I come here and imagine that this is the spot where everything I've lost since my childhood has washed up. I tell myself if that were true, and I waited long enough, then a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field and gradually get larger until I'd see it was [him]. He'd wave and maybe call. I don't let the fantasy go beyond that. I can't let it. I remind myself I was lucky to have had any time with him at all. ...We all [die]. Maybe none of us really understand what we've lived through... or feel we've had enough time.- Never Let Me Go
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Never Let Me Go
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Inner Dialog
Tell me something about yourself.
I’m a widow.
Tell me something else.
Widowhood colors everything I think, feel, see, experience. It is all I know anymore.
Tell me something else anyway.
... Alright:
I shave my legs every day. Just a quick swipe with the blade, no precision work required, both legs done in less than 2 minutes. Whatever spot I miss today I’ll likely hit tomorrow. Except I always seem to miss three hairs near my ankle and another three under my knee. About once a month I see those six really long hairs and wonder how I can consistently miss those same spots every single day.
I didn’t used to shave every day. Before I married I shaved nearly every day, but who was gonna notice if I missed a day or three except me? And what did I care? If I wasn’t shaving I was feeling pretty low and figured I could use some time off from grooming. Once I was married I made a point to shave every day so I’d be smooth and soft for my husband to caress. The first year after he died I continued to shave every day. Now I’m back to shaving nearly every day unless I’m having a bad day, or set of days. If you want to know how I’m really feeling, run your hand over my leg. My legs don’t lie.
Tell me something else. Tell me something you believe.
… Alright:
I haven’t believed in God since I was a pre-teen. I spent years, well into my twenties, wanting to have faith. It seemed easier, somehow, to believe in God. To believe that there was someone who always loved you, always had faith in you, would always forgive you if you really meant it, and would know when you really did mean it. Life would still be difficult but you’d always have that love and understanding behind you. I never could find it in me to make that leap. Instead, I believed in The Universe. Everything happened for a reason. Didn’t get that job you wanted? The Universe had a better fit out there for you. Wrecked your car? The Universe would provide you a life lesson that was more valuable than the dollar amount of your car.
Then my husband died.
He didn’t die for a reason. He died because he ate high fat foods and never saw a cardiologist. He died because we all die. He died because the thing he feared most was his mortality which he wouldn’t face, thus he ran straight into the arms of his death.
So now I believe that things just happen. No reason. No added benefit to your life. My life can’t be made better from this. My life may not be worse but it will be different. I suppose it’s what I make it.
If you didn’t get that job you wanted it isn’t The Universe providing you a better fit but yourself that provides the better fit. And sometimes there isn’t enough to be pulled from the disappointment but to go on and say “Now life will be different.”
Tell me something that doesn’t involve your husband.
Shit.
… Alright:
When I was three years old my family bought me a white, miniature poodle named Gigi. I would carry her around with my hand on my hip, her head on one side, her body hanging down the back. Basically I carried her by her neck. She never struggled, never bit, never scratched. She let me carry her on my hip by her neck. My mother still has the pictures in an album somewhere.
Do you remember doing this?
No. But I do have memories of remembering it. I remember thinking “I have to remember this because the adults find it so funny.” I wanted to know if I'd find it funny as an adult. I’ve forgotten it anyway.
Did you ever tell Steve this story?
He heard it when he saw the pictures at my mother’s house.
But the story doesn’t bring up memories of Steve or of being a widow?
No.
Well, there you go.
What does that mean?
Not everything is colored in the black of widowhood. You have one memory that is colored in the white fluffiness of Gigi. Go find more.
… Oh go fuck yourself.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Kathy's Song - Simon and Garfunkel
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.
...
My mind's disracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.
...
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Day 23: Month of Thankfulness
I'm thankful to have in-laws who still call me family. So thankful to be joining them for Christmas.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 23, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Bouncing Around the Room - Phish
Steve liked telling me about a dream he had in his twenties. He dreamt he was in a bar, carrying on as he normally did in his waking hours, when he met a curly redhead. He couldn't remember what they said to each other only that they spoke for a few moments when she turned and walked out the door. He said when he woke he felt sad because he knew she was the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life beside. Then he'd reach up, pull on one of my curls, and tell me how happy he was to have finally found me.
The first time I heard this song, it just felt like Steve. It has always made me smile when it rotated into play on our iPod. It wasn't until I went searching for the words that I realized why Steve would reach over and pull on one of my curls when it played.
It still feels like Steve. And I still smile when it rotates in to play.
the woman was a dream I had
though rather hard to keep
for when my eyes were watching hers, they closed, and I was still asleep
for when my hand was holding hers
she whispered words and I awoke
and faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
and I awoke, and faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
the place I sought was far beneath, the surface of the sea
my sight was poor, but I was sure
the sirens sang their song for me
they dance above me as I sink
I see them through a crystal haze
and hear the bouncing round the room
the neverending coral maze,
the crystal haze,
and hear the bouncing round the room
the neverending coral maze
then before and now once more, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
and I awoke, faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
and I awoke, faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
and I awoke, faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
The first time I heard this song, it just felt like Steve. It has always made me smile when it rotated into play on our iPod. It wasn't until I went searching for the words that I realized why Steve would reach over and pull on one of my curls when it played.
It still feels like Steve. And I still smile when it rotates in to play.
the woman was a dream I had
though rather hard to keep
for when my eyes were watching hers, they closed, and I was still asleep
for when my hand was holding hers
she whispered words and I awoke
and faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
and I awoke, and faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
the place I sought was far beneath, the surface of the sea
my sight was poor, but I was sure
the sirens sang their song for me
they dance above me as I sink
I see them through a crystal haze
and hear the bouncing round the room
the neverending coral maze,
the crystal haze,
and hear the bouncing round the room
the neverending coral maze
then before and now once more, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
that time then and once again, I'm bouncing round the room
and I awoke, faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
and I awoke, faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
and I awoke, faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Day 17: Month of Thankfulness
Today I'll be thankful if my neighbor doesn't call and wake me up at 4 am.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 17, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Day 15: Month of Thankfulness
I'm thankful to be starting my sewing class tonight.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 15, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Day 14: Month of Thankfulness
I am thankful to have health insurance and access to good health care.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 14, 2011
"The luckiest guys in the world" from Steve
Last week was a new first for me. I went to a sports bar by myself to watch the Packer game. Since Steve died I've had a football buddy and cohort in our friend, Dan. Dan is off doing an eight week internship stint in West Virginia, leaving me to fend for myself through the remainder of the season. Which is fine, and right, and something I am finally ready for.
Last season Dan watched every game with me. And the Packers had a nice run. Ran it all the way to the Super Bowl. I didn't actually start waking up from my widow haze to see what was in front of my face until the playoffs. And then I was all jittery. It was seemed too good to be true - The Pack winning a Super Bowl for my Stevie in heaven. It was the ending I craved. It was the ending I got.
This year has been a bit different. My sight is clearer and I am able to see the plays, see the calls, see the game. I find myself looking around for Steve, wanting an explanation about a rule or trying to understand a line-up. But I play on, truly finding my own stride in being a Packer fan.
And I'm still a Packer fan. Sixteen months tomorrow and I'm still a Packer fan. Moving the ball forward. Moving it down the field. I was the lucky one, Babe.
(The following was written by Steve on his blog six years ago.)
The luckiest guys in the world - October 28, 2005
I have a very special relationship with my cousin. Before I met my wife he was my absolute best friend. We’d take trips together, have great meals together, go to cultural events together, and on those occasions where as St. Ides once put it “the drink may have flowed too freely”, we reveled in our everlasting adolescence together. He’s the one person in my family who I actually get along with. On the friend depth chart (if adults still keep such things) it goes my wife, my cousin, and all the rest. Well, that’s not true St. Ides cracked the top 5 this year and continues to move up the charts. We’ll re-visit that when my December final standings come out.
We grew up avid Mets fans. I was the product of a Brooklyn Dodger fanatic whose heart was broken in 1959 and somehow blamed this on the Yankees. My cousin is the product of an amazing union between a die hard Yankee fan and a die hard Red Sox fan who finally got her prayers answered last fall. Since we’re 4 years apart, I can’t imagine that he remembers the ’69 Mets (he was 3), but we spent the decade of the 70s being Mets fans together. These were the Frank Tavaras years, the time when the team was run by the miserly M. Donald Grant who in June of 1976 broke my heart by trading Tom Seaver to the Reds. It was a time of futility, a time of mediocrity, and a time when the other New York team had Reggie and Guidry and Thurman Munson to name a few.
By the 1980’s we were old enough to go to games together, and I was old enough to by the beer. $20.00 could get you four big beers at Shea, and in 1980 that was all the money in the world (and before you do the Math my cousin was 14). We spent a lot of days at Shea together throughout that decade. We were there in 1988 when the Mets clinched the division. We saw numerous games with what we called the “Tud Tickets”. These were the corporate box seats for the Alfred Mainzer Greeting Card Co., and were located on the Field level, first base, about the 4th row. Uncle Tud swept the floors for Mainzer and occasionally they’d throw him a bone and give him the tickets.
