Allegiant

That’s like asking how you continue on with your life after someone dies. You just do it, and the next day you do it again.

Allegiant - Veronica Roth

Today is 7 years you've been gone. Each day I do it again. Today is not a good day.

Dragonfly in Amber

Roger MacKenzie: May I ask you something personal? How did you do it? Finally say goodbye... to that one person you loved most in all the world?

Claire Randall: Truth is, I've never been very good at saying good-bye, but that's the hell of it, isn't it? Whether you want to say good-bye or not, they're gone, and... you have to go on living without them. Because that's what they would want. 

Outlander

A Breath of Snow and Ashes

Time is a lot of the things people say that God is.

There's the always preexisting, and having no end. There's  the notion of being all powerful - because nothing can stand against time, can it? Not mountains, not armies.

And time is, of course, all-healing. Give anything enough time, and everything is taken care of: all pain encompassed, all hardships erased, all loss subsumed.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Remember, man, that thou art dust; and unto dust thous shalt return.

And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.

A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon

An Echo in the Bone

I could not believe he was dead. Could not. I shut my eyes at night and heard him breathing slow and soft in the night beside me. Felt his eyes on me, humorous, lusting, annoyed, alight with love. Turned half a dozen times a day, imagining I heard his step behind me. Opened my mouth to say something to him - and more than once really had spoken to him, realizing only when I heard the words dwindle on the empty air that he was not there.

Each realization crushed me anew. And yet none reconciled me to his loss.

An Echo in the Bone - Diana Gabaldon

Double Rainbows

Double rainbow 2day. Saw my 1st the day after u died. Then nearly every day for the next 2 weeks. Love u 2. #MssgsBetweenWorlds #WidowMoment

— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) July 11, 2015

Facebook Legacy Contact / Memorializing an Account

I have received many heartbreaking e-mails and comments on posts from those of us left behind. The hardest ones for me are the ones in regard to a post I made about Memorializing a Facebook account.

Here's part of an email I received from a mother who's daughter died at 19, and the mother hadn't been "friended" by her daughter before her death. Once her daughter's FB page had been memorialized, the mother was locked out:

One message I would love to get out there to other parents is get involved and become friended,  if possible, on your children's face book page for this very reason or if its an older teen and they do not want Mommy and Daddy seeing every comment from them and their friends maybe if there was a way to petition to Facebook to allow an option to check if death occurs you grant the permission for your parents or next of kin to have access to their memorialized page so their digital memory can live on with the ones that loved them the most, not just 1000+ acquaintances  that hardly even knew her. The latter message is what I really would love to see facebook consider. But since they do not even care enough to reply or provide a number to call with a concern or comment I don't see that even possible to get started either.

Then there was this comment left on my original post:

My wife passed away last year, i memorialized her page NOT realizing that i wasn't a "friend" (didn't do Facebook) i am locked out of her page to read any comments or postings of hr friends or post my own comments on her page. do i have any recourse? when you lose a spouse you do a LOT of things not understanding the complete ramifications.

 Then there was this comment:

My daughter was killed in an autoobile accident in 2009. I wasnt a FB user then but since the accident I do have an active account. I discoverd this evening that my daughters facebook account is active and has been memorialized, all the while I just though they deleted it. Is there a way for FB to allow me to be added for access to her page?

Every time I get one of these comments or e-mails, I shudder. How many ways do we realize after the death of someone we love, we weren't connected to the technology they used?

There are other e-mails and comments. People who thought they were memorializing a page but mistakenly requested it to be deleted. Everything gone. No way to get Facebook to relist the page. How often, in the pain, the shock, the fogged-in moments, did we hit the wrong button, make the wrong choice?

I've heard of people trying to go to court to get access to the information. Been interviewed as journalists try and figure out who owns the content. Facebook? The deceased? The executive of the estate? And while the laws are trying to catch up to our social media world, it's the bereaved who are left frantically scrambling for any way to reattach to those we've lost.

Mostly what I did and what I've suggested for those trying to navigate the technology, is frowned  upon. Frowned upon by Facebook. Frowned upon by lawyers. They don't want us manipulating an account not in our name. I don't care. I'm about results.

After writing my post about how to memorialize an account, I wrote a follow up about when I decided to delete his Facebook account. I don't regret that decision... most of the time. But back then there were only three options:

1. If you had the password, access the account and immediately download all content.
2. Memorialize an account. Which is frequently done by anyone on the friend's list of the deceased without our knowledge or consent.
3. Delete the account. 

Those options sucked. But they were the best we had.

As always, technology changes, morphs, and hopefully becomes more useful. Facebook now has a new option. They now have a Legacy Contact. Each Facebook user can now designate a person to be charge of their account should they die. This is what Facebook has to say about it:

What is a legacy contact?

A legacy contact is someone you choose to look after your account if it's memorialized. Once your account is memorialized, your legacy contact will have the option to do things like:

• Write a pinned post for your profile (ex: to share a final message on your behalf or provide information about a memorial service)
• Respond to new friend requests (ex: old friends or family members who weren't yet on Facebook)
• Update your profile picture and cover photo

You also have the option to allow your legacy contact to download a copy of what you've shared on Facebook, and we may add additional capabilities for legacy contacts in the future.

