. As Sandra or Mina would, George tended to make the whole affair sound like it was for him.

Left as soon as I respectfully could.

June and Norman were there. I made nice.

Glad it’s over. Hope you and Freddie are together, doing you own, um, post mortem on the service.

Oh –I know it was a horrible picture of you and Freddie, but it was the only one I had! I’m sorry, baby –

Just talked with D. I think she’s proud of herself, her brother and her family, and glad it’s over. She was super. Her take on George was to see him as a rich source of info. Lived with Mina to age 12. He’s supposed to have a degree from Bentley. She also thought he drank, though she thought he was sober today. I have a feeling he had a stiff one no more than an hour before the service. I reminded her that Freddie always warned about trusting George, that he was a con man. And Freddie knew con men. D. says she’s cautious enough to be safe from him. I did point out that since George has something for which she has an emotional need, she leaves herself vulnerable to manipulation, and said that even someone as savvy as you was conned to some extent by Sandra, who had something you needed emotionally: kinship.

5-22-06

Good Afternoon My Best Beloved –

Maybe the best part of yesterday was the photo display at the reception (again, sorry your pic wasn’t better!) — great shots of Freddie as a young stud, skinny, dark, narrow-faced, punk-looking with all that hair! Wonderful stuff.

Called Home Instead. No additional hours likely in the near future. Still can’t reach my ebay guy: phones/electronics still screwed up by the flood. Lisa suggested I try to pick up some hours as a bookstore. Good idea. Also, will call Phil Furman just in case he needs dispatching help. As as of now I have nothing on ebay watch. Hope I can resist for multiples of weeks. Doubt I can, but hope to.

Feeling blue from yesterday. They tried to have the congregation sing “We’ll Meet Again,” which was a flop, but the words hurt: “We’ll met again some sunny day,” knowing that, most likely, we’ll never meet again, a thought which invariably brings tears, as it has now.

5-23-06

Good Morning My Love –

Spent the night missing you, so it wasn’t a very good night. It was so good having you within reach, a phone call away, a room away. I know I’ve talked about this before, but it keeps coming back. To have someone you love, to have someone who loves you, this is the best life offers. We were a pair, baby, a team, and we worked so well together, did things our way to the extent we could, and we were right about things a lot more than we were wrong. We were GOOD, good together and as a result good individually. That can’t be taken away. We had a damn good run.

Busy week. PT tonight, Tony the T tomorrow, osteo surgeon Thursday, Janet Saturday, D. & M. Sunday. Maybe ebay work Monday, if my ebay guy ever dries out.

At noon I went to the BU Bookstore and got an employment application. Filled it out, warned C.S. I’d used her for a reference — and was informed that in a couple of weeks I should be getting a raise. Just me. This is C.S.’s doing. (Of course, if it isn’t $4K annually I’ll still have to have a second job.) I feel strange about it. I believe I’m overpaid as it is and don’t deserve special treamtment.

Saw a bizarre bumper sticker yesterday: “Do Not Meddle in the Affairs of Dragons: You Are Crunchy and Good with Ketchup.” This is even better than the political sticker I saw the other day: “Proud to be Everything the Right Wing Hates.”

It would infuriate Craig if he knew about the raise, because he’s always felt underpaid — and because his leaving makes the raise possible. He’ll be replaced by someone who’ll be paid less, maybe much less, freeing up $ for moi. No, Craig would not be pleased.

Letters to Donna/from 5-10-06

5-10-06

Good Morning My Love –

Miss you today. Miss the way you made me feel less alone, because someone would always love me.

I think in a real way Freddie never left the Fernald School. And not just because he worked so hard to make things better there. The Fernald experience kept him from ever being comfortable in the “mainstream” world. He could only function well on the fringes, anhd in many ways the carny world was like the Fernald world: very closed society, greatly unknown to the larger world; filled with its own customs, even its own language; peopled with folks from the margins. The carny world is functional whereas the Fernald world was dysfunctional, but both provided a small separate universe, where Freddie could fit in.

Had a candid talk with Jeff, my physical therapist, to confirm what I thought his opinions are about my condition and prognosis. He feels I won’t improve,  because the exercises that might improve my back aggravate the hip and vice versa. He thinks I should walk shorter distances and less often, and increase my stationary bike use, and find a pool I can swim in. He does think I can tough it out until I’m 66 or 67 and have the hip replacements. Passed this along to C.S., who held out a glimmer of hope that I might be able to get it done while still working at ECS. But there’s at least a four-week recovery period….I’ll tell you, if I’d had it done April 1, I could be finishing up rehab now with minimal inconvenience to ECS — that’s how slow it’s been there!

Lisa went on a date! Guy in his 40s, twice divorced. I didn’t like his picture (she sent his file link to me — this date was part of aqn on-line dating service she’s joined) because his eyes and mouth showed nothing at all. She said it went OK, no big sparks, but a nice time.

Just got the word that I’ve lost Mr. Binda, my Thursday client. Besides the danger of his wandering, he’s been incontinent lately (which we don’t deal with), and the help in his facility is giving him a hard time about it, and the family will pull him from the institution if necessary, but meanwhile have had to hire an agency that will clean him up.

So I’ve got to stop with the frogs. I’m better than I’ve been, but I have to cut it out. I’ve got all the frogs I’ll ever need, and then some, so there are just one or two things I’d like (another Chinese mask), and otherwise I’d only use ebay for gifts. That’s my intention, anyway. It’s just so tempting to search!!….