But as much of a Mets fan as I am, my cousin is the penultimate Mets fan. Not only does he bleed blue and orange, he shits it too. In little baseball shaped shits. Once he shit a shit that looked exactly like “Le Grande Orange” himself, Rusty Staub, as God as my witness. Time and distance and several nasty baseball strikes have waned my passion for the game. Living in Richmond hasn’t helped much either, as maybe 6 or 7 Mets games per year make it on the national broadcast. So last week when I found my commemorative 1986 World Champion Mets cap, given away on some forgotten evening in 1987 at Shea, I had to send it to him. See, not only is my cousin a huge Mets fan, so is his wife. Our conversation went something like this:
Ring Ring Ring….
“Samichlaus residence, hello?”
“Hey Dude”
“Hey Dude, what’s going on?”
“Dude, I just wanted to say thanks so much for the hat! That is so cool!”
“Yeah dude, when I saw it, I immediately thought of you and Lisa. You guys are like Mr. and Mrs. Met”
“Thanks dude”
“Man, dude, you are so lucky. It’s so cool that you found someone who loves the Mets as much as you do”
“Dude, there like 162 games in a season and I’d say that we watch at least 150 of ‘em”
“Duuuuuude!”
Men are truly blessed when they find wives that share their passions.
When I met Mrs. Samichlaus, she knew nothing and cared little about football. But she quickly saw my passion for the game and decided to learn. She knew that one of the keys to a good marriage was sharing common interests, so she agreed to learn about the Green Bay Packers. We would always watch the Packer games, no questions asked. I in turn agreed to (a) teach her what I knew and (b) giver her veto over any other game I wanted to watch.
And she learned about the Packers, and started to enjoy the games. The Packers, it seemed, played better when we watched together. They played better when we wore certain clothes. They played better when the autographed Brett Favre helmet was placed between us and the TV. They played better when she pounced on me and, well I better leave that one alone. So Sunday, with the Packers up 17 – 0 and the Vikings falling apart. She decided to go and take a nap.
“If things start to go bad”, she said, “wake me up”.
And I didn’t.
After the game when she woke, I sadly told her that the Packers had lost. Incredulous, she replied “You were supposed to wake me up!”
“Oh honey”, I said, “you needed to sleep and you know it really doesn’t make a difference”
“But you were supposed to wake me up!!!!”
She wasn’t happy with me, not one bit.
Things stayed quiet in the Samichlaus house for a while until a little after 7:00. I was in the kitchen doing dishes when I heard something that sounded like a football game coming from my living room. Thinking I was mistaken, I continued with my chore, but no… this was definitely a football game. I calmly walked into the living room and found my wife glued to the Giants – Broncos game.
“They can win if they score a touchdown, and they have the ball” she said, her eyes never shifting from the screen.
“Who?” I inquired
“THE GIANTS!!! GOD!!!” And then she observed: “Manning looks so puny out there…”
I was surprised with her familiarity with Eli Manning. She actually knew about him.
We watched the end of the game, the Giants drove, and when Manning threw the TD with almost no time on the clock, we both screamed in joy.
“Son of a bitch”, said Mrs. Samichlaus, “I can’t believe I’m watching football games on my own and enjoying them!”
She wasn’t upset by this, not one bit.
My cousin and I are the two luckiest fuckers I know.
Last season Dan watched every game with me. And the Packers had a nice run. Ran it all the way to the Super Bowl. I didn't actually start waking up from my widow haze to see what was in front of my face until the playoffs. And then I was all jittery. It was seemed too good to be true - The Pack winning a Super Bowl for my Stevie in heaven. It was the ending I craved. It was the ending I got.
This year has been a bit different. My sight is clearer and I am able to see the plays, see the calls, see the game. I find myself looking around for Steve, wanting an explanation about a rule or trying to understand a line-up. But I play on, truly finding my own stride in being a Packer fan.
And I'm still a Packer fan. Sixteen months tomorrow and I'm still a Packer fan. Moving the ball forward. Moving it down the field. I was the lucky one, Babe.
(The following was written by Steve on his blog six years ago.)
The luckiest guys in the world - October 28, 2005
I have a very special relationship with my cousin. Before I met my wife he was my absolute best friend. We’d take trips together, have great meals together, go to cultural events together, and on those occasions where as St. Ides once put it “the drink may have flowed too freely”, we reveled in our everlasting adolescence together. He’s the one person in my family who I actually get along with. On the friend depth chart (if adults still keep such things) it goes my wife, my cousin, and all the rest. Well, that’s not true St. Ides cracked the top 5 this year and continues to move up the charts. We’ll re-visit that when my December final standings come out.
We grew up avid Mets fans. I was the product of a Brooklyn Dodger fanatic whose heart was broken in 1959 and somehow blamed this on the Yankees. My cousin is the product of an amazing union between a die hard Yankee fan and a die hard Red Sox fan who finally got her prayers answered last fall. Since we’re 4 years apart, I can’t imagine that he remembers the ’69 Mets (he was 3), but we spent the decade of the 70s being Mets fans together. These were the Frank Tavaras years, the time when the team was run by the miserly M. Donald Grant who in June of 1976 broke my heart by trading Tom Seaver to the Reds. It was a time of futility, a time of mediocrity, and a time when the other New York team had Reggie and Guidry and Thurman Munson to name a few.
By the 1980’s we were old enough to go to games together, and I was old enough to by the beer. $20.00 could get you four big beers at Shea, and in 1980 that was all the money in the world (and before you do the Math my cousin was 14). We spent a lot of days at Shea together throughout that decade. We were there in 1988 when the Mets clinched the division. We saw numerous games with what we called the “Tud Tickets”. These were the corporate box seats for the Alfred Mainzer Greeting Card Co., and were located on the Field level, first base, about the 4th row. Uncle Tud swept the floors for Mainzer and occasionally they’d throw him a bone and give him the tickets.
But as much of a Mets fan as I am, my cousin is the penultimate Mets fan. Not only does he bleed blue and orange, he shits it too. In little baseball shaped shits. Once he shit a shit that looked exactly like “Le Grande Orange” himself, Rusty Staub, as God as my witness. Time and distance and several nasty baseball strikes have waned my passion for the game. Living in Richmond hasn’t helped much either, as maybe 6 or 7 Mets games per year make it on the national broadcast. So last week when I found my commemorative 1986 World Champion Mets cap, given away on some forgotten evening in 1987 at Shea, I had to send it to him. See, not only is my cousin a huge Mets fan, so is his wife. Our conversation went something like this:
Ring Ring Ring….
“Samichlaus residence, hello?”
“Hey Dude”
“Hey Dude, what’s going on?”
“Dude, I just wanted to say thanks so much for the hat! That is so cool!”
“Yeah dude, when I saw it, I immediately thought of you and Lisa. You guys are like Mr. and Mrs. Met”
“Thanks dude”
“Man, dude, you are so lucky. It’s so cool that you found someone who loves the Mets as much as you do”
“Dude, there like 162 games in a season and I’d say that we watch at least 150 of ‘em”
“Duuuuuude!”
Men are truly blessed when they find wives that share their passions.
When I met Mrs. Samichlaus, she knew nothing and cared little about football. But she quickly saw my passion for the game and decided to learn. She knew that one of the keys to a good marriage was sharing common interests, so she agreed to learn about the Green Bay Packers. We would always watch the Packer games, no questions asked. I in turn agreed to (a) teach her what I knew and (b) giver her veto over any other game I wanted to watch.
And she learned about the Packers, and started to enjoy the games. The Packers, it seemed, played better when we watched together. They played better when we wore certain clothes. They played better when the autographed Brett Favre helmet was placed between us and the TV. They played better when she pounced on me and, well I better leave that one alone. So Sunday, with the Packers up 17 – 0 and the Vikings falling apart. She decided to go and take a nap.
“If things start to go bad”, she said, “wake me up”.
And I didn’t.
After the game when she woke, I sadly told her that the Packers had lost. Incredulous, she replied “You were supposed to wake me up!”
“Oh honey”, I said, “you needed to sleep and you know it really doesn’t make a difference”
“But you were supposed to wake me up!!!!”
She wasn’t happy with me, not one bit.
Things stayed quiet in the Samichlaus house for a while until a little after 7:00. I was in the kitchen doing dishes when I heard something that sounded like a football game coming from my living room. Thinking I was mistaken, I continued with my chore, but no… this was definitely a football game. I calmly walked into the living room and found my wife glued to the Giants – Broncos game.
“They can win if they score a touchdown, and they have the ball” she said, her eyes never shifting from the screen.
“Who?” I inquired
“THE GIANTS!!! GOD!!!” And then she observed: “Manning looks so puny out there…”
I was surprised with her familiarity with Eli Manning. She actually knew about him.
We watched the end of the game, the Giants drove, and when Manning threw the TD with almost no time on the clock, we both screamed in joy.
“Son of a bitch”, said Mrs. Samichlaus, “I can’t believe I’m watching football games on my own and enjoying them!”
She wasn’t upset by this, not one bit.
