Grieving my Husband – Page 4

One With The Force

tfm-line — In line for The Force Awakens

On Facebook tonight, I posted “Adam is one with the Force” on a lark.

I just didn’t know how prescient that would be. I won’t be giving any spoilers here, but you will see Rogue One, and you will know what I mean. And you will know the Force is real.

Seeing Rogue One by myself so soon after Adam’s death might be one of the hardest things for me, more so than the holidays, or maybe even birthdays or anniversaries. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, this was our goal through his illness… he promised he would be around to see Rogue One with me.

I forgive him for not keeping that promise. I know he tried his hardest, just as I did.

But oh, how glorious would our experience have been. I had a lame crowd because without him I chose to not go 3D. With him, I would have. Every Easter Egg, every cameo, would have delighted both of us. Fans will pick up on many of them. I can’t wait to see more of them each time.

We would have held hands because I still did that in movies with him. Shared the big popcorn and bought the giant souvenir cup of Coke to share. He would have snuck in candy. We would have squeezed our hands every time some throwback came up. I would have said “Dude, that one guy is hot!” because that’s what I do (I’m talking Diego Luna here). He would have responded “That Jyn chick isn’t so bad either.” I would have had to get up and pee halfway through, but I would have come back and Adam would have said “You didn’t miss anything.” You know why, because I am the fucking fastest pee-er in the world!

He would have loved seeing it was Alan Tudyk voicing the droid. Firefly connection!

I would have said “I hope Tsuneo Sanda does a poster with all the Rogue One characters. Then it will be our new autograph poster!” That would have excited us—a new poster goal!

We would have come home and immediately talked about when we were going back to see it.

Also, there is ONE QUOTE in the movie that would have definitely become a go-to quote in our relationship. If you know what it is, post in the comments. Up there with “Mostly” from Aliens, “Poke it with a stick,” “Hold me like you did on Naboo” and “It’s naht a tumor.”

I used to say if I believed in anything, it was the Force. I said it off-handedly because what really does that mean?

I don’t know.

But I bet Adam does.

Sindie

There are few close friends who don’t know about Sindie. Santa brought Sindie to me way back when I was 2, and he has traveled across the country with me. When I left other possessions packed up in boxes at my parents’ home, Sindie went to San Luis Obispo, Atlanta, New York and Colorado.

He’s been my comfort when I can’t have my mom … because that’s the first thing you say when you don’t know what else to do—”I want my mommy.” I have said it many times in the last three months, and I’m not ashamed. Sindie was there when Mom couldn’t be (hey Mom, you need to know, you are my No. 1 choice!).

Sindie usually holds a place in the top of my closet with various other stuffed animals from my childhood (including Brownie, Mrs. Elephant and more). When my dad died, Adam brought Sindie down to sleep with us; he knew it would help. When Adam went to rehab, and I was alone and uncertain, Sindie came back down out of the closet. When Adam died, my sister saw him and brought him down for me as well.

He hasn’t left the bed since. Now, Bixby, Sindie and I sleep in a tiny portion of a king-sized bed; huddled together for comfort.

Sindie is a boy dog … don’t be confused by his name, dammit. He’s the comfort I’ve always had with me. Once, at Cal Poly, the guys in the dorm strung him up as a joke … I’m pretty sure it was Annie and Suzanne who told them it would be a bad idea … that I wouldn’t find it funny. I didn’t. Now I sort of do because it’s a fun memory … a memory before life became too difficult.

Perhaps we all fall back to childhood when life is annihilated. When you are toasting a Pop-Tart, and you fall apart, when the reminder that Adam is not coming back crashes over you, you sort of need your stuffed dog and your real dog close beside you.

Though I would still rather have my mom.

The Song of Adam

by Kathy Curry aka “Mom”

The essence of Adam was love.

I wonder. . .

Perhaps that was his purpose, his song all along.

He just struggled to believe the song that was inside.

But oh how it showed each year he belonged.
When you stare in the face of a child
You cannot help but be blind.
What you see is what you feel and
It is pure love and joy, qualities of God
or the life force or whatever you know.

So let me tell you the story of a child named Adam.
He arrived in August the year ’73
Two weeks later than I expected or cared!
Healthy and happy and oh so adored.
This is truly when I understood, absolute, total,
Unconditional love.