Been thinking about the logistics of hip replacement surgery. Will have to find out how it’d work. Couldn’t do them both at once — how would I get around? Drive? Feed myself? Would I have to be in a rehab place? Need more info. Will start by asking Dr. G. when I have my checkup.

5-11-06

Good Afternoon My Darling –

Was at Walgreen’s and heard on the Muzak “Sometimes When We Touch,” always one of your favorites (though not mine — too sappy and melodramatic). Struck by the line “I want to hold you till the fear in my subsides.” You had great fear in you and I’d love to think I helped it subside. Did I,  baby?

Lousy sleep during the night. But was able to make up for it by sleeping till 11. Have been fairly virtuous — dusted and vacced and exercised. Got the Globe — a good write-up on Freddie. Will include a copy tomorrow, sent copies to John and Lisa. Haven’t gone over my draft. Nor have I walked — too damp, and the PT guy had made me nervous about walking. Still need to wash the rug — have to get Woolite, since it’s a wool rug.

Jimmy invited me to plant in the tiny bit of ground by my entrance. Think I’ll get a couple of geraniums. Geraniums! Sweet –

OK, gotta ‘fess up. On Monday, while walking in JP while Patrick was working on the car, I walked into another street sign. Wasn’t wearing a hat. It was a pretty bad one, and I knew I’d bleed a lot — scalp wound. I put pressure on the area and, remembering a CVS nearby, went there and got some band-aids with neosporin on the pads, put on three of them, paid for it, and went about my business. I’ve left ‘em on ever since. Though there was some seeping Tues. afternoon, it’s since stopped and I haven’t felt the warmth or throb of an infection, just the itch of cuts scabbing over. Will shower tomorrow and see how it’s doing.

See, baby? I still need you. Protect me from my own klutziness!

By the way, either no one at work noticed three wrinkly band-aids on the top of my head, or were too polite to ask. I think the former.

5-12-06

Good Morning My Love –

“Frederick L. Boyce, at 65; helped expose abuses at Fernald state school”

“By Bryan Marquard, Globe staff

“Frederick L. Boyce was not a moron.

“That was abundantly clear to anyone who met him as an adult. But not until four days before he died did the state of Massachusetts officially declare he was not mentally retarded — 57 years after the Commonwealth clinically diagnosed him as a ‘moron’ and sent him to the Walter E. Fernald State School in Waltham.

“Beginning when he was 8, Mr. Boyce spent a dozen years at the facility, infamous for mistreating residents and subjecting them to radiation experiments.

“‘Fernald was just a nightmare,’ Mr. Boyce said in a 1994 television interview. ’We were always praying and hoping that someone would come there and expose the place.’

“Mr. Boyce, who helped pull back a curtain that had shrouded an era of faulty diagnoses and unethical treatment of children, died of colon cancer Saturday at Colonial Rehabilitation Center in Weymouth. He was 65.

“When he wasn’t on the road for his job as a carnival barker, Mr. Boyce lived in a house he’d bought in Norwell more than 35 years ago. It was the only real home he ever had.

“‘For all that he lost, he created a life that was incredibly rich, and the wealth in it had nothing to do with money or status or any of the things that people usually use to measure success,’ said Michael D’Antonio, who wrote a book about Fernald. ‘It had everything to do with his integrity and his heart. The guy was pretty amazing.’

“‘Given what he went through in his life, to be able to remain positive, affirming, and create more positive change will be a great legacy that he leaves to all of us,’ said Gerald J. Morrissey Jr., commissioner of the state Department of Retardation.

“D’Antonion’s 2004 book, The State Boys’ Rebellion, chronicles what happened at Fernald, the nation’s first state home for people deemed ‘feebleminded.’ The story is told in part through the life and memories of Mr. Boyce.

“His father committed suicide before he was born in 1941. His alcoholic mother left her two sons alone in a Boston apartment when Mr. Boyce was 8 months old, and the state placed the children in foster care. Mr. Boyce moved in and out of several foster homes before he was given intelligence exams that set him on the road to Fernald. Barely schooled and easily frightened, he fared poorly on tests that years later would be discredited.

“Mr.  Boyce’s case record upon his admission to Fernald in 1949 listed his final diagnosis as ‘Dull Normal’ and his clinical diagnosis as ‘Familial – Moron.’

“Hardly a school, Fernald provided a scant education. The residents — many of whom, like Mr. Boyce, were of normal intelligence — had to perform menial labor, such as picking beans. Some employees were bullies or insisted on sexual favors.

“During Mr. Boyce’s years at Fernald, researchers working with a grant from Quaker Oats Co., spiked the breakfasts of some residents with radiation as part of nutrition experiments. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Quaker Oats paid a settlement in the 1990s that worked out to $50,000 to $65,000 for each participant in a class-action lawsuit.

“In 1995, President Clinton formally apologized to dozens of former residents who had been subjected to the experiments.

“‘Paroled’ from Fernald in 1961, after he turned 20, Mr. Boyce became part of a world he had longed to enter. While in Fernald he learned that he had a brother; he later found out he was the second oldest of his mother’s 13 children. Mr. Boyce worked in menial jobs and eventually joined a travelling carnival.

“For a few years, he was married to Abra Figueroa, and the two kept a close relationship after they divorced.

“With siblings scattered in foster homes and adoptive homes, Mr. Boyce was zealously loyal to his friends and was caring and watchful over relatives he could find, such as his youngest sibling, De. of Beverly.

“‘Although we had a good relationship, it would only get so deep in the early days,’ she said. But in his final months and weeks, ‘we connected on a level that we had never connected on before. All walls were down. It was completely open and honest. At the end he was so affectionate and loving — I got to see the boy I had never seen before.’