My cousin and I are the two luckiest fuckers I know.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Day 12: Month of Thankfulness
I am thankful for massage as touch therapy suggestions from my number 1 head shrinker & friends.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 12, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Day 11: Month of Thankfulness
Thankful my dog is always willing to take a midafternoon nap with me in the big bed.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 11, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Day 10: Month of Thankfulness
I am grateful my husband left me enough security I don't have to scramble for the basics necessities in life.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 10, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Day 9: Month of Thankfulness
Today I am thankful for this beautiful fall weather. Totally loving the color of the leaves through the fog this morning.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 9, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Day 8: Month of Thankfulness
Today I am thankful I live in a country where I can have a voice - from voting to sit ins we are allowed to express our political beliefs.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 8, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Day 7: Month of Thankfulness
Today I am thankful for heat when I am cold and air conditioning when I am hot.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 7, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Day 6: Month of Thankfulness
Today I am thankful for friends who loan me items so I can try new things.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 6, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Day 5: Month of Thankfulness
Today I am thankful for my dog who provides me hours of amusement and mirth. Also cuddles. And howling. We love to howl together.
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) November 5, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
In Case of Rapture
Nate: I keep thinking it's going to get easier.
David: No one ever said it gets easy.
Nate: Not easy, easier. Just for five fucking minutes. I can't get it out of my head even for that long...
- Six Feet Under
David: No one ever said it gets easy.
Nate: Not easy, easier. Just for five fucking minutes. I can't get it out of my head even for that long...
- Six Feet Under
Monday, October 24, 2011
P.S. I Love You
“It’s been a year… and I don’t feel him around me anymore. I don’t think he’s here anymore.”- P.S. I Love You
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Believe - The Bravery
So give me something to believe
Cause I am living just to breath
And I need something more
To keep on breathing for
So give me something to believe
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Iridescent - Linkin Park
When you were standing in the wake of devastation
when you were waiting on the edge of the unknown
with the cataclysm raining down, insides crying save me now
you were there and possibly alone.
Do you feel cold and lost in desperation
you build up all the failures all you've known
remember all the sadness and frustration
and let it go, let it go.
And in the burst of light that blinded every angel
as if the sky had blown the heavens into stars
you felt the gravity of temper grace falling into empty space
no one there to catch you in their arms.
Do you feel cold and lost in desperation
you build up all the failures all you've known
remember all the sadness and frustration
and let it go, let it go.
Do you feel cold and lost in desperation
you build up all the failures all you've known
remember all the sadness and frustration
and let it go,
let it go
let it go
let it go
let it go
Do you feel cold and lost in desperation
you build up all the failures all you've known
remember all the sadness and frustration
and let it go, let it go.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Life as We Know It
"Look, having somebody help you doesn't mean that you failed. It just means that you're not in it alone."- Life as We Know It
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
O Sole Mio - The Three Tenors
What a beautiful thing is a sunny day,
The air is serene after a storm
The air's so fresh that it already feels like a celebration
What a beautiful thing is a sunny day
But another sun,
that's brighter still
It's my own sun
that's upon your face!
The sun, my own sun
It's upon your face!
It's upon your face!
When night comes and the sun has gone down,
I almost start feeling melancholy;
I'd stay below your window
When night comes and the sun has gone down.
But another sun,
that's brighter still
It's my own sun
that's upon your face!
The sun, my own sun
It's upon your face!
It's upon your face!
Friday, September 16, 2011
Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton
I had to leave the country to celebrate your 49th birthday. There isn't a day, an hour, that I don't think about you. With all my heart, my love. With all my heart.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Mess of Puppies
Steve on the brain as his birthday approaches. This is really just a taste of Steve. As always, I'll take it.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
"Far away feelings" from Steve
E-mail sent to me by Steve ten years ago today. My 9/11 story changed since Steve died. I view all of our history differently now.
Far away feelings - September 11, 2001 at 10:32 PM
Far away feelings - September 11, 2001 at 10:32 PM
Today strengthened my resolve to be with you my love. I miss you so...
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Everybody Leaves
"I miss him too. There will never be another man who will love me when I'm young and pretty, and then always have that picture of me somewhere in his heart."- Six Feet Under
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Jimi Thing - Dave Mathews & Tim Reynolds
Lately I've been feeling low
A remedy is what I'm seeking
So I take a taste of what's below
Come away with something better
What I want is what I've not got
But what I need is all around me
Reaching searching never stop
And I'll say...
If you could keep me floating just for a while
'Til I get to the end of this tunnel... brother
If you could keep me floating just for a while
I'll get back to you
Sometime a Jimi Thing
Slides my way to keep me swingin'
I'd like to show you what's inside
I shouldn't care if you do or don't like it
Brother chaos rules all about
Sometimes I take a walk there
Good God sometimes I take a taxi
I should't care, I shouldn't care
Bereaved as I'm feeling
Day is gone I'm on my back
Staring up at the ceiling
So I take a drink sit back and relax
Smoke my mind make me feel
Better for a small time
What I want is what I've not got
But what I need is all around me
Reaching searching never stop
And I'll say
If you could keep me floating just for a while
'Til I get to the end of this tunnel... brother
If you could keep me floating just for a while
I'll get back to you
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
P.S. I Love You
This wonderful man happens to me -- and then -- and then he died! What was the point? I'm so angry I could kill somebody! I'm alone and... it doesn't matter what job I have, or what I do or what I don't do... or what friends I have. He's not here. I'm -- I'm not here.- P.S. I Love You
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Dad
My father died July 29th. Exactly two weeks after the one year anniversary of Steve's death. Exactly two weeks ago today.
Every night after Steve died, shortly after the nightly news ended, my father called to check in on me. I was used to talking with Steve five to ten times a day when he working out of town. So those calls from Dad following Steve's death were a life-line. They kept me tethered when I feared I'd just float away.
Not long after Steve died, and only half joking, I told Dad he had to wait a year to die. I explained I wasn't sure I could bounce back from the two men in my life dieing inside a year. I felt like an ass for saying those words to him but the reality was, I had reason to fear. He was on the losing side of COPD. And none of us had illusions about what that meant.
Dad promised he'd hang in for me.
I reminded him of our deal in December when he broke his hip. And I wasn't joking one damn bit as I sobbed and crawled into his hospital bed to lay alongside him. I had made it through the holidays at that point but had no idea the worst three months were still ahead of me.
Dad waited until a few days after the one year anniversary of Steve's death to tell me of his latest, and last symptoms. He didn't want to worry me when I was so scared about a date on the calendar. But I did get to spend some time with him near the end. I got to do it knowing it was near the end. I'm grateful for that time. For that full year of time.
I just wish I had thanked him for keeping his promise.
Every night after Steve died, shortly after the nightly news ended, my father called to check in on me. I was used to talking with Steve five to ten times a day when he working out of town. So those calls from Dad following Steve's death were a life-line. They kept me tethered when I feared I'd just float away.
Not long after Steve died, and only half joking, I told Dad he had to wait a year to die. I explained I wasn't sure I could bounce back from the two men in my life dieing inside a year. I felt like an ass for saying those words to him but the reality was, I had reason to fear. He was on the losing side of COPD. And none of us had illusions about what that meant.
Dad promised he'd hang in for me.
I reminded him of our deal in December when he broke his hip. And I wasn't joking one damn bit as I sobbed and crawled into his hospital bed to lay alongside him. I had made it through the holidays at that point but had no idea the worst three months were still ahead of me.
Dad waited until a few days after the one year anniversary of Steve's death to tell me of his latest, and last symptoms. He didn't want to worry me when I was so scared about a date on the calendar. But I did get to spend some time with him near the end. I got to do it knowing it was near the end. I'm grateful for that time. For that full year of time.
I just wish I had thanked him for keeping his promise.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Nobody Sleeps
I never thought that I'd be in a relationship at all. I thought I didn't have what it takes. That no one could possibly love me enough to... stick around. But [he] did. He stuck around. And so did I. And for [10] years, we shared our hearts, our bodies, our souls. It wasn't always easy, and it wasn't always fun. But it was always worth it. I don't know what I did in a previous life, but to quote Julie Andrews as Maria Von Trapp. It must have been something good. Because I've been rewarded a thousandfold in this life.- Six Feet Under
Friday, August 5, 2011
Butterfly - Crazy Town
Back in middle school, we'd make mixed tapes for our boy/girl friends. Not so much as adults. But when Steve and I were dating he confessed every time he heard this song he'd think of me. I hadn't thought of this song in years when it popped up on my iPod this evening. Made me smile. I need more smiles. I need more Steve. Moments like this is the closest I get anymore. I'll take it.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Stairway to Gilligan's Island
The first time Steve and my father met, Steve played "Stairway to Gilligan's Island" for him. My father was a man who loved goofy songs like "Chicken Train" and "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road" and "King Tut". So, of course, "Stairway to Gilligan's Island" was gonna send my father over the moon.
We never recorded Steve playing/singing the song, but whenever I hear "Stairway to Heaven" I think of the two of them laughing like loons to this version.
Daddy, I hope Stevie is playing all your favorite tunes for you right now. I love you both. And thank you, Daddy, for carrying me through the first year without Steve.
We never recorded Steve playing/singing the song, but whenever I hear "Stairway to Heaven" I think of the two of them laughing like loons to this version.
Daddy, I hope Stevie is playing all your favorite tunes for you right now. I love you both. And thank you, Daddy, for carrying me through the first year without Steve.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Alice Roosevelt
(Photo from Library of Congress)
Monday, July 25, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
A Tweet from Steve
"I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife. It's lonely out in space..." from Rocket ManTweeted by Steve on March 23, 2010
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
A Short Conversation with My Brother-In-Law
In the week after Steve died, I planned for every moment of his service. Right up to the point of what music would play as we walked out of the chapel. After everyone had left, the family waiting outside by their cars, I stood in the foyer of funeral home with a blank look on my face unsure what to do. I hadn't planned for anything past that moment. I was a lost little zombie.