What a fun child who brought many kids home.
In addition to kids his compassion surrounded snakes and
Salamanders and puppies and kitties to name just a few;
And even a frog he saved from a gun.
Froggy was fine but not Adam’s hand.

Let’s talk about music and art.
They revealed themselves early and each played their part.
Piano was first. He learned to read music and he practiced his notes.
It was Eunice his teacher who helped him excel.
It was on to the saxophone that he loved so much more.
It was jazz in college he could not ignore.
Let’s not forget he was vocal as well and loved to sing and perform.

Then there was art for he always did draw.
It started with Transformers when very young and moved on from there.
He did faces and hands and still-lifes galore.
In college he found clay and combined it with music
To make drums so creative and artistic and more.

He met many artists along the way.
He helped produce Clayfest in Colorado of course.
This was the home of Wicca and all things quite different.
He fit right in!

It was here artists performed to make interesting things, some tall, some short, some fun some funny. All this for prizes they won when done!
Clay things were attached to trees or other things just on a lark.
Kids and adults were introduced to this art
and all were allowed to play and create right there in the park.

My only regret is I never got to do pot throwing with him at my side.
The trick of this contest: two persons, one pot.
Each of us only one hand was allotted!
Clearly he knew this talent not mine
but oh how I wanted to try!

It was summer 97 to Colorado he came.
He was without work and a college degree in his hand.
I promised a job so he landed with me.
He came with his cat and his iguana as well.
Oh we had fun discovering the trails.
Much hiking and skiing for a time we did have.

.A Star Wars Wedding did occur
In a galaxy not far away
It was called Divide
In the year 2005
Where the Jedi Council and Laura’s father did consult
And did allow this union of Laura and Adam to be!
Many friends came to celebrate and cheer
These two so loved and adored and dear.

He tried several things to develop and use the artistic talents he so longed to prove.
Working for mom was not long in his sights.
His crowning delight was his time with
The Olympics – Graphic Design Manager was his fate.
He spent 6 weeks in Beijing in 2008.
His design for the USA House was totally cool.
Used by the athletes and sponsors and friends and oh did they drool.
Of this accomplishment he did say:
“I’ve never been more proud of a project before or since.”

His own company he formed, Gas Giant Design.
Many a graphic he did create
and so to some websites ever so fine.
He taught graphic design at a local college and
Helped launch others into this line.

As we bid our farewells and say our goodbyes
I wish you to know what a good man he was
He was gentle and kind and compassionate beyond words.
He was smart and so talented and many gifts he did bring.
But alcohol grabbed him and got him when he was quite young.
No, he was not lazy and he did not lack drive.
This disease did entrap him, his brain it attacked.
For it robs and steals all that naturally feels good.

We’ve lost a son, a brother, a nephew, a cousin and a husband and friend.
Would that he knew all the Good that he was.
Would that he could have just one last do over.
How surreal this does feel to read all these words.
But lucky we feel to have known this fine man and to witness
The friends that came to his side.
I remember your names and your faces besides.
He was well loved
And his disease he did hide.

So let us remember the man we call Adam
His song is still singing
If we listen we’ll know
His love is still showing
Just look all around.
He gave what he could for as long as he could.

Now it us, who must carry his song.
Let’s not let alcohol kill yet another.
Love them and lead them
Let’s hope all will see the damage it does
To me and to thee.

“Go Forth and Prosper” Adam might say
Or perhaps it would be, “Do or do not,, there is no try”!\

Thank you, Kathy …

The Loss of the Middle

I think a lot lately about one of Richard Bach’s books. I can’t remember if it was Bridge Across Forever or not. But the female protagonist talks about how the male always wants to stay in the “beginning” of the relationship. That many are like that; they move from person to person to keep finding the spark and excitement of a beginning. And like a symphony, they never reach the beautiful middle of the symphony.

I am a middle person. I think Adam was, too. Those early days/months, maybe even years of “beginning passion” that you live in for awhile, are not what I hold dear about our life together. They are fun, sure, but they are distant memories when it comes to Adam because it was the least important time in our lives. It’s like the quote I mentioned in a previous blog—how true love is not gazing into each other’s eyes, but looking in the same direction. It’s the partnership that I miss. People talk about “keeping the romance” in the relationship. Whatever. The romance is in the everyday things; it’s wherever you want to look.