“Figueroa, who asked Mr. Boyce to be the godfather of her five children after their divorce, said he ‘was and will forever be one of the most generous people I have ever met.’

“Though unschooled as a child, Mr. Boyce’s thirst for the education was never  slaked. He honed his language skills, hiring a tutor and reading extensively.

“‘He’d read things like Stephen Hawking,’ Figueroa said. ‘He loved to talk about the cosmos with anyone who would listen.’

“And he knew how to put his self-education to use when news broke about the radiation experiments.

“‘There’s some kind of moral authority that comes with having lived through something like that,’ D’Antonio said. ‘He didn’t abuse it or squander it, but he definitely used it. And I think it was a testament to his intelligence.’

“All his life Mr. Boyce wanted the state to apologize for misdiagnosing and confining him as a child. Nonetheless he forgave the workers at Fernald, including those who mistreated him.

“”He didn’t blame individuals, even the bad ones,’ Figueroa said. ‘He felt they were victims of ignorance and of impossible working conditions. He had a lot of forgiveness for everyone. He was never bitter. If he blamed anyone it was the generic ‘government.’

“Though the apology from the state never came, Morrissey visited days before Mr. Boyce died to say he planned to send a letter.

“‘As you know, many people were sent to facilities like Fernald and labeled with archaic and frankly insulting language common to that era, including terms such as ‘moron,’ ‘imbecile,’ or ‘idiot.’ Although appalling to us now, they were standard medical terminology of the day,’ said the commissioner’s May 2 letter. Under the current standards, ‘the department has determined that you are not a person with mental retardation,’ Morrissey wrote, adding that the letter would be placed in Mr. Boyce’s permanent record, ‘displayed as the first page of the file and in a prominent fashion. I hope that you find some comfort by the presence of this letter in your records.’

“De. read the letter to her brother when he rallied from a coma.”

As you see, a pretty good write-up. And De.  gets more print than Abra, which will please her, though she’ll be reluctant to admit it. Today I’ll get a copy of State Boys’ Rebellion and mail it to John.

Still sleeping crappy, but the weekend’s coming.

Have decided to limit myself to certain ebay items, and see how that works. Artesania Rinconada frogs, inexpensie Zuni frog fetishes, the one Chinese mask, stuff for Lisa.

Got a copy of State Boys’ Rebellion at the bookstore, sent it, the article from May 8, and the obit write-up to John. He’s so excited about Mark’s father being part of Tin Pan Alley. Let’s see how he reacts to being blood-related to a real hero, the anti-Mark: someone who had nothing and made a fine life out of it that gave to people, as opposed to Mark, who had great gifts of brains and charm, and used them to screw as many people as possible.

Had expected to find the book prominently displayed at the bookstore: they have a section on the first floor for books of local interest, and tables featuring books they feel have current appeal. Instead, I found it on the 5th floor, buried in the science section. The clerk and I agreed it was a travesty and he said he’d talk to his supervisor. Hope he does. The book needs to be pushed and lauded.

This is what I wrote to John, after telling him Freddie had died and what I’d sent him:

“Freddie was a remarkable man. Almost entirely self-taught and handicapped with AADD, he managed to fight the system which had oppressed him, and won — not only for himself, but for all the boys at the Fernald. And though he’d been brutalized there, he lived his life without bitterness or the need for revenge, comporting himself always with humor and class, but never flagging in his effort to right the many wrongs he’d suffered and witnessed.

Donna would’ve had no relationship with her siblings if it hadn’t been for Freddie; he sought her out and introduced her to several sibs, most of whom she formed long-term relationships with. Freddie, who grew up believing he had no family, made his dysfunctional family work, to the benefit of many.

That was Freddie. I have a pretty high opinion of myself, but Freddie was a better man than I am. I can honestly say that, through his efforts, he left the world a better place than he found it. And to do it growing up as he did, enduring what he did, make his accomplishments all the more special. John, if his blood was in my veins, I’d be proud.

I was given great gifts and have muddled through my life, sometimes doing well, sometimes not. Freddie was given nothing; in fact, anything he had was taken from him. Yet Freddie made his life matter. I was lucky to have known him. Wish you’d known him too.

5-13-06

Good Afternoon Beloved –

Rain rain rain. 2 inches so far, four inches plus due by the time it stops, somewhere in 2008. After Janet I’d intended to do ebay stuff, but that’s in the center of Peabody, which floods easily, so I decided to pass. Good thing: the news said that the creek which flows under Peabody center has overrun its banks.

I think Janet has a bit of a thing for me. She likes to be hugged, and has asked me to apply salve to a pulled muscle on her left hip. Today a boob got briefly exposed. I don’t think she’s looking for sex. I just think she likes masculine attention if it’s not too challenging and the male isn’t too ugly.

Had a visitor last night. The young guy who plows the street and works occasionally with Jimmy decided to stop by. Stayed an hour. I think he was curious to size me up. Am I gay? A drinker? A doper? No to the first, no giveaways for the other two. Won’t let him know I do grass. He also could’ve been there as a cat’s paw for Jimmy. Again, if he was, he didn’t get much. He did spend much of the time badmouthing Jimmy. That he’s crazy, vindictive, yells all the time, impossible to work with, bad to his children. One daughter, this kid (forget his name) told me, is mentally challenged, and lives out of her car. Other kids — Jimmy’s got 7 or 8, I think — stay away.

(This kid is a typical townie: dumb, substance abuser, uncouth and skilled at what he does. Wouldn’t invite him to a cocktail party, but as a general handiman he’s a useful guy to know. Like Bobby, only not as nice.)