A couple of days after the one year anniversary of Steve's death, my brother-in-law, Butch, called to check on me. And because we have an agreement to never lie, I had to admit I'm feeling a bit unmoored much like after Steve's service concluded. My goal had been to survive the first year. I hadn't planned on anything past that time. I have no idea what comes next.
Butch thinks awhile and says "I know what you need to do".
"Oh yeah? What's that" I ask.
"Go join a local gym," he says.
"Ummmmm." I'm not really liking this idea already.
"Get a personal trainer," he continues.
"Uh huh..." Please oh please don't finish this up with the words triathlon or marathon, I'm thinking.
"And make sure his name is Enrique" he finishes.
...
"Uh. Butch?"
"Yes."
"Are you suggesting I need to get laid?"
"It's been a year. That's all I'm saying."
Had it been anyone else, had it been presented any other way, I'd have been offended. DeRose family trait at it's best, the man had me laughing.
Whatever comes next, I survived the first year.
A couple of days after the one year anniversary of Steve's death, my brother-in-law, Butch, called to check on me. And because we have an agreement to never lie, I had to admit I'm feeling a bit unmoored much like after Steve's service concluded. My goal had been to survive the first year. I hadn't planned on anything past that time. I have no idea what comes next.
Butch thinks awhile and says "I know what you need to do".
"Oh yeah? What's that" I ask.
"Go join a local gym," he says.
"Ummmmm." I'm not really liking this idea already.
"Get a personal trainer," he continues.
"Uh huh..." Please oh please don't finish this up with the words triathlon or marathon, I'm thinking.
"And make sure his name is Enrique" he finishes.
...
"Uh. Butch?"
"Yes."
"Are you suggesting I need to get laid?"
"It's been a year. That's all I'm saying."
Had it been anyone else, had it been presented any other way, I'd have been offended. DeRose family trait at it's best, the man had me laughing.
Whatever comes next, I survived the first year.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Memorializing a Facebook Account
I was asked by a fellow widow to explain the process of memorializing a spouse's Facebook account. In all fairness, these things change as Facebook does site upgrades. There are things I've heard about from widow/ers before me, as well. But first, here's what Facebook has to say:
A few point to understand about those two answers in plain-speak:
That is a personal decision. I decided to do it after a year because I was tired of Facebook notifications showing up in my husband's e-mail account. (I've been trying to get to a point to shut down his e-mail account.) My thoughts were that a year after his death, if people were still looking to friend him on Facebook, it was no longer someone I was interested in having the "oh, I'm so sorry and how did he die" conversations. After a year, they weren't part of his life and I, frankly, no longer wanted to deal with people popping out of the woodwork.
By memorializing his page, all of his friends and myself could still post on his wall, still tag him in newly uploaded pictures *, but I wouldn't have to deal with any "newbies" searching for him.
Disclaimer time: I have heard horror stories from widow/ers who had some glitches when their spouses account was changed over to a memorial page. They lost wall postings made by their spouse, etc. I memorialized Steve's Facebook page a week ago and haven't found anything missing. Those old horror stories may have been sorted out since the messages I read. But there is a way to make sure you don't lose anything from your spouse's account. You can download everything (pictures, wall posts, videos, etc) from that account. (This is supposing you have the ability to log in as your spouse.) I highly suggest you do this before memorializing the account.
To Download Your Information (everything the account has done/written/uploaded):
If you have any questions about this, feel free to leave a comment on this post or you may reach me at kikimarcus (at) gmail (dot) com.
Read about Deciding to Delete A Facebook Account.
Read about Creating a Facebook Legacy Contact.
When a user passes away, we memorialize their account to protect their privacy. Memorializing an account sets the account privacy so that only confirmed friends can see the profile or locate it in search. The Wall remains, so friends and family can leave posts in remembrance. Memorializing an account also prevents anyone from logging into the account.
Memorializing the account:
Please report this information here, so we can memorialize this person’s account. Memorializing the account restricts profile access to confirmed friends only. Please note that in order to protect the privacy of the deceased user, we cannot provide login information for the account to anyone.
Removing the account:
Verified immediate family members may request the removal of a loved one’s account. This will completely remove the account from Facebook, so no one can view it. We will not restore the account or provide information on its content unless required by law. If you are requesting a removal and are not an immediate family member of the deceased, your request will not be processed. In this case, the account will be memorialized.
If you are an immediate family member and would like to request that we remove your loved one's account from the site, click here. You may also use this form if you have a special request regarding a deceased user's account.
A few point to understand about those two answers in plain-speak:
- If you have the password and are currently able to sign in to your spouses account, once you request memorization, you will no longer be able to sign in to your spouse's account.
- You will no longer be able to accept new friend requests on your spouse's behalf.
- You will no longer be able to delete friends on your spouse's account.
- Your spouse's name will no longer show up in any Facebook search except to the people on his or her current friends list.
- Once you have memorialized an account, it WILL NOT be undone.
- You can choose to delete the account instead of memorializing it, or even after memorializing it. Once the account has been deleted, they WILL NOT RESTORE IT.
That is a personal decision. I decided to do it after a year because I was tired of Facebook notifications showing up in my husband's e-mail account. (I've been trying to get to a point to shut down his e-mail account.) My thoughts were that a year after his death, if people were still looking to friend him on Facebook, it was no longer someone I was interested in having the "oh, I'm so sorry and how did he die" conversations. After a year, they weren't part of his life and I, frankly, no longer wanted to deal with people popping out of the woodwork.
By memorializing his page, all of his friends and myself could still post on his wall, still tag him in newly uploaded pictures *, but I wouldn't have to deal with any "newbies" searching for him.
Disclaimer time: I have heard horror stories from widow/ers who had some glitches when their spouses account was changed over to a memorial page. They lost wall postings made by their spouse, etc. I memorialized Steve's Facebook page a week ago and haven't found anything missing. Those old horror stories may have been sorted out since the messages I read. But there is a way to make sure you don't lose anything from your spouse's account. You can download everything (pictures, wall posts, videos, etc) from that account. (This is supposing you have the ability to log in as your spouse.) I highly suggest you do this before memorializing the account.
To Download Your Information (everything the account has done/written/uploaded):
- Log in as your spouse.
- Go to the "Account" tab.
- Go to the "Settings" tab.
- Click on "Learn More" next to the "Download Your Information" option.
- They will walk you through it. You'll need to be able to access your spouse's e-mail account to verify the account download. You may not receive this e-mail for several hours.
- Once you get receive the e-mail, you may download everything that account has posted, including pictures, videos, wall posts and messages.
- I suggest you do the same thing for YOUR account to be certain you don't lose anything your spouse may have written on your wall.
- Once both accounts have been downloaded, feel free to memorialize the account.
* As of 8/11/12, Facebook allows us to photo tag the person of a memorialized account. That wasn't true for about a year but was true before that year. These things change constantly. Just know that it may change yet again.
If you have any questions about this, feel free to leave a comment on this post or you may reach me at kikimarcus (at) gmail (dot) com.
Read about Deciding to Delete A Facebook Account.
Read about Creating a Facebook Legacy Contact.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Culled from a commentary article
"A person recalls how he is treated not when he is on top of the world, undefeated, but when he is at his lowest, thinking he will never again see the sun."Bob Greene (author)
Friday, July 15, 2011
365 Days
...365 things I miss...
- holding your hand.
- laying my head on your shoulder.
- the smell of you cooking sauce.
- the way you jump up and down and clap when you get excited and happy, like the world's largest little boy.
- dancing around the house with you.
- that you were the first person I was ever completely safe with.
- your soft kisses on the back of my neck.
- rubbing my thumb over your knuckle.
- you laughing that I actually twiddle my thumbs every time you catch me doing it.
- kissing your back surgery scar every night when I crawl into bed.
- hiding stuffed monkeys in your luggage.
- the smell of your cigars.
- that you loved your job.
- the weight and heat of your hand on my thigh when I drive.
- poking your belly button.
- listening to the music you play on your guitar drift in through the open windows.
- staring into your chocolate brown eyes.
- that my car was in your name and had your plates on it.
- that your car was in my name and had my plates on it.
- kissing your bald spot as I walk past you.
- the way you'd sometime slap your knee when you laughed.
- farting in public with you. The fancier the place, the better.
- that you always considered everyone's opinions important.
- driving you to the airport for your business trips.
- "143" text messages.
- always knowing where you were.
- you always knowing where I was.
- us, singing along to the radio in the car.
- that you called me from the rose garden of the White House.
- sitting in your lap.
- your American history knowledge.
- how slow you read but how well you retained the information.
- finding and downloading new songs to surprise you.
- that you wanted me to pack that entire suitcase of my shoes for our honeymoon.
- washing dishes after you've cooked.
- watching the birds on the back deck with you.
- the sound of your c-pap machine whispering in the night.
- standing on the front porch and waving until you drove out of sight.
- feeling like the most beautiful woman in the room when you'd look at me.
- dancing in the shower while you played guitar sitting outside the bathroom door.
- finding the perfect dress to make your eyes light up when I walk out of the bedroom.
- buying underwear for you.