I remember our first Super Bowl together. We got a ton of junk food and spent it at his apartment in the attic on Wood Avenue. I ate too much and got that sick feeling and had to use the bathroom…and I was in there for a while. I was mortified as this was only three months into our relationship and of course I didn’t poop! Adam came to check on me. Even more mortified.

That’s not romance to me, pretending you don’t poop. You know what is? Leaving the bathroom and telling Adam, “You should have seen the size of the poop I just took.” Then there’s laughter and Adam saying “I love you so much.” Love was laughing at farts … because if you don’t think farts are funny, who are you? Love was laughing at bathroom mishaps (oh like you have never had one as an adult!). I’m probably shocking someone right now. Love was one of us going to sleep in the other room because the other was snoring and not being offended.

The kisses we shared in the 17th year of our relationship didn’t have the same fire they did in the first year. But they were better. The one millionth time he said he loved me was better than the first time.

Romance was the fact that we had no jealously between us. We weren’t worried about always reassuring each other. He would often go out with friends downtown without me. That was fine with me. I would go to events for nine days with figure skating and we’d talk maybe three times. We didn’t need to always speak. I had a favorite work-husband … you know who you are, Greg … and there wasn’t any need to worry that I went to lunch every day with him. Adam and I were confident in our love.

The lonely road ahead, with a dog on the side

I wasn’t perfect in our relationship. Adam didn’t do well with sarcasm, I failed to realize that, and I hurt him a lot with what I thought was humor. I had a tendency to shut down when I was angry. But I also wasn’t afraid to talk about anything.

The reason I know Adam had a disease was because he lived life fearlessly … except when it came to alcohol. We didn’t lie to each other, except he couldn’t tell me the truth about alcohol. He was honest to his core, but this disease destroyed him.

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I took the dog to Sondermann Park, picked up lunch, and then realized I hadn’t looked in the mirror all day. I have no idea what I must look like.

I made it until 3 p.m. before my first cry today. The emptiness is so real. Walking Bix was hard; it always is because Adam and I would have some of our best discussions on walks. Sondermann had become our “go-to” dog walk. It wasn’t really a hike, just beautiful and uncrowded so we could let Bix run off leash. Adam loved Sondermann; I’ve found so many pics he took of Bix at the park on his phone. In fact, his phone is filled with dozens of photos of Bix and Chance over the last year. I didn’t realize how much he loved taking photos of the animals.

The dishes have piled up. The paperwork is scattered. I haven’t unpacked since last weekend. There is no motivation, excitement or anything. I did get a new audio book; another post-apocalyptic nightmare book where people just survive. Usually they try to survive for revenge. I don’t even have revenge to look forward to. I want to get drunk but the thought of alcohol makes me ill.

Fuck. This really is hell.

That Fuckin’ Tooth

Back when I was in the seventh grade, right before I was due for braces, the dreaded “bad hop” in softball nearly derailed my career.

I was playing first in a Saturday game at Sunland Park, and during warmups a ground ball skipped straight into my front teeth. I spit out the crumbs of my right front incisor, and by my memory I just walked off the field without crying. Dad was there … the game was over for me before it started.

Back at home, as we looked for a dentist who would lay out his shingle on a Saturday (yay Dr. Ellis!), I sat on a chair in the living room with some ice. Mom was beside herself; she stood between Dad and me saying how ugly it looked and that she would never let me play again. Dad stood behind her rolling his eyes in exaggeration. The two of us knew we’d be playing again. Does anyone else remember I had to spend a month walking around junior high school with half a front tooth? My sister was mortified to know me. Whatever, I didn’t care.

I’m still paying for that bad hop 35 years later. The ball broke one front tooth, which later died, received a root canal and cap … I’m sure a handful of people remember the figure skating event in Binghamton, N.Y., in about 2000 when the cap fell off! A local dentist helped me out for $50 and a set of four tickets to the International Figure Skating Challenge (incidentally, this is also where I recognized the off-ice brilliance of Katarina Witt, but that’s another story).

Anyway, the OTHER front tooth also took a hit. I don’t know what the exact issue it has, but it’s yellow from the inside (as in Crest Whitestrips won’t help). I have hated that tooth with a passion. I used to ask Adam to please use his mad Photoshop skillz to whiten it on any picture. He would say “I don’t even notice it; nobody does.” I did. I have always hated my slightly yellow tooth.

There is a point to this.