I’m taking this About-Jimmy poop with a grain of salt. Believe it, but think it’s exggerated. I’m already alert to Jimmy’s oddities and think I know how to stay on his good side. Jimmy doesn’t like to be contradicted or have his peace disturbed. I won’t do either. Hope that suffices.

Finally showered, and can’t even find where the cuts were. No scabs at all. Do have a sore lump, guess antisceptic bandaids have their limits. Don’t think I was concussed — but that lump sure is tender.

5-14-06

Good Afternoon My Darling Donna –

As the rain pours down — 4 inches plus in 2 plus days with no letup till at least Tuesday — I looked out my door and found the little stairwell that is my entrance was up the the doorsill in water. The drain was clogged, I bailed a bit, got Jimmy up, who clearned the drain and now my personal waiding pool is in the harbor somewhere. Jimmy says he’s never seen it this bad. It was wise of me not to try Peabody yesterday. Its creek is now flooding everything, a chronic problem there. You’d think they’d deepen the channel or something, but no: they’ve polluted the stream so much for so long that the toxins are deep in the streambed. It’s a toxic waste site, really, and the cleanup will be very long and very expensive.

Will pay Linda a quick visit soon. Some leftover grass for her.

Back from Linda’s. Driving wasn’t too bad, you just had to be patient and careful. Since I’m home, I guess I was. She’s OK. The same. But her hair’s turning white and when it does she’ll look 80, what with her baggy facial skin. A little weight’s not a bad thing….

The rain is worse than I thought. Since it began 48 hours ago, we’ve had 7 inches at the airport, 8 inches in Melrose. Melrose has sewers backing up all over town. Peabody center is unter 5 inches of water. Mass. and N.H. have both declared (and are!) states of emergency. Streams and rivers overflowing, dams in trouble. Some places expect 12 inches by mid-Tuesday.

We’ve gotten two months’ worth of precip in two days.

Just got a call from Sindy. The house is flooded again! So the clean-ups are all to do over. She’s talking about coming down the week after next. Sure, sure. (Tom also wrote. Talking about visiting June/July. Sure, sure.). I wonder if she’s got a fungal infection: a sinus problem that began when she was working on the mold and hasn’t been touched by strong antibiotics. As usual she talked of all the zillion or so conflicts in her life; as usual I acted like I knew what and who she was talking about. And she threw in a smattering of “Praise the Lord!”s. Grimace. Maybe I’ll set Sindy up with June Harvey, then slip out the back door.

5-15-06

Good Morning My Love –

Just a light rain this morning, with another heavy burst scheduled for tonight. We’re over 8 inches now on the North Shore. Jimmy and the next-door neighbor both had their pumps going, but my place remains dry. Parts of Rte. 1 closed in Saugus; problems on the roads everywhere. I thought I’d have an easy trip in because the Rte. 1 closures would keep the traffic north of me — and I would’ve if ‘d taken the bridge. But I headed for the tunnel, WBZ radio saying nothing about it, and found it backed up to the airport. Ended up going over the bridge anyway, which made me 15 minutes late.

I guess the streams have swelled, because Rte. 1, both ways between Rtes 60 and 128, is closed for “the foreseeable future.” Snuck home via 1A. In Manchester N.H. the Merrimack is the highest it’s been since 1936. Here, Jimmy’s still pumping (I’m home. It’s 7:25 p.m.). Should get another dose of rain tonight.

Physical all done. Nice to see Dr. G. again. He looks good, though not tanned. Has your butterfly girl on the windowsill by his desk. We chatted about music; I told him what I’d been doing and planning. We’re less than friends, though friends we could be, more than doctor-patient. We both loved you. We both miss you. It’s an extra bond he and I will always share.

As for the physical: weight 215. BP 136 over 80. EKG OK. Lung capacity 78; 80-100 is normal, and I’m an asthmatic, so it’s not bad. Prostate OK. No skin nasties. Not bad for a fat old man.

He no longer has the Venezuelan newlywed receptionist, who’s gone off to Texas. Instead, he has his Mrs., and a very nice elderly lady receptionist. The Mrs….has spoken!

Saddened me, the whole visit. You permeated his office, the whole damn hospital. He feels that since the MS had compromised your autonomic nervous system, the tumor was doing you more damage than it would do to me or him. Otherwise, you died because MS, diabetes, cancer and a few other things ganged up on you, the bastards.

5-16-06

I Love You, My Love!

You noticed, I know, but no one else would realize that all these terms of endearment I use at the beginning of each letter are yours! I almost never used those mushy terms when you were alive. Now you’re dead, I can’t think of anything else appropriate!

Though it was raining moderately to heavily as I drove in, the end of the rain is in sight, and the aftermath will be long and expensive. Streams everywhere have overrun their banks. Some dams breached. A sewage main in Haverhill burst, sending tons of raw sewage into their river. Sewage treatment plants overwhelmed. Amazingly, no deaths…yet. Cape Ann got over a foot, the coastal towns above and below the N.H. border, 14 inches. The cleanup, individually and collectively, will be long and expensive, and it’d better include mosquito control, because this storm is a mosquito’s dream come true: innumberable breeding places right at the breeding season. We’ll be knee-deep in the little bastards by June if they don’t spray.

Rte. 1 still closed btween Rtes. 69 and 128. Easy ride in today via bridge; the tunnel’s problem was an ill-timed lane closure no one bothered to mention yesterday.