Your legacy contact can't:

• Log into your account
• Remove or change past posts, photos and other things shared on your Timeline
• Read messages you've sent to other friends
• Remove any of your friends

Learn more about memorialization and how to add a legacy contact to your account.

If you're a legacy contact, learn how to manage a memorialized profile.

Note: You must be 18 or older to select a legacy contact.

To set someone up as your Legacy Contact:

• Go into settings (usually an icon of a lock in the upper right hand corner on all pages within Facebook).
• Click on "See More Settings"
• On the left hand side is a badge icon with "Security"
• Legacy Contact should be a the bottom of the page.

I suggest that everyone who has a Facebook account, go in and set someone to be there Legacy Contact. I was not able to do this via my smartphone but had to log onto a computer to do it. Take the time. Do this. Ask all the people you know and love to do this. For those of us left behind, it will make just one thing easier.

And we will take all the easier we can get at a time like this.

Tweet

9 yr old sang happy birthday to my dead husband's ashes this morning. In case u were wondering how my day is going. #LoveMyKids #WidowMoment
— Kiki Marcus (@KikiMarcus) September 16, 2014

New York Minute - Don Henley

New York Minute | Don Henley by iTrvlr

Gravity

Kowalski: Listen, do you want to go back or do you want to stay here? I get it. It's nice up here. You can just shut down all the systems, turn out all the lights, and just close your eyes and tune out everybody. There's nobody up here that can hurt you. It's safe. I mean, what's the point of going on? What's the point of living? Your [husband] died. Doesn't get any rougher than that. But still, it's a matter of what you do now. If you decide to go, then you gotta just get on with it. Sit back, enjoy the ride. You gotta plant both your feet on the ground and start livin' life.

Stone: How did you get here?

Kowlaski: I'm telling you, it's a hell of a story. Hey, Ryan?

Stone: What?

Kowlaski: It's time to go home.

- Gravity

4 Years

...4 things I need to tell you...

1.) I met a man, fell in love, and got married.

I never expected to date again, let alone get married.

I know you would want this new life and new love for me. I would want it for you if I had been the one to die, leaving you behind and alone. We even spoke about it on several occasions. Doesn't stop me from feeling like I've cheated on you.

Most days I'm happy in my new life.

No.

Every day I'm happy in my new life.

Some days, though, I imagine living in a parallel universe where you're still alive, we're still together, and I've never met this amazing man who loves me even while I still love you. Maybe loves me because I still love you.

He's an amazing man, Stephen. I think you'd have been great friends.

2.) I have two beautiful children.

They are smart, funny, amazing, mischievous, talented, imaginative, loving, kind, giving, brash, loud, quiet, shy, outgoing, girls that I adore with every ounce of my being. They fill my days and nights with chaos and joy, with running dialogs about purple monkeys flying at midnight and unicorns farting rainbows, with subtle winks that are anything but subtle, tears of pain and frustration, tears of joy and accomplishment, giggles and laughter that bounce around rooms, and smiles. Smiles that can teach Times Square a thing or two about lighting up a space.

You and I wanted children. We wanted six because we were insane like that. After eight years of trying, we finally gave up on that dream and chose a different dream. That last dream we shared died when you died. So much of me died when you died. I did, eventually, create a new dream. And I've been lucky enough to have this dream include these two wonderful girls that I look forward to watching grow into fabulous women.

I wish we had the opportunity to raise children together. I still think we'd have made beautiful and talented, but blind as bat, children. I believe you would have been a marvelous father. Somehow, though, I feel you smile over my shoulder when I watch the girls play, when I watch them succeed at something they've worked hard to master. As if you know, as if you watch over them during the times I can't.

3.) I've kept our house but I don't live there anymore.

I've moved to the suburbs. In an HOA. Remember how I used to rail against HOA's? Turns out, it's not so bad. I've met a lot of mother's of kids the girls are friends with in the neighborhood. We've become a mommy-network, relying on each other when some unexpected occurrence happens. In the process, I've made some truly amazing friends. I really would have hated it here without kids, though. In that much, I was correct.

Our house suffered some damage in a storm about three years ago. As a result I removed the old deck we had been trying to destroy for years. I replaced it with an extension of the roof for a covered porch. Ran electricity out for an overhead fan. It's gorgeous. Then I moved out. Still haven't redone the kitchen. The one room we always wanted to tackle but something else would pop up. I'll remodel the kitchen before I move back. Once the kids move out for college, Doug and I plan to sell his house and move back there. For the time being, it's difficult for me to even walk through it. Even with someone else's furniture filling the rooms, I still expect to see you walk around a corner. Eventually, I expect, that will wear off. Four years hasn't been long enough, though.

4.) I think about you every day.

It doesn't always hurt anymore. Frequently I still get that quick stab through the heart, my breath will catch for a moment, then my heart rate and breathing return to normal. But more and more the thought of you rises, passes through me, and nestles back into my very marrow. Memories of you are a part of me that flow and ebb, pumping through my veins, bouncing along with white and red blood cells. Missing you has become less of an assault. It is more familiar. At four years, it should be more familiar.