Today, I made a dentist appointment. My old dentist retired and I haven’t had a check up in a year and a half or so. This time, besides a cleaning, I asked for a cosmetic consultation. I want to fix that fucking tooth.

I am feeling enormous guilt for this. I have realized for a couple of years I put off taking care of myself a lot. I saved money, scrimped on hair and the like, because I was saving money for us. Adam was unclear what he wanted to do with his career. I wanted to support him, so I left myself out of the equation. I had holes in my underwear, stringy hair, and just put aside what I needed.

I hope you understand that I do not mean this against Adam. We make sacrifices for the good of the partnership. I have no regrets. (SEE I CREATE GUILT FOR MYSELF EVERYWHERE!)

But now, five weeks after his death, I’m fixing my tooth. I am feeling guilt for moving on and spending money on a cosmetic procedure). But as I learned at a grief and yoga workshop tonight, the symptoms of grief are many; they are not linear, they are not rational, they just ARE.

I have lost the man who thought I was beautiful despite the tooth, despite the weight I put on, despite (and maybe because of) the fact I hate shaving my legs, despite the fact that I rarely wear makeup, have no fashion sense, walk like I’m always wearing cleats, and am covered with moles and freckles. Despite the fact I do not a graceful bone or muscle in my body.

This is a panic of “who will ever love me now?”

So I’m getting my tooth fixed. At least, I will love the smile staring back at me.

Glittens, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern

img_1805-2 — I have so many pictures of Adam sleeping with his beloved “kidder” aka Chance.

It’s cold today. Snow starting to fall. I pulled out some gloves to go out … gloves I haven’t worn in a while. They are those “glittens” … you know, the gloves are cut off on the finger and then the top comes over onto your fingers for the mitten part.

These glittens are old. I remember buying them for figure skating events, so I could type when needed by the rink and then cover up for warmth. I specifically remember having them rinkside at some sectional championship, pre-Ice Network, when we were creating a fledgling live stream network. It might have been one of my last years at skating, and I traveled a lot due to our video plans. I remember that rink, where I sat, how cold it was, these gloves … and the times I called Adam so frustrated with how things weren’t working correctly. He would listen, offer technical advice, soothe me.

I don’t know why I thought of this. Maybe it was because today I couldn’t get our printer online at home. Or maybe because the microwave went totally on the fritz. He’s no longer here to solve those problems. I need a new microwave I think. He would have been on Amazon buying one already (gleeful for the excuse to buy a new gadget). The driveway will never be shoveled again. I’ll just park on the sidewalk until it melts. It’s not that I can’t solve these problems by myself. It’s that I don’t want to. That’s what a partnership was about.

It’s been a disastrous 24 hours. Once again, my small step forward resulted in a huge setback I am trying to remember that I did the right thing by reaching out to friends, who just gave me tea and hugs, and a place for Bixby to play.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m failing. Writing this blog with a subtitle that says “Fighting Through Grief,” yet I feel completely crushed. I’m on a couple of forums for widows, and I realize that every day a new member comes on board. I want to help them deal with those first days, but then I feel like a fraud because I’m a mess, too.

The hatred of seeing happy people can be overwhelming at times. The fact that there are horrid people living and smiling. The self-pity of “Why me?” The belief that this was karma hitting me because I was the golden girl … I always won. I got the award, I got into the right college, I got the job. I got the man, the sweet, sweet man. So there you go, life says … fuck you, you are done now. It’s over. No more wins for you. You ultimately failed to save the man you loved.

Bixby and I took a walk last night. I thought about what Adam was missing.

The night sky is the same. The sunsets are the same. The trees, the snow, it’s all the same, you aren’t missing that, my love. The TV shows are the same, the books are the same, work is the same, politics are the same.

But you are missing everything nonetheless. While walking, I thought of one my favorite passages from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead by Tom Stoppard. Read it or just watch Gary Oldman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LYDKs480UA (first three minutes)

“Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with the lid on it? Nor do I really. Silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box. One keeps forgetting to take into account that one is dead. Which should make all the difference. Shouldn’t it? I mean, you’d never know you were in a box would you? It would be just like you were asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you. Not without any air. You’d wake up dead for a start and then where would you be? In a box. That’s the bit I don’t like, frankly. That’s why I don’t think of it. Because you’d be helpless wouldn’t you? Stuffed in a box like that. I mean, you’d be in there forever. Even taking into account the fact that you’re dead. It isn’t a pleasant thought. Especially if you’re dead, really. Ask yourself: if I asked you straight off I’m going to stuff you in this box now – would you rather to be alive or dead? Naturally you’d prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You’d have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking, well, at least I’m not dead. In a minute, somebody’s going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out. (knocks) “Hey you! What’s your name? Come out of there!”