Pending the acquisition of a bit more information, I’ve made decisions about hip replacement. First: do them one at I time. If I did both at once I’d be helpless for a while and would need someone to take care of me. Since that person doesn’t exist, I need to do it one at a time. This, however, is where I need more info. Assuming I have the more draconian procedure (which, in the case of the left his at least, is most likely) how long am I likely to be immobile, and how long before I can return to work? I’ve gotten the names of two surgeons and will call this week to set up an evaluative appointment, which should answer these questions.

Then the plan would be to have the left one done early next April. I should have enough sick/vacation time to cover the rehab, and it’s so slow at ECS during that time of year, I doubt they’d notice I was absent.

And if all that works out, do the same thing with the right hip in 2008.

Have run the scheme past C.S., who wants me to do it sooner, but that’s not feasible. We’ll be busier then, and I don’t want it done mid-summer or mid-winter.

Letters to Donna/from 5-3-06

5-3-06

Good Afternoon Beloved –

I’m in JP, waiting for Patrick to install the light. Am at an Indian restaurant trying to get a cheap dinner of appetizer and bread. So far May has been November: wet, cold.

Have been unable to add to the writing cd, or print copies onto it. This weekend will talk to Lisa and try to get squared away again. Obviously screwed up/missed something when Lisa helped before.  I know, I’m an idiot…but I’m your idiot, baby, so it’s OK.

When I think on it, one thing I’m surprised about is that I got no colds or flue this winter. Considering how cold my place would get, how stressed and unhappy I’ve been, and that so many people had real viral problems last winter, I’ve really been lucky.

For no apparent reason I got haiku-y today. Wrote 9 of ‘em, though only 3 might be considered haikus; the rest are too negative.

Pink cherry petal/settles upon the puddle/that reflects the bough

Purple finch calling/the winter-battered city/to try joy again

The mockingbird shares/sweet sagas of companions/the dished dirt of friends

Those might be haikus. These, who knows?:

Do wild creatures love/so wildly that they damage/loved ones, like humans?

The buzzard delights/in death wherever it is/all except his own.

If I met my clone/would I hail it as it, or/reject it as me?

Fallen wet petals:/love overstays its welcome/we hope for next year

Lost love’s memory/deadly as a cannonball/substantial as air.

Still haven’t heard anything else on Freddie. God, he’s tough — but enough, already.

Leaving Patrick, unrepaired. Why? Because the Ford dealership’s part arrived prebroken. Yaarrgghh!! Try again Monday.

5-4-06

Good Afternoon My Love –

Weather finally Springlike again.

Lisa liked the purple finch haiku because it was closest to a true haiku, and the clone one for the thought. I’ve added this:

The sycamore seed/as it sinks beneath the soil/imagines forests

Am going to be doing the Ponzo Shuffle tonight and tomorrow; they’ve got Glenn on something else for the next two days, and I reluctantly agreed to cover. I’m less than thrilled, as you can imagine, but will endure — it’s only 6 hours.

Any paradise/is achievable within/the scent of jasmine.

5-5-06

Good Morning Beloved –

One Mr. Ponzo visit down, one to go. Arrived to find him in high dudgeon because he needed changing. Plus, the closed down the smoking room — OK until the weather turns lousy. He’s close to having dialysis done at the Don Orione — and not having to pay $3K a week in ambulance fees, but his doctor has to sign off on it, and Mr. P. is such a contrary patient the doc doesn’t want to be his doc any more. Otherwise, same-old same-old with Mr. P. He calmed down eventually, and saved me having to buy dinner by sharing a pizza with me. I’m also concerned about his ankle/calf areas, now discolored a reddish purple. Diabetes circulation problems? The skin may be breaking down there too.

One more night with him.

Lisa is doing well with weight loss and feeling good just now. Don’t expect it to last. But it’s nice the rare times it happens.

Tom liked what I wrote, though it needs more work. Once I can print it off I’ll reduce it and paste it in. Want to start another incident maybe this weekend, perhaps based around Jane’s migraines. Can hardly wait to start writing about you,  but will be patient. That’ll come. Tom’s asked for stuff on Jane first, and I’m obliging. Don’t mind writing on demand; I always produced more that way. I think in the backs of both our minds is the notion that I shouldn’t start writing about you until I’ve hit my stride more, done more writing because (I think) we assume that you’ll be better served that way.

Craig has given notice, and Christy’s boyfriend Thomas looks like he’s gotten his job in The Hague, and she’ll go with him, so in the near future we’ll have to hire two new employees. For C.S. it’s a bit toughter because a)she slotted Christy to replace Craig, and b)she has to train what’ll amount to her right hand man. This may make her a little crazy, so it might be a fun summer in these parts.

Two new haikus:

The mockingbird has/been indicted by his peers/for plagiarism

The hydrant is a/library book any dog/can read with its nose.

5-6-06

Good Morning My Love –

Talked to D. last night. She’s been with Freddie the last couple of nights, and the world is: soon. He’s been pain-free at least, though not really conscious very often. I’m going to go my Janet gig, then if he’s still hanging in, will go down. But you should get ready to greet him, baby. He’ll be with you soon.

I’ll be glad when it’s over. I’m taking it OK, in gneral, but it fills me with memories of our last days together, and here come the tears again. But, in truth, I’m to the place finally when tearless days outnumber tearful ones, and I’d rather keep it that way. Was thinking last night of our crazy shticks we’d do for ourselves and others, how much fun we’d have just bullshitting each other and trying to show the world how nutsy the other was. Don’t want to lose that part of us….

Mr. P. done. Forever, I hope. If he had half your class, or Freddie’s, his life would be very different, much better. Now he’s decided he’s going back to live with his daughter — no way. He could — if he worked at making himself as well as he can, and if he behaved himself as well as he can, and followed advice. Instead he makes himself worse and expects everybody to deal with it. He’s not worth 10% of either you or Freddie.