I think about how absolutely hilarious you'd find me now. Mother of two, living in suburbia, president of the summer swim team, driving my white Camry with red racing stripes, music always blaring. Same girl, different woman. Same woman, different girl.

I always wear at least once piece of jewelry you gave me. Sometime I still wear your wedding ring around my neck. It makes me feel closer to you when I feel small and insignificant. The baby blanket of the adult widow.

I talk about you. To Doug and the girls. Our youngest decided long ago that you are her guardian angel. If you can guard us, I know you'll watch out for the girls. You know where my heart always leads. And they are my heart now.

I miss you still. I always will. But the missing of you has changed. As I have changed. I love you. That will never change. I will always love you.
  

Disintegration - The Cure

So it's all come back round to breaking apart again
Breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again
Making it up behind my back again
Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again
Holding it up behind my head again
Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again
Round and round and round
And it's coming apart again
Over and over and over

Now that I know that I'm breaking to pieces
I'll pull out my heart
And I'll feed it to anyone
Crying for sympathy
Crocodiles cry for the love of the crowd
And the three cheers from everyone
Dropping through sky
Through the glass of the roof
Through the roof of your mouth
Through the mouth of your eye
Through the eye of the needle
It's easier for me to get closer to heaven
Than ever feel whole again

For all those sports fans...

Eventually, everything comes full circle.

In February of 2006, the Seahawks played the Steelers in Superbowl XXsomething-or-other. The only reason I know this is because I watched it. The only reason I watched it is because I married a Packer fan. A Packer fan who wrote a sports blog with a Seahawks fan. Both of them, oddly enough, named Steve. Which is where they came up with the blog name of SportsBlogSteves.com.

My mama had always told me "Your man will be into one thing above all others. Probably it will be a sport, I'm sorry to say. Join him in it. Wholeheartedly and with enthusiasm, join him. It will give strength to your marriage."

She was right.

Steve was a Green Bay Packers fan through and through. His words to me early on were "I'm a Packer fan. Deal with it."

So I did.

I asked him to teach me football. To not speak over my head, excluding me from actually learning by using a language I didn't know. To not yell at me if I talked over an important play, cause I wasn't doing it on purpose. To help me become a true fan.

And he did.

Getting TiVo helped immensely. Instead of talking over plays, we just rewound and watched over and again until I understood the play or rule or nuance. Eventually we used it to rewind and argue about plays before hearing what the refs called. He seemed proudest when I won the rewind arguments. We tried to catch up at commercials but in our household, we finished watching the game bout a half hour behind the rest of the world.

By the early spring of 2006, I was an avid Packer fan and pretty decent at watching football in general. I couldn't speak to coaches or players outside of the Pack but I knew what I was watching, knew the positions and rules and felt comfortable making comments in rooms full of men watching football. So when we sat down to watch the Seahawks face the Steelers, I was excited for our friend.

Imagine my surprise to see officiating so bad I had to wonder what mafioso had bought the outcome. My Steve wrote a post about the game and said this:

This wasn’t just one bad call, this was a consistent and deliberate agenda, a fraud perpetrated against the Seahawks by the officials. Every time Pittsburgh needed a call they got it. Every time Seattle began to move the ball, a call went against them. It was obvious and shameful.

Fast-forward to February 6, 2011. Steve died six months earlier and his team was headed to the Super Bowl. I hadn't even woken out of my widow-fog to realize what was happening until sometime in the playoffs, though I had been in front of a TV for every game. When I did finally waken enough to see what was going on, I shook. I wanted the Pack to go to the Super Bowl. I wanted them to win. It felt right and proper and fitting. Considering my husband had just died at 47 leaving me a widow at 36, proper and fitting had no place in my world. Hence, the nervousness.

There's a whole other post I could write, and have tried to write, about being a widow and watching my beloved's team make it to the Super Bowl the season after his death. Today what I'll say is... the Packers played the Steelers. The cheating team that had already stolen a Super Bowl from our friend up north.

And though I could barely watch the game, and the memories of that night are mostly fogged in, one stands out clear. A Steelers fan had made it into my house that night. And sitting in my dead husband's recliner she made a comment about an unfair call by the refs after having repeatedly screamed about taking Rodger's "out at the knees". To which I replied something along the lines of "it was a fair call (and it was), it's only fair turnabout after the last Super Bowl you cheaters showed up to play at, we don't dirty talk about intentionally hurting players in this house so watch your mouth, and get your scrawny ass out of my dead husband's chair before I actually hurt you."

Packers won the Super Bowl that night. Which felt right and proper and fitting for my dead husband. And brought a little joy to some Seahawks fans. But the circle wasn't complete. Not until this past Sunday when the Seahawks got a second chance to win the game they were supposed to win, should have won, eight years ago.

And while I'm excited and happy for our geographically challenged Seahawks friend, Steve. I feel a loss that my Stevie wasn't here to cheer and scream for his friend's team. The blogging they would have done! So I'm writing it for my Stevie. For our friend, Steve.

St. Ides, this is for you. We've come full circle now. Congrats.