- how happy you'd get when I cleaned the jewelry you bought me and then wore it, all fresh and sparkly.
- your concern for others.
- you saying in shock "How'd SHE get up here?" when I'd spot you and the dog on the couch together.
- your little happy noise when I'd turn over in the night and wrap myself around you.
- turning over in the night and wrapping myself around you.
- the way you'd make me laugh until my tummy hurt and yet I still couldn't stop laughing.
- you pushing on my belly when I was laughing hard and couldn't stop - to keep me from throwing up.
- how you'd surprise me with delivered flowers for no reason at all.
- surprising you with new restaurants to try.
- ordering Beluga caviar on our honeymoon, at your urging, only to find out I like the cheap caviar better.
- the frantic hours trying to get the house perfect before you got home from a business trip so we could spend all our time together relaxing.
- the look on your face when we could drive with the top down.
- your nervousness at standing on the porch to watch storms roll in.
- you warming my toes in your hands when we sat on the couch.
- no matter the hour, you'd always make me coffee.
- that you searched for a year to find coffee beans we both loved.
- having you wash my back.
- on our one year wedding anniversary trip to New Orleans taking an air boat ride to catch alligators, catching none until you finally prayed to your mom to stop messing around with our vacation, then immediately catching a tiny baby alligator before having to head back to land.
- your counter balance of thought when making big decisions, you always saw things from an angle I just can't seem to capture.
- photo texts of the monkeys I packed, staged in your hotel room.
- thanking you for mowing and weed whacking the yard. (It's harder to do all in one day then I thought.)
- that we'd walk out, having dressed in separate rooms, looking like we tried to dress the same.
- our shared history.
- asking you about your day and then settling in for a nice long chat.
- you calling True Blood "that show about 20-somethings and their sexual issues".
- all the food you'd put out for Packer games.
- picking you up at the airport from a business trip.
- your support of my right to smoke.
- long road trips where we spent so much time talking we never turned on the radio.
- the scent of your cologne on your skin. (It smells different on me.)
- the hours we spent on the phone when you got back to your hotel room at night.
- that you loved my father as if he were your own.
- that you allowed me to love your mother as if she were my own.
- that we called Vincent D'Onofrio "chicken neck" because of the way he always tilts his head on Law & Order: Criminal Intent.
- ironing all your clothes so you'd look your best.
- thanking you for taking out the trash.
- how you'd wear a monkey tie on the first day of each new project and on interviews for good luck.
- us trying to agree on ratings on our Netflix account.
- that you finally recognized the genius that is The Cure.
- that you smoked dope for the first time in your 40's.
- that smoking dope and The Cure happened on the same night.
- making haircut appointments for you.
- running out onto the front porch as soon as I heard you drive up.
- packing love notes in with your lunch.
- how you never - never - gave up on me.
- how happy it made you when I'd sing quietly into your ear as we slow danced.
- rubbing your soft earlobes between my fingers.
- finding the newest internet phenomenons so you could impress your colleagues with your "hipness".
- wearing clothing with birds on them for you.
- how insanely happy the dog would get when you walked in the door.
- worrying you'll get skin cancer on your bald spot.
- finding hats/sunglasses/sleep-masks to fit your big pumpkin head.
- when the birds would start fighting over a place at the feeders you'd call out "birdie beat down".
- smelling 37 different soaps at Bath and Body Works with me to find something that wasn't too girly.
- that you fulfilled a lifelong dream of mine by taking me to China. For five weeks.
- that I fulfilled a lifelong dream of yours by taking you to Green Bay to see Brett Favre play. Twice.
- you killing all the icky spiders for me.
- when we argued we would flip each other off and immediately start laughing, thus ending the argument.
- that I never got a chance to see your band play on stage so I could throw panties at you.
- growing older with you.
- that you proudly kept a picture of me on your desk of when I was in high school and had a mohawk.
- being the youngest couple at the symphony on Gershwin night. And loving it.
- ordering you a Johnnie Walker Blue, straight up, as a surprise on special occasions.
- you never got to tell me in depth about being in the west wing of the White House.
- comparing the largeness of your hands to the smallness of my hands.
- having you hold and rock me when I cry.
- rubbing sunscreen on your back.
- the feel of your lips on mine.
- searching for shoes to fit your wide feet.
- you pretending to be a metro-sexual by calling your hair gunk "product".
- The moment on Christmas Eve at Rockefeller Center when I turned around, saw you on the ground and began sinking to my knees so I could help you up only to realize you were down on bended knee - to ask for my hand in marriage.
- I've only ever been able to remember the first sentence you said to me when you ask me to marry you, "I've waited for you all my life" - the rest is just a blur of tears and inner dialog of "ohmygawd ohmygawd ohmygawd".
- hearing your "crushed nuts" joke. (No one else can tell it like you do.)
- you groaning and then laughing every time I started a sentence "Alternatively, we could...".
- all the legwork you'd put in to our trips. (It's so overwhelming to do it all on my own.)
- the nights I would get drunk and you'd stay sober so you could reassure me the next day I did not make an ass of myself in public.
- the nights we both got drunk and made asses of ourselves in public but didn't care.
- you playing 'Stairway to Gilligan's Island'. (I still swear it's how you won my dad over.)
- that you would plan your yearly trips with your cousin for three months before hand.
- the birthday binders that you'd put together for me each year with our activities for the day all mapped out.
- your supportive and calming words to me when dealing with my crazy family.
- that you learned to like Southern Rock, excluding that one Lynyrd Skynyrd song referencing Neil Young.
- how you always had my back.
- how I always had your back.
- visiting New York and hearing stories about your childhood on nearly every corner.
- your compulsion to buy every stuffed monkey you ever laid eyes on because they reminded you of me.
- "tickle woo?"
- the scuffing sound of your slippers when you walk. (Now I wear them.)
- how you always knew the names of all the actors but I knew all their faces and voices.
- sitting around and talking about your mom.
- seeing you dressed up in your suit and thinking "Hellz yeah, that's my man!".
- how you'd place your hand in the small of my back when I wore heels to steady me.
- having you ask about my day.
- watching you drag every new male visitor to our house straight to the footballs I got signed for you in Green Bay.
- you feeding Frosty Paws to the dogs. (I can't even find where to buy it.)
- how you'd pull into the driveway, top down, stereo cranked.
- having you decide what color I should paint my nails.
- your tongue poking out of your mouth as you sleep.
- reading your new blog entries, even though they were mostly about football picks.
- watching you start up the grill.
- picking out Christmas cards with you.
- watching you struggle to keep a straight face when you took a business call at home and I'd flash you.
- having you upkeep our technologies so I never got computer viruses. (I've had three bad ones in the last year.)
- laughing out loud as I read in bed and having you look over at me then saying "tell me about it".
- all the wonderful articles you'd forward to me.
- that everyone you knew felt safe in opening up with you about things they had never told anyone.
- you rubbing my back in the morning to wake me up.
- going to art museums with you.
- sending postcards home written to you while we were still on our vacations.
- thanking you for taking the cars to be detailed.
- that you never thought it a big deal to go out and buy me tampons.
- you standing up for me when I can't stand up for myself.
- you indulged my obsession of shoes.
- you doing the grocery shopping. (It took me nine months to find a decent grocery store. Nine months!)
- hearing you tell me I'm a good wife.
- trying to find that next little thing that will happily surprise you.
- how fun you thought my glittery hooker eye-make was. (I never wear it anymore. I don't know if I ever will again.)
- that you were always willing to sit down and play with children.
- that you could talk to anyone.
- the look on your face when you would realize that yes, I really am going to buy you that (guitar, grill, amp) expensive toy that we had only come to "look at".
- you calling me to look out the window of the back door to see the baby birds, or squirrels, or chipmunks doing something cute.
- lighting sticks of incense to place all around us to keep the mosquitoes from devouring you.
- that you would use our Kroger points to gas up our cars. (I don't even know where the Kroger station is located. Then again, I've quit shopping at Kroger.)
- going to the beach with you. My favorite place with my favorite person.
- trying to convince you not to dress like a character from The Sopranos.
- secretly enjoying that you sometimes did dress like a mobster.
- joking how your dad was a mailman and you designed e-mail systems, so really, you're in the family business.
- hearing you cheerily say "right again, honey!".
- that you helped me pick out and buy every stitch of clothing I own because I wanted to make sure you liked it or I wouldn't wear it.
- that I helped you pick out and buy every stitch of clothing you owned because you wanted to make sure I like it or you wouldn't wear it.
- your fingers getting tangled in my curls.
- how excited you would get every summer for me to make my potato salad.
- that you trusted me to not just take care of, but also make medical decisions for, your mother.
- how much pride you took in my needle work, bragging to people I had learned it at my grandmother's knee.
- driving by a field and testing your city-boy knowledge of was growing in said field. You were getting real country at being able to tell the crops apart.
- having you hold the ladder as I climbed up. (Turns out I don't feel safe unless it's you at the bottom.)
- walking the dog with you.
- how you always managed to find the theater with the least amount of people in it when we'd go to the movies.
- that I never needed an electric blanket once we got married.
- that we never got our ten year wedding anniversary tattoos.
- your joy at putting up tacky Christmas decorations.
- how "y'all" replaced "yous guys" in your Yankee vocabulary.
- the look on your face the morning you came downstairs to find your mother teaching me to swear in Italian.