 Before I left the Don Orione last night I lit you a candle in the chapel.

When I got back from Janet, there was a message from D.: Freddie died at 4:10 this morning, peacefully. I hope you and he are talking and laughing right now. The world has lost another fine person, which it can’t afford to lose. Very sad, but I’m glad it’s over for him and for D., who’s spent so much time with him lately. I hope I did right by Freddie, and by extension, you. I’ll miss Freddie — though nowhere near as much as I miss you, my love.

5-7-06

Good Afternoon Beloved –

Had a lot planned for today, but probably will be lazy again and not do it all. Called Linda — she’s OK — to say I couldn’t play in the poker tournament later this month (can’t reschedule Janet). Talked long with Lisa, will cover that later. Talked to D.

The funeral’s the 21st in a Unitarian church in Norwell. I’ll attend, stay in the background. D., Abra and Mike — the author of State Boys’ Rebellion — will speak, D. to present the family’s point of view, giving the lie to Abra’s contention that Freddie didn’t have any family. D. asked me to write something from your perspective. I wrote three paragraphs, hope they’re OK; will polish them up and include ‘em in tomorrow’s letter. Read ‘em to Lisa, who said they were perfect, which they’re not.

I think D. is getting a glimpse of what she accomplished this last month, and it was very good. She should be proud.

She told me one thing, incredibly sad. Freddie was occasionally sharp this last week, and he and D. had good conversations. But often he was confused, mainly out of it. He’d often call out for Abra or D. But once, D. said, he came to and said to her, “Why is it you’re here and my mother’s not?” And she thought once or twice in his sleep he called for Mina. Underneath that fine man, the damaged little boy remained to the end. Of course I thought of that sweet little girl I love and miss so, and I’m glad you left your life feeling loved and supported. To me it’s poignant to the point of tragedy that to the end Freddie felt abandoned.

Obits in all the papers on Monday. Will include copies.

I wanted to walk early, but the left thigh/groin have been very mean the last two days. Played poker — poorly — watched the Sox (they won) — talked to Lisa, and all that sitting calmed the leg down enough so I could get the walk in. Now am waiting for dinner at the 9s. Wish I was bringing salmon home to you, baby….

Lisa has begun seeing her therapist, and it sounded like it went OK. I’m cautiously hopeful. She continues to put herself into social situations with people and environments that don’t suit her, and wondering what’s wrong with her when they don’t go well. Suggested that the only thing wrong is her setting herself up with shallow hedonists in see-and-be-seen settings. The more I hear of Vegas, the more I think it’s a very bad place for her — or anyone with class or a soul.

The purpose of the call was to help me again with backup and making hard copies of my writing. No luck. You’re undoubtedly laughing and calling me stupid. Will end up emailing her the stuff I want copied, having her make copies and send them to me. Dumb, huh?

5-8-06

Good Morning My Love –

“If Freddie’s sister Donna is right about the afterlife, the two of them are together as we speak, happily talking a blue streak about family, this crazy world and all of us down here. That Donna could ever talk happily about family is due to Freddie, because Freddie gave her back the family she thought she’d never have, and helped heal a deep wound she’d endured since childhood.

“Like Freddie, Donna was victimized by her mother and the State, ending up in the foster care system, with almost no knowledge of her biological relatives. And like Freddie, she demonstrated the same toughness that characterized so many of her kin, not only surviving but building a life she could be proud of. But that family-less void was never filled until, about 20 years ago, Freddie took the trouble to track her down, which led to reunions with Stevie, D., Je., and others. She was ecstatic not only to meet these people, but to find such quality among them, especially Freddie, who Donna called “my gentleman bro,” and whose strength, decency and passion for justice reflected her own. She’d given up hope for such relationships; Freddie singlehandedly gave her this priceless gift of connection and belonging; for that reason and many others, Donna loved and honored Freddie the rest of her life.

“Had Donna only known Freddie from reading his book or all the newspaper writeups, she’d have admired him greatly. But his years of affection and support, the way they’d stay in touch no matter how bad things might be, the way he never allowed the wrongs he’d suffered to make him bitter, led her to cherish this remarkable, courageous man even more. To the last, Freddie remained one of the inspirations of Donna’s life.

“May they now be together in a place without pain, without cruelty, and filled with the joy they each brought to their difficult, extraordinary lives.”

As you see, I wrote the section of Freddie’s eulogy D. asked me to write. It turns out to be almost as much a eulogy for you as for him, which frankly bothers me not at all.  It also pounds on the idea and fact of family. Abra can go on believeing he had no family if she wants; D., Je., Stevie, you and I know the truth.

D. also asked for pictures of you and Freddie. Will look for them tonight. There’s some from the book signing; there may be others.

Obits not in today’s paper. Tomorrow, I guess. Intend to send copies of the article and obits to John, with a copy of State Boys’ Rebellion. Haven’t heard from John in a while. Hope this will change that. Also hope he has the brains to recognize the diamond that Freddie was, among all that rough. If he does, then he might be capable of recognizing the same in you. Faint hope, but I cling to it.

5-9-06

Good Morning Beloved –

The obits were in the papers, just the little box items. To my astonishment I’m mentioned — “Beloved brother-in-law of lgmcd.” Abra’s choice. I actually don’t feel I should be mentioned, but flattered that I am.

I guess there’ll be the more extensive writeup that I was looking for, in the next day or three.