Love Don't Die - The Fray

If I know one thing, that's true
It ain't what you say, it's what you do
And you don't say much, yeah, that's true
But I listen when you do

A thousand years go by
But love don't die

If I know one thing, that's true
It's that I'm never leaving you
And you don't say much, yeah, that's true
But I lose it when you do

Don't let them tell no lie
Love don't die

No matter where we go
Or even if we don't
And even if they try
They'll never take my body from your side
Love don't die

If there is one thing, that's true
It's not what I say, it's what I do
And I say too much, yeah, that's true
So just listen to what I do

A thousand years go by
But love don't die

No matter where we go
Or even if we don't
And even if they try
They'll never take my body from your side
Love don't die

She can break it up
She can burn it down
You can box it in
Bury it in the ground
You can close it off
And turn it away
Try to keep it down,
Six feet in the ground

But love don't die

No matter where we go
Or even if we don't
And even if they try
They'll never take my body from your side
Love don't die

No matter where we go
Or even if we don't
I’d like to watch them try
They'll never take my body from your side
Love don't die

On Writing

“You try to tell yourself that you’ve been lucky, most incredibly lucky, and usually that works because it’s true. Sometimes it doesn’t work, that’s all. Then you cry.”

—  On Writing - Stephen King 

4 birthdays, 51 Years, and Thousands of Miles

Maggie: He's dead and I'm alive.

Jim: That's what I'd keep in mind.

- "Election Night, Part 2" - The Newsroom


Steve's first birthday after his death, I went to Venice, Italy. It was the last vacation Steve and I had planned, with hotel and plane tickets already booked and bought. His birthday was a mere two months after his death. Terrified if I stayed home I would harm myself, knowing Steve would want me to enjoy life and move forward, believing I needed to at least try and move forward even if I was still widow-fogged most days - I changed his ticket over to a friend and away we went anyway.

That trip I can only see in my memory as snapshots through a haze. I know I was hysterical. Not always in the funny sense but in the "unmanageable emotional excess" sense. Everything was, emotionally, to the extreme. I laughed inappropriately, I cried unstoppably, I fell down stairs, I forgot things, I couldn't figure out how to get into buildings. I sat in quiet moments trying to imagine what we'd have been doing at that moment in that place then I tried to go do all those things. I failed. It wasn't the success or failure that was important, and I knew it. It was the trying that mattered. But I didn't do it alone and we muddled through, hysterical laughter and all. In the end, going to Venice was the best decision I could have made. I'm proud of myself for having braved moving forward through my pain.

The following year I wanted to leave the country again. It felt right in my soul, to travel back to Italy. And, honestly, I couldn't think of anywhere else to spend the time. So I asked my remaining friends if they'd like to go but the time away and expense made it impossible. My father had died that summer and as Steve's birthday approached, I felt trapped in a pressure cooker. Only in a total panic, a month before Steve's birthday, was I able to make the commando decision to travel alone when I booked my trip to Florence, Italy.

I had never gone on vacation alone before, let alone in a foreign country. But I gave myself over to the experience and enjoyed my travels in ways I could never have imagined. I walked the city streets from 8 am to well after midnight. I explored museums, estates, and gardens the like that are only available in Europe. I drank copious amounts of red wine, ate miles of fresh pasta, learned to drink cappuccino only in the mornings and espresso only after dinner. In Florence, I found my strength again. And, being Florence, I found beauty again. The pure joy of finding strength and beauty refreshed my soul.

The third time his birthday rolled around Steve would have been fifty, a landmark year. A month later would have been our tenth wedding anniversary. I chose to move my annual Steve's-dead-travel-to-Italy-trip back a month, and booked myself to visit Rome. This time I was able to book months ahead and, though would have enjoyed traveling with a companion, didn't flinch at the idea of traveling alone.

But a complication arose between booking the trip and leaving. I met the Piper. And though I was constantly battling feelings that I was a adulteress whore for "cheating" on my dead husband, it was becoming clear to me I was in love. My trip was marked by visiting Roman ruins, and running back to the hotel to Skype. Visiting the Vatican, and running back to the hotel to Skype. Drinking from the aqueducts, eating gelato, visiting museums,  resisting the urge to jump into Trevi Fountain, and running back to the hotel to Skype.

I went to dinner the night of my wedding anniversary, looking over Rome's city lights, and came to peace with removing my wedding band from my hand. And when I returned home from my trip, I had someone special waiting for me. I was ready.

This is the fourth birthday of Steve's since his death. I'm not in Italy. I'm not going to Italy next month. I'm not traveling again until my honeymoon in May, when I'll be traveling with the Piper. We'll be traveling to Spain when we go.

But last night, because the night before an event is when I'm at my weakest, my Piper did something beautiful. After we tucked the girls in bed, he turned down the lights and presented me with a cupcake lit with a birthday candle. He suggested I make a wish for Steve, blow, and then share a special Steve memory. One of my favorites. And that's what we did. Together. I spoke of Steve, our life and love. And my piper sat with a smile absorbing every word.

I'm not in Italy this year. And instead of eating alone at a fancy restaurant, I'll be running kids to swim practice and fitting meals in between trips. I'll be checking homework and reminding everyone to do their chores. I will be yelling at dogs to quit chewing each other's faces off and trying to fold laundry. It will be pure mayhem. And I will love very minute of it.