- you introduced me to Sling Blade and I introduced you to Leolo.
- hearing you play and sing the song you wrote for me when we were dating.
- watching you shave.
- making love with you.
- your perfect, infectious smile.
- asking if there's a puppy in your belly whenever your stomach would growl loudly.
- winning the argument about if you need to wear sunscreen your first time out in the sun every year. (After that first disastrous year when I lost the argument and you looked like a lobster.)
- watching one hour television shows over the course of three hours because we have to keep putting it on pause to talk about some arcane factoid.
- that you thought I looked adorable in my flannel monkey pajamas, sick and with frizzy hair.
- that you never got sick.
- except for when you did and were perfectly lucid with a temperature of one hundred and three. You freak.
- your patience at listening to me tell a story three times while I tried to work something through my head.
- holding hands anytime we were walking anywhere together.
- holding hands anytime we were sitting anywhere together.
- that I never got the kitchen redone for you to cook in.
- "Scraggle me!"
- you teaching me all the intricacies of football calls and never making me feel stupid in the process.
- that you figured out telling me "gossip" about the football players helped keep me interested during the season.
- that we never rushed and said "love ya, buh-bye", we always took the time to say our goodbyes.
- when either one of us came home, everything stopped so we could say our hellos.
- that if either us couldn't take a call from the other, and the person called back a second time immediately after the first, we knew it was an emergency and to take the call.
- that neither of us ever abused the emergency call system.
- that you loved I dyed my hair fire engine red for my 30th birthday, just like my old punker days, sans mohawk.
- that you encouraged me to go ahead and dye it smurf blue while I was at it.
- "Yoikes and away!"
- listening to you talk on the phone with your family.
- seeing you laid back in your recliner with your arm tuck up behind your head.
- smacking your tight little ass when you'd walk past me from the shower.
- your funny Top Ten lists a la David Letterman.
- your 86 mph fastball.
- going out to a really nice dinner with you, both of us dressed to the nines.
- sitting on the front porch and watching the moon rise with you.
- napping on the beach next to you.
- your goofy stories.
- how, every time you'd dance, you'd strike the Saturday Night Fever pose.
- how you always wanted to retire to a cabin in the mountains but I wanted to retire to a beach house somewhere warm.
- then you decided we'd retire to the beach after you saw how the ocean calmed my senses.
- we finally decided to retire to a mountainous beach area in Italy so we could have the best of both worlds after watching an episode of International House Hunters.
- that you always forgave me when I screwed up.
- that you always apologized when you screwed up.
- that you were a loyal friend.
- you never turned a thought or idea away out of hand, you were always willing to consider every option and possibility.
- that nearly every time we stood in front of a camera we automatically would turn and kiss. (I have few photos of us together facing forward.)
- being wrapped up in your bear hug arms.
- planning a future with you.
- blowing zurburts on your belly in our room when we had company stay the night, making them think we had really bad gas.
- theme night, 'nuff said.
- going sledding with you on your childhood sled.
- hearing stories about your father who died when you were twenty.
- you telling me I have a headache and to go take some Tylenol.
- that you believed real men cry. And did so proudly.
- your ability to teach anyone anything. You should have been a teacher.
- the sound of your voice.
- the smell of your skin.
- you waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me you had that Bugs Bunny nightmare again. The one you've had since you were five.
- that we never got to finish our cross-country road trip. We still have Vegas to San Fransisco to drive.
- spending five hours on Saturday in our pj's sitting on the back deck eating breakfast.
- how absolutely terrified I was when you had back surgery and how absolutely grateful I was to be able to care for you during your recovery.
- watching you, enthralled in reading maps.
- going with you each fall to vote in the elections.
- snickering through Christmas Eve service like ten year olds.
- that you thought a Vegas wedding at a drive-thru chapel, in a vintage pink '55 Cadillac, driven by Elvis, followed by a bowling reception was the best idea ever.
- when I was sick you'd leave work to come and check on me.
- growing tomatoes for you.
- walking into the house to you practicing "Sweet Child 'o Mine" on the guitar.
- telling you how great a husband you are.
- receiving cards for every little holiday with long love letters written inside from you.
- giving cards for every little holiday with long love letter written inside from me.
- staying at a bed and breakfast on the Eastern Shore and visiting antique shops on the way to and from the beach.
- going to Broadway shows whenever we hit New York City for any length of time.
- taking you to Victoria's Secret and watching you walk around unafraid, a man in a woman's world.
- that no matter how hard I cried you could always follow it up with even harder laughter.
- sitting on the couch play 'you sunk my battleship' for hours at a time.
- you calling me from the office and having to whisper into the phone to talk making every word you said sound sexy and a little dirty.
- how we always had to snuggle into each other whenever we sat together. Even if we were in public.
- how you wanted to learn about and love everything that I loved.
- wanting to learn about and love everything that you loved.
- reading a book you just finished so we could spend months gabbing about it.
- that after nearly 10 years together we still got mistaken as newly weds.
- going to the State Fair and talking animal husbandry.
- you telling the story about eating chicken feet and spicy fox (that you thought was spicy frogs) while in China.
- the feel of your whiskers.
- walking through the botanical gardens after putting our dog down because neither of us wanted to face that empty house.
- having you wake me up in the middle of the night because I was laughing in my sleep and you wanted in on the joke.
- taking turns reading aloud in bed to each other.
- you'd always find a workable solution, no matter the problem.
- how much you loved animals.
- the smell of you BBQing on the back deck.
- how you'd tilt your head and smile when I'd look at you.
- the two of us dancing around the living room together with the dog following and getting underfoot.
- when the last episode of The Sopranos first aired and it cut to black, we just looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.
- that you wanted to live on a 20 acre property and buy alpacas to keep from having to mow.
- that every time Jurassic Park came on tv we'd have to watch it.
- same goes for My Cousin Vinnie.
- carefully packing up your suitcase for you each week before you headed down the road.
- that I knew all of the passwords to your accounts and you knew all the passwords to my accounts.
- sharing every stupid little piece of nothing thought I've had during the day with you, and you never got bored listening.
- you sharing every silly piece of nonsense you thought up during the day with me, and I never got bored listening.
- how ecstatic you'd get when I joined you on the road for your job.
- having you help me cross off an item from my bucket list by counter-balancing me so I could pee over the edge of the Grand Canyon on our honeymoon.
- yelling out "I'm cooking tonight" when you walked in the door which, of course, meant we were going out for dinner.
- you calling me from the office when you were having a bad day, talking for ten minutes, and then telling me 'Thanks honey, I feel much better now'.
- how excited you'd get at Halloween to see all the neighborhood kids in their costumes.
- the pure joy you radiated every time you walked out the door the head to band practice. You told me once it felt like a missing part of your life had been restored.
- on our one year wedding anniversary trip to New Orleans I split the back of my pants and you had to walk directly behind me until we found a clothing shop, the whole while laughing so hard we couldn't breath.
- how no matter how many times I spoke about the waste of sending roses on Valentine's Day - you sent them to me anyway.
- the day we went to adopt a new dog. I wanted the calmer, bigger dog. You wanted the nutcase that is our border collie mix, Belle. She was the better choice. Your dog has helped pull me through.
- thanking you for loving me so well.
- calling you to get driving directions even though you're at work at an out of state client site. (I still can't figure out how to get to the mall except directly from our house.)
- tickling you every time Brett Favre appears on screen because it really does help the Packers win.
- the way the bed would creak every time you'd roll over in your sleep.
- the way you'd cook for twenty people even if there were four of us total.
- how you'd try and sneak books off the shelves to take into the bathroom with you even though it grossed me out entirely and I nearly always caught you.
- how you were always ready and eager for a new adventure.
- your fast wit, always with a comeback at the ready.
- that you never used put-down humor or used humor to make someone feel small.
- that you felt it your duty to defend the underdog and those who could not protect themselves.
- that you never promised anything you couldn't deliver and you kept a promise once it was made.
- how you always thanked me for all I did from doing laundry to listening to you vent about work.
- laying my head on your lap while watching tv.
- surprising you by setting the table and lighting candles as if we having company for dinner when it was just the two of us.
- calling you during the day to tell you the many exploits of your crazy dog.
- having my best confidant around to help sort things out.
- having a "girls night in" when we'd drink my girly sweet wine, do facials and share a long hot soak in the tub.
- playing table top football with the rolled up paper from a straw, only to have it bounce over your head and hit the people behind you. It happened every. single. time.
- going into stores and trying on the most expensive items. Just because.
- our Christmas Eve traditions of a big Italian meal, inviting all our friends to join us. The evening ending with us on the couch, spiked eggnog in hand, only candles and the lights from the tree, opening one gift each, reminiscing about getting engaged years ago and how much our love has grown since then.
- that our three best celebrated holidays during the year were: your birthday, my birthday, and our wedding anniversary.
- spending time with my best friend. You.
- how very much you enjoyed playing host and always went full hog when entertaining.
- how being in your life made me want to be a better person.
- watching you squiggle and squirm and eventually just start singing "Yellow Submarine" at the top of your lungs to distract yourself from all the tickling while receiving a foot massage in Shanghai.
- that you secretly hated going to strip clubs all your life but never wanted to spoil the fun for your friends and so suffered in silence. Then I begged you to go into a strip club on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. You said it was the first time you'd ever enjoyed a strip club.