D. liked my four paragraphs.

“BOYCE

“Frederick L., of Norwell, May 6, 2006. Age 65. Beloved former husband of Abra Glenn-Allen Figuera of Oklahoma City. Beloved Godfather of Julian and Olivia Glenn-Allen and Elena, Luciana, and Abraham Figueroa of Oklahoma City. Beloved brother of De. of Beverly, Stephen B. of  North Attleboro, Je. of Bradford, and George Boyce of Boston.  Beloved uncle of Grant of Beverly. Beloved brother-in-law of lgmcd. A Memorial Service will be celebrated at First Parish Church, 24 River St., Norwell, on Sunday, May 21, 2006 at 3:00 p.m. If desired donations in Fred’s memory may be made to Special Olympics, 450 Maple St., #1, Danvers. Special Olympics is an organization which helps individuals with intellectual disabilities show the world their many gifts and talents.”

Got a sympathy email from June. She can’t write anything straight; it has to be gussied up with Christian piety. Wish she’d just give it a rest.

Weird morning. NStar was supposed to shut off the power on Ipswich St. all morning. Good, I thought, for me, since I slept poorly and could’ve used a half day at least. But NStar pulled a fast one and C.S. woke me up at 7:45 to report we had power. Dragged my ass in, feel like crap. Ah well — I intend to take Thursday off, so will recover then.

Letters to Donna/from 4-26-06

4-26-06

Good Morning Donna My Love –

Lisa talked me through setting up a file for my correspondence/writing with Tom, transferring our emails into that file, and burning a CD of it so I can make hard copies at work. Aren’t you pleased with me? Surely geekdom awaits….

Lisa is hedging whether or not to begin with the therapist she saw, or at all. If she begins it’d only be once every other week. To me that doesn’t work. I’ll offer her $100 to make the visits weekly; she’ll reject it but I’ll try to argue again for therapy, just maybe not with this person….we’ll see. Like I said, patience. Hey, she was quite patient with old irritable anticomputer me last night!

Tom asked me to write up an incident when Jane and I were caught in a summer storm while bringing laundry home from the laundromat. It was a joyous moment, but it took me three days to tell it, and it came out as a moment that could go either way, into anger or delight, violence or laughter. Didn’t expect that. I’m going to let it sit a day or so and revise it. Will probably send Tom both drafts.

Hey — don’t believe I’ve cried in a couple of days!

4-27-06

Good Morning My Beloved –

Sent Tom a slightly revised draft. Waiting both for his response, if any, plus a couple of days so I can look at the draft with fresher eyes.

I’ve scheduled next Tues. for Patrick to work on the car, and had intended to take the day off, walk some. But probably won’t, as the forecast (albeit long range) is cool and damp. Even so, might not have. Before, I’d walk all day. That’s out. Upsetting to think that my legs, which I always felt were my strongest, most reliable physical attributes, should become so problematic. Thanks, Charlie –you couldn’t have kept that particular gene to yourself? By the way, have been better this week re: exercises, and the legs feel a bit less stiff and sore. Groin still twangs painfully, but not as often.

My main (minor) problems just now are lack of sleep and a touch of the trots.

Still puzzling out this mental transfer from plural to singular. I don’t think I appreciated how important it was to me, how much pleasure I got from thinking about you, talking to you, planning the trip home to be with you — your condition, your dinner, your treats — anticipating and enjoying your reactions, your enjoyment. I loved that. I miss that.

The other side is all those things I considered doing, and rejected “because Donna….” It would’ve been difficult to go down to Freddie every week, leaving you home or taking you with. A long evening with D. & M., a lot tougher. An evening with Robert Smith in Framingham, out of the question (doubt if you’d have enjoyed it much anyway). Spending so much time away from the house, which would’ve meant away from you, which would’ve been unacceptable to me.

It all comes down to thinking for one and not for two. I’m getting in the habit now of factoring only me into my plans. Getting used to it, but scarcely getting to enjoy it. It’s easier, much easier sometimes, but it’s a life with no joy, no love, no you.

So I prayed to God: “God, I’m so horny! I haven’t had sex since my wife died! Help me, Lord!” And the Lord God, in His mercy, gave me a hand — and told me to use it!

One of the more noticeable differences between plural and singular is that, singular, my time is nowhere near as important. If I get home after 7 p.m., so what? No one needs me, no one is waiting. Of course I’m tied to schedules, especially now with two P.T.s a week, two Home Instead clients, Freddie, Tony the T (occasionally), and miscellaneous other activities. But “late” is not a major issue any more. Like I said, easier, not better.

At last, C.S. ordered Thai food from Brown Sugar Cafe, instead of the usual pizza, for our birthday lunches. Wanted so much to be able to order the jade noodle and the mussels appetizer for you, and watch you enjoy them. Instead got a coffee custard, had the coffee syrup-coated maraschino cherry, and as I ate it remembered your look of intense delight when I’d give it to you. Love you, baby, and miss you very, very much.

Oh well, really didn’t want not to cry 3 days in a row.

4-28-06

Hi Baby, I Love You!

Visit with Marty went OK, except that he’s coming down with a cold. Couldn’t find his wallet last week because he didn’t have it. No such problems this week. The biggest problem we had is that he was upset because I sat with him at dinner but didn’t eat.

Pooped today. Not enough sleep any night this week, not sure why. With luck, will catch up this weekend. Tonight, when I get home, will call D. Since I haven’t heard from her, I assume Freddie’s hanging on, worse luck. But as long as he does I’ll go down on Sunday and tell him things he doesn’t want to hear but which I insist on saying, about what an extraordinary man he became. Was thinking about George last night, and when Freddie goes that’ll be three very good people now absent from the world (#3 is you, silly!). The world’s loss. Mine too.