Today my husband would have been fifty-one. Today I am thirty-nine. Today is so completely different than yesterday.

Happy birthday, my love.

Spouse Bereavement Leave (Initiative to Amend the FMLA)

Spouse Bereavement Leave (Initiative to Amend the FMLA)

I was "lucky" when my husband, Steve, died in that I didn't work. If I had, I would have been given the mandated three days bereavement leave before being expected to return to work. If I had any vacation time, my supervisors may have been gracious enough to allow me to use it at that time. Once all my vacation time and three days bereavement were used up, they could demand my return to work or fire me with cause. And a firing with cause? That can keep a person from being granted unemployment benefits.

What about FMLA? It's set up so a worker can take up to twelve weeks of unpaid leave, without losing his or her job. But only for the following instances:

• for the birth and care of a newborn child
• for placement with the employee of a child for adoption or foster care;
• to care for an immediate family member with a serious health condition;
• to take medical leave because of a serious health condition; or
• to care for an injured service member in the family

Notice what isn't in there? No additional bereavement time for death of a spouse or a child. 

Steve died out of state. It took four days for his body to be returned to Richmond, Va.Would I have been expected to work some of those days so I could attend his funeral? What about the three days his body was in Richmond, Va and I was making funeral arrangements? Arrangements for friends and family to come in for their last goodbyes? What about the two days of viewing and the funeral itself? Would I have had to return to the office the day after my husband's funeral? The day OF his funeral?

I don't know how much time is enough time before someone can reasonably be expected back at work. I DO know three days aren't enough. Not everyone can afford to take twelve weeks of unpaid time off from work when the catastrophic happens. But they should have the right to do so.

A petition is underway to have Congress amend FMLA to include the death of a spouse. To allow widow/ers to take twelve weeks unpaid leave without losing their jobs. I don't know that twelve weeks is enough time. But it's what we're asking. Please sign the petition and send letters to your delegates. God forbid you or any you know have need of this amendment. Please help put it in place in case you do.

 Sign Petition

The First Thing We Do, Let's Kill All the Lawyers

"...if what happened to her happened to you, you'd kill yourself for the rest of your life. You would sit in the middle of a room and cry forever."

- The Newsroom "The First Thing We Do, Let's Kill All the Lawyers"

"Arnold and the Cherubs" from Steve

I've been going through Steve's writings recently. I always loved hearing stories about growing up in New York, about his childhood, his coming of age. Those stories that are different than my own but somehow ring true to a part of me and my stories. Because, in the end, we are all just a collection of stories of our own making.

It's rare we get a chance to go back to those youthful moments that help form who we become and the people that shared those times with us. Steve was given one of those rare and precious chances. And while I had heard these stories from him before, I love reading this version of those stories. Because they had changed, just as he had.

I'm glad he got that rare chance to revisit his past. I'm glad he knew I was his biggest fan. I'm glad he got to play with the band again. I'm glad to have shared the journey with him.

"Life will fuck with your head but life will give you chances at redemption right until the glorious end."- Stephen DeRose

August 3, 2009

In 1981, when I was 18 years old, the United States had a population of 229 million people, and there was a 5.8% chance that you would be a victim of a violent crime. The median household income in 1981 was a little over $19,000.00 per year while unemployment sat at 7.9%. As the year started, a first class postage stamp cost 15 cents but by year’s end that number would jump to 17 cents. In 1981 the Oakland Raiders defeated the Philadelphia Eagles 21 – 10 in the Super Bowl, and the Los Angeles Dodgers defeated the New York Yankees 4 – 2 in the World Series. The Boston Celtics ruled the NBA while the New York Islanders were in the midst of their dynasty. In 1981 the record of the year was “Sailing” by Christopher Cross, while the best picture was awarded to “Ordinary People”. A new form of television entertainment debuted in 1981 called “Music Television” or “MTV” which played videos: recorded visual performances that sometimes went along with the lyrics of the song. In 1981 Sandra Day O’Connor became the first woman to be nominated to, and subsequently serve on the Supreme Court of the United States. IBM introduced its PC in 1981 which ran an operating system called DOS, written by a small Seattle based Software Company called Microsoft. In 1981, AIDS, which would become the scourge of a generation, was first identified. In 1981 Ronald Wilson Reagan was sworn in as the 40th president of the US and if you were 18 years old in 1981 that prospect scared the shit out of you.

In 1981, with their world and the music of their generation making less and less sense, a group of NYU pre-med students got together with some of their friends and formed a band dedicated to the music of the 1960s. For one seemingly endless summer, Arnold and the Cherubs from Commack New York met, practiced, drank, and reasonably replicated the music of The Doors, Steppenwolf, and The Animals amongst others. The band featured the amazing Lenny Stote on bass, guitar, keyboards, pretty much anything that made a musical sound, and lead vocals. Mark Garobedian, from Commack by way of the Chemistry lab at NYU was the drummer extraordinaire. Tim Salenger, a lanky rich kid who seemed to be able to channel Ray Manzarak, played a genuine Farfisa Organ attached to a rotating Leslie speaker set. On rhythm guitar, piano and vocals was Rich Perez, a brilliant musician, vocalist and songwriter who loved (in order) The Beatles, chicks, beer, and tacos. Rounding out the group on lead guitar and vocals was a stocky foul mouth from Long Island City, NY named Steve DeRose, who sang and played a Montoya Les Paul copy through an Electro-Harmonix Muff Fuzz and a Sun amp. I was poor and from the streets. My band mates were not.