- when aggressive dogs would approach us you'd growl and bark at them until they went running off in stunned silence.
- how you'd twitch in your sleep, sometime waking yourself up.
- the way we'd team up and help each other tackle our fears. And doing it laughing.
- being silly and goofy like we were thirteen year old kids.
- that I was allowed to join in the family jokes that went back to before we met.
- you putting me before all others.
- me putting you before all others.
- how you saved business cards from everywhere we'd ever been.
- your inquisitiveness. Always wanting to learn something new, always ready to ask questions, always interested in the world.
- how you taught me my value was beyond measure.
- the huge amount of respect you had for women and the way it shined through in your actions and speech.
- your amazing intelligence on such a wide range of subjects.
- the time you would take to stop and truly listen to people. There's was always time to hear someone out.
- your willingness to stay until the job was completed, whatever the task.
- standing in the middle of our street, our arms circled round each other's waists, looking up at the stars.
- listening to you and your brother Frank throw movie quips back and forth like boxers in a ring.
- seeing how deeply you loved your family.
- the way you pulled a t-shirt over your head, just like a little kid getting dressed.
- picking mulberries from our tree and having dark stained fingertips and lips from the ones we ate while standing in our yard.
- how just thinking about you could raise butterflies of excitement in my stomach.
- just how little it actually took to make you happy, so easily pleased.
- surprising you at the office by showing up to take you out to lunch.
- the weeks you'd be able to work from home. Every time I walked past you you I had to reach out and touch you.
- how unafraid you were of the messiness of life. Always willing to dive right in and get in the mix.
- that we never ran out of things to say or talk about.
- falling asleep next to you.
- waking up next to you.
- how you put it all on the line for what you believe. I proudly stood beside you each and every time.
- traveling together.
- hearing you call me by your pet names.
- sitting on the beach on Sanibel Island watching a seagull empty out a woman's beach bag one item at a time as you gave a sportscaster's running commentary.
- having my best friend to lean on, and to be leaned on in return.
- whispering all our secrets as we lay in bed at night.
- how easy it is to love you.
- the meaning my life gained in loving you.
- growing with you.
- learning with you.
- laughing with you.
- hoping with you.
- working with you.
- playing with you.
- sharing with you.
- living with you.
- loving with you.
- Existing. With. You.
- saying the words "I love you".
- hearing the words "I love you" said in return.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Wedding Gig
"Life goes on - that's what I should have said. That's what you say to people when a loved one dies. But, thinking it over, I was glad I didn't. Because maybe that was what she was afraid of.""The Wedding Gig" Skeleton Crew - Stephen King
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Documenting our Life
I make decisions in multiple stages now instead of one fell swoop. I think it's a functionality of my fogged in brain. I can't always see how to get from point A to point B. But I can take one step away from point A while keeping point B in my sight lines. Eventually I manage to get to point B, even if it means side trips through points L, M, N, O and P. For instance:
A few people suggested that I should take pictures of Steve's belongings that I no longer wanted to keep but found difficult to release. I had to hear that suggestion many times before I could absorb the idea. Then, one day, while cleaning out the fridge I decided I needed to throw out Steve's hot sauces. I don't do spicy and every time I looked at them they hurt my heart more than they could ever hurt my tongue or stomach. So I photographed them and then placed them in the trash.
That was several months ago and I don't think I've managed to sort through anything of Steve's since.
Here's my confession. Right after Steve died I gave his clothes to my younger brother. My brother who likes to dress well but hasn't the resources to do it. He was so excited to have these clothes. To dress nice. And I was so happy to see that Steve's belongings were going to someone who could appreciate and use them. It felt good and right. But now, nearly a year later, I wish I had them back. I saved several pieces but there are many more I wish I had kept. Which is silly and stupid. I have no idea what I'd do with them. All I know is my heart calls out for them. But they reside in Hawaii. And it doesn't feel right to ask for them back when I know my brother is putting them to good use. Besides, postage from Hawaii is a real bitch.
So I'm trying something new. Actually, it isn't all that new. At Christmas I took pictures of Christmas ornaments that held meaning for Steve and I. I did it not because I'm getting rid of those things but because it brought me joy to tell the stories behind them. I'm thinking that if I take pictures of items that I want to separate from, along with pictures of items that I'm keeping that hold memories, maybe I can start the sorting process again. Maybe I can pick back up and start moving forward again. Cause I'm stuck. And getting stuck is one thing but staying stuck is something altogether different.
These are three of Steve's hot sauces. I had already thrown a couple out before I took this picture and it hurt so much to do it that I sometimes think it would've been easier for me to simply drink them gone. Somehow taking pictures of these remaining three made throwing those two out earlier a little more bearable.
The Dave's Insanity sauce (far right) was a result from a challenge from Steve that a hot sauce hadn't been made that he considered "too hot". I bought Dave's Insanity planning on slowly stepping things up over the months with others I knew to be hotter. He tried one little drop from the bottle and it was the only time I ever saw my husband drink straight from the milk carton. It makes the game a little boring when you hit a home-run first time up to bat. It was defiantly worth it, though.
The Submission sauce (far left) was something we picked up on our one year wedding anniversary in New Orleans. We stumbled onto a store that had hot sauces floor to ceiling and the length of the store. Steve was in seventh heaven. We bought three but only the Submission sauce was hot enough to last this long. We had both agreed that when it was finally empty we'd go back to New Orleans, to that strange little shop with thousand of bottles, and pick up three more. Sometimes I think there are places in this world I may never return to because the memories of what else we wanted to do in that place are as thick as cobwebs. New Orleans is one of those places. Then again, what better place is there to go see ghosts?
This is Steve's convertible. All his life he wanted one. We saved hard for three years so we could walk onto the lot, write a check, and drive off. Somewhere I have pictures of the night we went to pick it up. I made the dealership put a big bow on it. They had it out front and center with the staff standing in a semi-circle waiting for us. Made him feel like a rock star. He loved this car. And I loved him in it.
I have been driving it ever since he died. Matter of fact, I've figured out that I need to sell one of the cars so I'm selling mine. (Eventually. I make decisions in multiple stages. Recall it?) Steve's car I plan to keep until I can put those black antique license plates on it. Then I plan to drive it some more.
This planter is just one of those silly married couple things. Steve loved birds. The six bird feeders out back prove that. He loved watching all the different types of birds come to visit the feeders. He loved watching the baby birds chirp and fluff themselves trying to get mama to feed them. He loved yelling "Birdie beat down!" whenever a bird fight broke out. So whenever I saw a bird item that wasn't too cheesy or too abstract - I'd buy it. Just like every time he saw a monkey he'd buy it. (Monkeys being the thing I collected.) I keep this planter on the front porch by the steps so that when I come or go I can look at it and think of Steve. And his love of all things feathered.
A few people suggested that I should take pictures of Steve's belongings that I no longer wanted to keep but found difficult to release. I had to hear that suggestion many times before I could absorb the idea. Then, one day, while cleaning out the fridge I decided I needed to throw out Steve's hot sauces. I don't do spicy and every time I looked at them they hurt my heart more than they could ever hurt my tongue or stomach. So I photographed them and then placed them in the trash.
That was several months ago and I don't think I've managed to sort through anything of Steve's since.
Here's my confession. Right after Steve died I gave his clothes to my younger brother. My brother who likes to dress well but hasn't the resources to do it. He was so excited to have these clothes. To dress nice. And I was so happy to see that Steve's belongings were going to someone who could appreciate and use them. It felt good and right. But now, nearly a year later, I wish I had them back. I saved several pieces but there are many more I wish I had kept. Which is silly and stupid. I have no idea what I'd do with them. All I know is my heart calls out for them. But they reside in Hawaii. And it doesn't feel right to ask for them back when I know my brother is putting them to good use. Besides, postage from Hawaii is a real bitch.
So I'm trying something new. Actually, it isn't all that new. At Christmas I took pictures of Christmas ornaments that held meaning for Steve and I. I did it not because I'm getting rid of those things but because it brought me joy to tell the stories behind them. I'm thinking that if I take pictures of items that I want to separate from, along with pictures of items that I'm keeping that hold memories, maybe I can start the sorting process again. Maybe I can pick back up and start moving forward again. Cause I'm stuck. And getting stuck is one thing but staying stuck is something altogether different.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
These are three of Steve's hot sauces. I had already thrown a couple out before I took this picture and it hurt so much to do it that I sometimes think it would've been easier for me to simply drink them gone. Somehow taking pictures of these remaining three made throwing those two out earlier a little more bearable.
The Dave's Insanity sauce (far right) was a result from a challenge from Steve that a hot sauce hadn't been made that he considered "too hot". I bought Dave's Insanity planning on slowly stepping things up over the months with others I knew to be hotter. He tried one little drop from the bottle and it was the only time I ever saw my husband drink straight from the milk carton. It makes the game a little boring when you hit a home-run first time up to bat. It was defiantly worth it, though.
The Submission sauce (far left) was something we picked up on our one year wedding anniversary in New Orleans. We stumbled onto a store that had hot sauces floor to ceiling and the length of the store. Steve was in seventh heaven. We bought three but only the Submission sauce was hot enough to last this long. We had both agreed that when it was finally empty we'd go back to New Orleans, to that strange little shop with thousand of bottles, and pick up three more. Sometimes I think there are places in this world I may never return to because the memories of what else we wanted to do in that place are as thick as cobwebs. New Orleans is one of those places. Then again, what better place is there to go see ghosts?