4-29-06

Good Evening My Love –

OK day. Visit with Janet nice enough, though scary because she drove, and not well. Dangerously slow, and not good with things like lines and signs.

Actually had a two-hour nap!! Gives you an idea of how tired I got.

Otherwise, a low-impact day. Couple of new frogs at the P.O. Finally got the key from my ebay guy so I can go there after Janet and start getting stuff on line again. Bad day of poker, my little streak coming to a screeching halt. More email pump-priming with Lisa re: getting help. Keep sensing wavering/cold feet/resistance.

But the main reason I’m writing is that, as I sat on the bed smoking a bowl and looking at the picures of you that face the bed (and wondering why you took up with such a funny-looking guy) I thought: we were good for each other. We both grew within the relationship, and it wasn’t just the growth forced by illness.  I enabled you in the right way, I kept you balanced and provided security. You forgave me my mistakes and persuaded me I could be a better person, and you ended my fear of abandonment, so I didn’t feel compelled to leave first, or force the issue. I did that a lot early on, rarely, and in desperation, in the last 15 years or so. And finally, you loved me so well, so completely, and let it show so much, that I had to live up to the lgmcd I saw in your eyes. And you inspired and shamed me with your own courage, so I couldn’t bear to fail you – and anyway, I grew to love you so much that it almost got, for the most part, easy to be the better me.

That’s what I wanted o tell you tonight, my love.

4-30-06

Hi Baby –

Freddie awake briefly during the two hours I was there, recognized me once, took a drink and retched but I don’t think produced anything, and slept until I left. His breathing is very very slow. So was yours the last two days before you died. Even as gaunt as he is, he’s a handsome man: long aquiline nose on a long aquiline face, deep eyes, good lips and wonderful hair, and those high cheekbones. Just that there’s no flesh left on his face, or him either.

Have things to say, but not tonight. Love you, baby. You’ll be having company soon.

5-1-06

Good Morning My Love –

Good Morning My Love –

Big article on Freddie in today’s Globe. The reporter told Freddie that covering the Fernald scandal had established him, so therefore felt he owed Freddie. The article, long and glowing, pays that debt. Have made copies for Lisa and John.

Wrote Lisa last night that we’re both misfits, but that I’ve come to accept and embrace it while she still fights it. Embrace and celebrate your freakishness, I told her; when you can do so without self-recriminations, you’ll be cured! Probably wasting my breath, but at least she said she’d try therapy and, if the therapist wasn’t right, would try another. All I can ask for at this point.

I take the car to Patrick tomorrow. Won’t take the day off. I’m tentatively scheduling May 10 — Mother’s Day in Mexico — as an R&R day. Been a while since I took one.

I finally jused up your stash of albuterol — over seven months’ supply! Also scheduled a checkup with Dr. G for the 15th. First time I’ll have seen him since I gave him the Carltonware butterfly girl in October.

5-2-06

Good Afternoon Beloved –

Car at Patrick’s. Raw and rainy day, but I had a plan: bus to Heath St station, take T to Copley, switch to Kenmore train, get to work almost on time, almost dry.

Great plan! Caught the bus a minute after leaving Patrick’s (he’s fine). The train was leaving Heath St. as I got off the bus, but hey, it’s rush hour, another will be along soon….

It didn’t come, and the bus didn’t go, and after a while it was obvious the bus couldn’t go, plus it was blocking the tracks the train used. Finally the train comes but can’t get into the station….

….So I ended up walking to work. Rain let up at first, but didn’t at second, so I arrived a half hour late, quite wet. Phooey on the god-damn T!!

Here’s how crazy Boston is for the Red Sox:

One of their starting pitchers is Tim Wakefield. He throws a knuckleball, which is a highly unpredictable pitch (it could go up, down, straight — not even the pitcher is sure what it’ll do) and thus is very difficult to catch. For the past four years, Wakefield’s catcher has been Doug Mirabelli, a very good defensive catcher. But over the winter the Sox traded him for a second baseman. Wakefield’s new catcher, Josh Bard, proved unable to catch the knuckleball, leading to all kinds of problems, a couple of losses, and frustration for Wakefield.

So the Sox decided to get Mirabelli back (from San Diego) and on Sunday night, did s0. And since last night was Wakefield’s turn to pitch, the Sox wanted Mirabelli on the field to catch him. His plane landed at Logan about 6:45; game time 7:05. Mirabelli was met by a State trooper; in the cruiser was his uniform (he talked about being buck naked in a cop car); in goes Mirabelli; on goes his uniform; on go the blue lights and siren — and in 12 minutes flat they make the trip from Logan to Fenway. Mirabelli walks onto the field with no warm-ups or preparation, catches flawlessly, and the Sox win, 7-3.

Got the car from Patrick. He couldn’t replace the busted light because the Ford dealtership didn’t have it in stock — car too old — so I’ll have to bring it back after work tomorrow and have him install it. Today’s bill: $191. Tomorrow I’ll pay only for the part. “Labor cost?” I asked Patrick. “No,” he replied. “Should be. How come?” “‘Cause I’m the fookin’ owner of this business and I say so!” bellowed Patrick. Love the guy.

Love you too.

You always were a force of nature. But I’m proud to look back and see how much you grew, how strong and wise you became, even as your body deteriorated. You learned the lessons life was teaching you and passed them on in your own unique way. Many of these lessons we learned together, and perhaps could only have learned them as a couple. I do believe I made you better, stronger, just as you did for me. I should be more specific but am too weary just now. Have been, though, in the past, and will be again.