The spring and summer of 1981 was my time. I so desperately wanted out of Long Island City and I so much wanted to be a musician. I saw the band from Commack as a gateway into the world I wanted to be a part of. Every week I would travel out to “the island” (as we city folk called Nassau and Suffolk counties) and lived my dream: we were a really good rock band. We had girls hanging with us. We’d go to the clubs in Huntington as a band, and drink and socialize as a band. We’d watch other bands play: I remember a night at club called The Salty Dog watching a favorite band called Kivetski, who billed themselves as “New York’s Number One Sixties Band”. Mark Garobedian and I were up front when the lead singer reached down and shook our hands. Mark repaid this kind gesture with a two handed stroking maneuver extending from his crotch. I extended my hands, palms up and pointing in the general direction of Mark’s gesture as if to say “Look at the size of THIS”. Kivetski was the band we modeled ourselves on: we were “New York’s Number Two Sixties Band”.

We were all 18 and 19 years old and life hadn’t fucked with our heads quite yet. I still believed that I could be a rock star; I was still so innocent and naive. The Cherubs gave me the first glimpse of the lifestyle, and I’m not talking about sex or drugs or even money. I’m talking about being part of something. We grew together, and the band became the fulcrum of our shared experience. When we showed up at a bar or club, it was us, we, Arnold and the Cherubs, and the bars of Huntington New York were ours. And when one of us had an idea… One night, after several hours of drinking at Huntington’s “Artful Dodger”, Lenny Stote stood up all wild eyed and suggested “Hey, you want to go see Billy Joel’s house?” This seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea, so we all piled into Lenny’s car, and all I can tell you about that car was it was really small. We were five young drunk adults crammed into a car that could uncomfortably seat four, and we were headed down the back roads of the northern shore of Long Island at some ungodly speed. Lenny was barely making the curves, and Mark was on my lap in the back seat and we were screaming. Wait, let me explain that. Mark was on my lap because there were two others crammed into the back seat with us, and we were screaming because we honestly thought we were about to die. The funny thing is I wasn’t really afraid, but I wanted to make sure my soul was at peace so I decided to tell Mark that I loved him. Or rather, screamed it at the top of my lungs. Mark screamed back “I love you too!”

Souls in order? Check.

When we got to Billy Joel’s house we stood in awe staring at... an 8 to 10 foot wall. Somewhere on the other side was a house and we conjectured who Billy might have in there with him (the names Joni Mitchell and Carly Simon were tossed around. Hey, it was 1981). It was then I noticed that Rich Perez was a few feet to my right peeing on Billy Joel’s wall. I glanced away from Rich, where about 30 feet down wind stood Lenny Stote, peeing on the far left end of the wall. Surprisingly I quickly over came my personal pee shyness, took a position to the left of Rich and began making a giant “S” on my section. Tim and Mark quickly figured out what was happening and filled the gap between where I stood and where Lenny was finishing up. And this became the night that Arnold and the Cherubs, my band, pissed on Billy Joel’s wall.

The summer of 1981 was the first time I truly fell in love. I met Linda Michos in the spring at NYU, and at age 22 from East Meadow New York she was everything I wanted in a girlfriend: funny, beautiful, suburban, and blessed with the singing voice of an angel. Oh, I should mention that she was completely uninterested in dating me, and by dating I mean... well, you figure it out. She once had a relationship with Mark’s brother Michael, and was involved with a guy who really didn’t seem all that interested in her. But none of that should have mattered because I was involved with someone who I had been dating for over a year. Lin and I hung out together at school, a lot, and became close friends. When my girlfriend left to spend the summer in France and Lin’s boyfriend left her to move out west, we grew closer still. Although we saw each other every weekend, we never grew closer than a stolen kiss once after the sunset at Jones Beach (queue the song “One Summer Night” here).

The band practiced throughout the summer and by the end of August we were ready to gig. We set up an audition at Genie’s Pub, a bar that was located in a strip mall on Jericho Turnpike, and took the stage to play 5 songs. I remember several things about that day. First, the pub had a real sound system and we never sounded better. We also had never played through a real sound system. Go figure. Second, I had caught a cold and was not in good voice. When we played “Hang on Sloopy”, and I got to the second line “…and everybody yeah tries to put my Sloopy down”, my voice totally cracked on “everybody”. Third, Linda wasn’t there much to my dismay. My one shot to use my status as a rock star to impress her was gone, but I was sure there would be others. Fourth, from the stage I was flirting with some of the girls in the audience when it occurred to me that (a) they probably have boyfriends, (b) their boyfriends might be the jealous type like I was, and (c) this bar is pretty nasty: I’ll probably lose. After that I stuck to my playlist. The audition was a success and the pub wanted to hire us, but it was nearly September and although I wasn’t aware of it, the season was changing before my eyes.