This is Steve's convertible. All his life he wanted one. We saved hard for three years so we could walk onto the lot, write a check, and drive off. Somewhere I have pictures of the night we went to pick it up. I made the dealership put a big bow on it. They had it out front and center with the staff standing in a semi-circle waiting for us. Made him feel like a rock star. He loved this car. And I loved him in it.
I have been driving it ever since he died. Matter of fact, I've figured out that I need to sell one of the cars so I'm selling mine. (Eventually. I make decisions in multiple stages. Recall it?) Steve's car I plan to keep until I can put those black antique license plates on it. Then I plan to drive it some more.
This planter is just one of those silly married couple things. Steve loved birds. The six bird feeders out back prove that. He loved watching all the different types of birds come to visit the feeders. He loved watching the baby birds chirp and fluff themselves trying to get mama to feed them. He loved yelling "Birdie beat down!" whenever a bird fight broke out. So whenever I saw a bird item that wasn't too cheesy or too abstract - I'd buy it. Just like every time he saw a monkey he'd buy it. (Monkeys being the thing I collected.) I keep this planter on the front porch by the steps so that when I come or go I can look at it and think of Steve. And his love of all things feathered.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Duma Key
"...the only way to go on is to go on. To say I can do this even when you know you can't."Duma Key - Stephen King
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Up in the Air
"If you think about it… your favorite memories, the most important moments in your life… were you alone? … Life’s better with company."- Up in the Air
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Keep Me In Your Heart for Awhile
Shadows are falling and I'm running out of breath
Keep me in your heart for awhile
If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less
Keep me in your heart for awhile
When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun
Keep me in your heart for awhile
There's a train leaving nightly called when all is said and done
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Sometimes when you're doing simple things
around the house
Maybe you'll think of me and smile
You know I'm tied to you like the buttons on
your blouse
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Hold me in your thoughts, take me to your dreams
Touch me as I fall into view
When the winter comes keep the fires lit
And I will be right next to you
Engine driver's headed north to Pleasant Stream
Keep me in your heart for awhile
These wheels keep turning but they're running out
of steam
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Keep me in your heart for awhile
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Last Time
Nate: I do. I do feel loved.
Ruth: It was just so many months I could have loved you better.
Nate: You loved me fine.
Ruth: You're everything. You don't even know. You're everything to me.
Nate: God, I don't want to go! I won't go, I can't. I can't do this, I can't. I don't want to go
Ruth: I won't let you go. I'll never let you go.
Six Feet Under
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Solaris
I tried to find the rhythm of the world where I used to live. I followed the current. I was silent, attentive. I made a conscious effort to smile... nod... stand... and perform the millions of gestures that constitute life on earth. I studied these gestures until they became reflexes again. But I was haunted by the idea that I remembered [him] wrong... that somehow I was wrong about everything.- Solaris
Thursday, June 9, 2011
John Adams
They would never become accustomed to being separated. "I can do nothing without you," he was to tell her one way or another, time and again, and always from the heart. She would have him no other way than he was; she believed fervently in what he was doing, encouraged him in the role, and wished no other for him; she wanted him to be where he was doing his utmost for the country. And still she desperately wanted him with her. Each worried incessantly about the other's health and well-being, at times to the point of making themselves ill.John Adams - David McCullough
Saturday, June 4, 2011
The Time Traveler's Wife
What, you think I that wanted this life, this husband that disappears without any kind of warning? Do you think anyone would want that? Who would want that?
- The Time Traveler's Wife
Thursday, June 2, 2011
DMV
When Steve's car died two years after we married, we hadn't saved up enough for his dream car but we had saved up enough for mine. So we bought a brand new white Toyota Camry SE (that's Sports Edition), V6, heated leather seats with a sun roof. Which is how his license plates ended up on my car.
Three years later, when my car finally died, we bought his brand new blue Toyota Solara convertible with heated leather seats and built in blue tooth. And on went my license plates. Since we both loved nothing more than fulfilling each others desires, we thought it terribly ironic that his plates were on my car and my plates on his.
Today, ten and a half months after Steve died, I went to DMV to remove his name from both titles. Pushing aside the emotional aspect, there were a few problems I knew would come up that kept me from doing this sooner. Such as never finding the title to the Camry. Such as being fairly certain we had never gotten around to putting my name on that title, either. Such as wanting to keep his personalized license plates as long as possible.
Now I will be the first to say I hate telling people my husband is dead. Every time I say it I can't help but tear up. I hate the awkward pause as the other person tries to figure out what to say. I really hate it if they follow it up with "how did he die" or "how long ago". So I'll take the blame for the first woman at DMV who threw the title back in my face with a "Mr. DeRose has to sign this". See, I thought she'd look at the paper underneath. You know, his death certificate. That was the first time I cried.
The second lady had no problem removing his name from the Solara's title. I had the paperwork. My name was on it. Ten dollars later and we're all wrapped up. The Camry was another story entirely. Seems the bank had never released the lien. Steve took out a five thousand dollar loan for that car simply to have a good payment history to build his credit score back up. And it worked. We paid it off in a year and his credit score looked all the better for it. Which means we paid that loan off six years ago. So... off to the bank I went.
Lien release letter in hand, I return to DMV. This time I explain right off the bat "my husband is dead and I need to have the title to the car solely in my name". I'm starting to learn there are times to lead with the bad news.
Which is when I get hit again. My name isn't on the title. Crap. Does this mean I have to go to court? Open probate? I've gotten this far without having to do it, please don't make me do it now. That's when my hands started shaking. And Virginia? I heart you. Since I'm the surviving spouse (and I swear I'm not circumventing a will), they can transfer the title to me.
Now I had just one last hurdle to jump. His personalized license plates. Steve grew up in New York City. You don't call attention to your car with personalized license plates in New York. Not if you want to keep your car. Well, not if you want to keep all the pieces of your car. In one place. On the car. Steve was enamored with all the plate reading in Virgina and decided to add his touch to the masses when he moved down here. Since Steve worked the tech field, specifically e-mail systems, he got something related to that. And, of course, I want to keep them.
And Virginia? I double heart you. Cause I got to keep his plates as well. My DMV knows how to take care of it's people. When we had the last of it sorted out and I was packing up all the paperwork to leave, I started crying again. It was a thank you cry. It was a 'dear God I got it all and I got it all done' cry. And the DMV lady? She joined right in. My DMV totally rocks.
Now I just have to build up the courage to sell the Camry. But that can wait for another day.
Three years later, when my car finally died, we bought his brand new blue Toyota Solara convertible with heated leather seats and built in blue tooth. And on went my license plates. Since we both loved nothing more than fulfilling each others desires, we thought it terribly ironic that his plates were on my car and my plates on his.
Today, ten and a half months after Steve died, I went to DMV to remove his name from both titles. Pushing aside the emotional aspect, there were a few problems I knew would come up that kept me from doing this sooner. Such as never finding the title to the Camry. Such as being fairly certain we had never gotten around to putting my name on that title, either. Such as wanting to keep his personalized license plates as long as possible.
Now I will be the first to say I hate telling people my husband is dead. Every time I say it I can't help but tear up. I hate the awkward pause as the other person tries to figure out what to say. I really hate it if they follow it up with "how did he die" or "how long ago". So I'll take the blame for the first woman at DMV who threw the title back in my face with a "Mr. DeRose has to sign this". See, I thought she'd look at the paper underneath. You know, his death certificate. That was the first time I cried.
The second lady had no problem removing his name from the Solara's title. I had the paperwork. My name was on it. Ten dollars later and we're all wrapped up. The Camry was another story entirely. Seems the bank had never released the lien. Steve took out a five thousand dollar loan for that car simply to have a good payment history to build his credit score back up. And it worked. We paid it off in a year and his credit score looked all the better for it. Which means we paid that loan off six years ago. So... off to the bank I went.
Lien release letter in hand, I return to DMV. This time I explain right off the bat "my husband is dead and I need to have the title to the car solely in my name". I'm starting to learn there are times to lead with the bad news.
Which is when I get hit again. My name isn't on the title. Crap. Does this mean I have to go to court? Open probate? I've gotten this far without having to do it, please don't make me do it now. That's when my hands started shaking. And Virginia? I heart you. Since I'm the surviving spouse (and I swear I'm not circumventing a will), they can transfer the title to me.
Now I had just one last hurdle to jump. His personalized license plates. Steve grew up in New York City. You don't call attention to your car with personalized license plates in New York. Not if you want to keep your car. Well, not if you want to keep all the pieces of your car. In one place. On the car. Steve was enamored with all the plate reading in Virgina and decided to add his touch to the masses when he moved down here. Since Steve worked the tech field, specifically e-mail systems, he got something related to that. And, of course, I want to keep them.
And Virginia? I double heart you. Cause I got to keep his plates as well. My DMV knows how to take care of it's people. When we had the last of it sorted out and I was packing up all the paperwork to leave, I started crying again. It was a thank you cry. It was a 'dear God I got it all and I got it all done' cry. And the DMV lady? She joined right in. My DMV totally rocks.
Now I just have to build up the courage to sell the Camry. But that can wait for another day.
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