In September of 1981, Lenny Stote’s father passed away unexpectedly. Lenny, the most talent musician I have ever played with, could no longer devote his time to the band. He was heading to the State University of New York in Fredonia, just outside of Buffalo. A few weeks after Lenny’s dad died, Rich Perez’s father passed away. Rich was devastated. Mark Garobedian was transferring to Colgate University and would no longer be across from me in Chemistry lab at NYU. I said goodbye to my drummer, who I knew someday would be a terrific doctor. Tim Salenger was Mark’s friend and I don’t remember what happened with him. I imagine Tim went back to Northern Jersey, to his life and school, and continued on his path to surely become something great. And sometime around the first week of September, just a few days before my 19th birthday Linda Michos told me she was heading west to reconnect with her boyfriend. For the first time in my life I understood what heartbreak was. We decided to have one official date before she left, so I put on these ridiculous white shoes that belonged to my brother Vinnie and took her to see Kansas play at the Palladium Theater in New York City. It was her first concert ever. Afterwards we went to the Burger King on Queens Blvd, next to the Golden-Q Billiard Emporium, and had dinner in my dad’s blue Chevy Malibu. Lin took her sneakers off and put her feet up on the dashboard, and we laughed as her feet fogged up a little section of the windshield. I drove her home to East Meadow, and for the second time in our relationship we stole one last kiss, this time in a schoolyard playground around the corner from her house. And then Linda was gone. Several days later on my birthday I waited for a phone call that never came. My mom, who was always more perceptive than I ever gave her credit for, came up to me at one point and whispered “You didn’t get what you wanted for your birthday, did you?” 19 would be the last birthday party my parents ever threw for me.

I stayed friends with Rich Perez for a while, and we gigged together as a duet, but I was terribly jealous of him. Rich was such a good songwriter, and such a good singer, and he was so handsome: Rich had girls lining up to be with him. I let my jealousy ruin our friendship. I wish I could find him and tell him how sorry I am about that, and how brilliant I thought he was. I’ve looked for Rich online, but there are so many Richard Perez’s out there. I have yet to find him.

Tim Salenger disappeared from my life too. I remember hanging out at Tim’s place in New Jersey, swimming in his in-ground swimming pool, and listening to this new band he and his friends were into called U-2. I remember thinking “this is the first new band I’ve heard that I like”. You know that night at the “Salty Dog” that I wrote about earlier? Later that evening I overheard Tim say to Mark “Watching these guys play makes me realize how good Steve is”. I never told anyone that story, but I’ll tell you now that it made my night and then some. Tim was a good guy and although we were never close, I wish I could tell him how much I appreciated him letting me into his world for that brief summer.

Lenny Stote in about every way was the most amazing musician I have known. He was brilliant and over the top funny. Once at a restaurant called “Chicago’s”, the band sat drinking much beer and eating much deep dish pizza when Lenny noticed that someone’s (I think Tim’s) beer mug was a little low. In a booming medieval voice, he boldly announced “NO EMPTY GLASSES AT LENNY’S TABLE”, and proceeded to pound his fist on said table. This percussive downward blow sent two full pitchers of beer skyward, soaking the four other band members and several tables around us, and Lenny sat there smiling, admiring what he had done. A few weeks ago I found a Lenny Stote on FaceBook and sent him a private message, but I never received a reply. I always wanted to be close friends with Lenny, but I’m not sure he knew that. I miss Lenny, and wish I could thank him as well and tell him what the summer of 1981 with the band meant to me. Really, I think I’d just like to have one more beer at Lenny’s table.

Linda Michos returned to New York after things didn’t go so well out west with her boyfriend. She called one afternoon to tell me she was home and I was so happy. We got together that weekend, and for the next year and a half dated as friends. But Lin never fell in love with me, and I never fell out of love with her. There were no more stolen kisses to be had. One evening as we sat outside her home in my father’s blue Malibu, I told her I couldn’t see her any more. It just hurt too damn much. We both cried, and then Lin was gone for good. For me, it was the first time I had walked away from someone I didn’t want to walk away from, and that was when I learned no matter how much you love someone it doesn’t matter one bit. You can’t make somebody feel something that they don’t. That changed me, and not in a good way: life had finally fucked with my head. Twenty seven years have passed since that night, and the feelings I had for Linda are a part of a distant memory and no longer of any relevance. But if I ever met Lin again, I’d say to her “You know, I got two good songs out of you!” It was a private joke we had between us and I’ll bet you she’d still remember that.

I guess by now you’re probably wondering why I’ve written this. About a year ago I was searching online for my old band mates when I found Dr. Mark Garobedian who had a Pediatric practice in South Hampton, NY. If you knew Mark you’d know that he was built to be a Pediatrician. I was so happy that he had made it. But two weeks ago I decided to search again, and this time I found something new about Mark: his practice was now located in Mechanicsville, VA which is about 20 minutes from where I live. I was flabbergasted. There was a number listed, and the next day I called my old drummer. Within 20 minutes he returned my call and we laughed and talked and we couldn’t believe that 28 years later we were living about 10 miles from each other: Mark had moved his family to Virginia earlier this year and he seemed genuinely ecstatic to hear from me. About the third thing he said to me was “That band had potential!” I couldn’t agree more. But the best part? About five minutes into the conversation Mark asked “Do you still play?” and I said “just for my family and myself”. So Mark goes “Well, I know this guitarist up near DC and we should get together and play” and since we spoke, every time I hear a song on the radio all I am thinking is “We could play that”.

It’s interesting to look back at those days from the perspective of time. Time can be a great teacher if you choose to be its student. I’ve always remembered the days after the summer of 1981 as the time when I dropped out of college, began drinking, and lived a lie that I never really spoke of until after the passing of my Mother. Now, I see those days as great formative years, almost cliché in most respects: the story of a teenager, his rock and roll band, and a summer love that ended as most do: with a goodbye. Today, I am married to the most perfect woman imaginable. She is bright and beautiful, and has fulfilled me in every way. And my wife, who knew Dave Matthews and once upon a time shoved him into the water fountain on the downtown mall in Charlottesville, says I am the best guitarist she’s ever heard. My dreams of being a rock star are fulfilled as well: I get to be a rock star for my audience of one, usually when she comes out of the shower and she’s putting her makeup on.

It’s easy to get caught up in one’s past. I hear that this happens all the time to guys my age. Usually they go out, get a hot young girl and a convertible and that takes care of it. So what am I supposed to do? I already have a hot young wife and a convertible. The trick is not to get caught up in your past, the trick is to see where you’ve been, look at where you are, and imagine where you want to be. And that never changes, no matter what age you are. I love where I am and how I got here, and I can’t wait to carry on this wondrous adventure, now no longer alone, with the woman of my dreams.

One night very soon Mark and I are planning to get together to (as he put it) “…eat some pasta, drink some Chianti and laugh our asses off”. I can’t tell you how excited I am to see him. I miss my old friends, all of them, who shepherded me through the 18th and 19th years of my life. And although it seemed so chaotic and traumatic back when, now through the looking glass of time and perspective those days seem so wonderfully ordinary. And one day soon don’t be surprised if my drummer and I are playing somewhere at a bar or street corner near you. We were supposed to revolutionize rock and roll, you know? Life will fuck with your head but life will give you chances at redemption right until the glorious end.

Or am I being naive?

Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we'll be alright

36 Months (Three Years)

... 36 Questions I'd Like To Ask...

1. When you got on bended knee and said "I've waited for you my whole life," what followed that? Everything becomes a blank for me except the internal dialog of "ohmygawd, ohmygawd, ohmygawd."
2. What was the conversation you had with my father when you called to ask him permission to marry me? Dad's gone now too, so I can't ask him.
3. What ever happened to that baseball card you used to carry around in your wallet?
4. What was your favorite memory of your father?
5. How old were you when your father died? I always say 20 because I can't remember your exact age.
6. What was your father's funeral like? I can't separate that story from all the shenanigans of other family funerals. I wish you'd been here to tell me about it again when my father died.
7. How did your mother react to being a widow? I never asked. It simply never occurred to me. I feel horrible I never asked her or you about that time in her life.
8. What was your favorite memory of your mother?
9. Who was it that as a toddler, tried to push your mother out of the second story window she was washing?
10. What was your earliest memory?
11. Who was your first kiss and what was that moment like?
12. Where else did you want to travel, besides Italy, in the whole wide world?
13. Did I wake you up every night when I crawled into bed and kissed the scar on your back? You always made a happy little squeak but I never knew if you were conscious of it.
14. Did it ever annoy you that when I couldn't sleep I'd drape my body over yours and then fidget for an hour before finally nodding off?
15. What is the sauce recipe? I can't remember all the parts any more and can't find where we may have written it down.
16. Should I have asked to come see your band practice? I thought I'd be in the way so I always stayed home.
17. Where is the Italian restaurant we went to after you asked me to marry you? I've looked and looked and can't find it.
18. Where did you buy Frosty Paws for the dog? I've run out and can't find them anywhere.
19. Is that extra guitar in the shed the old crappy one my father gave you or one from your childhood?
20. Why is it we never went bike riding together? It's not like we didn't have enough bikes.
21. Where are all our old e-mails from when we were dating? I know you saved them somewhere.
22. What was your favorite book?
23. What was your favorite movie? I can list several but don't know which topped the list.
    
24. What was your favorite song?
25. What was your favorite trip you took with your cousin Frank?
26. What was your favorite trip we ever took?
27. What did you do with all love notes I'd put in your lunches, especially the ones with the count down to our wedding? I know you saved them but I still haven't found the hiding spot.
28. Do you regret not spending more time with your family, the way I do?
29. Would you have thought me a nag if I had badgered you in to seeing a doctor? I always believed it was better to have less time together and be happy than to have more time together and be miserable. Now I wonder if that was a bad decision on my part.
30. What was your biggest regret in life?
31. What was your biggest joy in life?
32. If there was one thing you could do over, the same or differently, what would have it been?
33. Was there anything I kept that you would have wanted to be given to someone after you died?
34. Did you send me all those double rainbows every time I stepped outside to cry that first week after you died or was that just the over-imagination of a traumatized mind?
35.  Did I do it all the way you would have wanted?
36. Can you see me, and if so, are you proud of me?