Because Adam is not out there missing anything. He’s not alive in a box waiting to get out. It is us missing him, us sad that he is missing this. He’s missing my ability to love him … even though he hid so much, he wasn’t perfect, he struggled, he hid pain. I kept loving him regardless. That love is now an ocean of grief, just like all those cliches say it is.

You are missing this, Adam. You never get to laugh when Arthur says “Here’s Excalibur for you” in a goofball voice; when Samuel Jackson gets eaten by a shark in the middle of a speech; when Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson keep saying “on the line;” when Marshall Bell says “We’re all gonna die!” when Padme says “Hold me like you did on Naboo;” when I make up songs about housework; when I create new nicknames for the pets. I’ll never give in and watch Johnny Dangerously with you again.

I leave all my readers these words of warning: If there is something you haven’t said to your loved one, do it now. If there is something you guys have been meaning to do, do it now. Don’t leave the house angry. Always say I love you. I realize they are things you have been told a million times, but maybe you will listen because it’s coming from me. You are a fool to worry about “things.” None of it matters a goddamn bit. It’s only just people you love.

The last thousand words Adam and I said to each other were almost all “I love you.” This is what I hang on to. We knew.

Farewell, Central City

1024px-heber_hord_house_1 — The Hord House, as it is known, was the house the Currys lived in while we were together. I loved this place.

Central City, Nebraska.

Who would have thought that a town with a population of 3,000 would become a second home to this girl from Los Angeles?

Well, it did.

Back in 1999, Adam and I had been dating for two weeks when he mentioned to his dad that he had met someone. His dad said “bring her home for Thanksgiving.” Adam jokingly asked if I wanted to come. I had no other plans, so I said “sure.” Now, Adam was really stuck! He didn’t think I’d say yes.

But I did, and on that eight-hour drive, Adam and I discussed our histories, our past loves, our beliefs, our dreams. When we arrived at the Hord House, (yes, it has its own Wikipedia page) where Adam’s dad and stepmom, Bev, lived, I was amazed. It was right in the center of this tiny town, a gorgeous house listed as an historic place. It wasn’t the house Adam spent his childhood years in; I don’t think they moved there until late high school/college. We laughed that two weeks into the relationship we were immediately put into the same bedroom. 🙂

Over the next 15 years, we went back for various Thanksgivings, Christmases and fourth of Julys. I was entranced by small town America (as a place to visit, that is). There were ice cream socials, county keg parties (the Fireman’s Ball), and an awesome Christmas parade where they threw candy at the crowd! I was all over this. In fact, one Thanksgiving I was invited to be a float judge for the parade. Adam said he thinks they were a little overwhelmed with how seriously I took it … I mean, I took copious notes and explained my reasoning.

I met amazing people… the Ryans and the Websters come to mind. The house was right next to the Lincoln Manor steak house, where we always ate at least once per trip! At Woody’s Bar, a local once pointed at Adam’s eyebrow ring and said, I quote, “Jesus Christ, did that hurt?” in a country twang.

state_theater_central_city_nebraska_from_se_1 — I remember seeing the very terrible “The World is Not Enough” at the State theater in Central City.

I went to fireworks at the football stadium, walked in the dry Platte River bed, took Bailey out to the Ryan’s farm, where we learned she was a herding dog as she went after some cattle. Meka used to make himself at home on the nice furniture at the Hord (Curry) House. I slept through the sounds of trains booming through the town nightly. We chowed down on breakfast at Waffles ‘n’ More. Adam and I would sit outside in the twilight so I could watch the fireflies; he would tell me amazing stories of his wild youth growing up in the country. We would crowd in the kitchen as Bev created magnificent meals; Adam and I would stay up late in the TV room hanging out on the recliners and be the last ones up the next day–only aroused by the smell of bacon filtering up through the back staircase. We’d walk the dogs down to the enclosed ballfields to let them run joyously free.

He showed me the schools he went to, the places he hung out. We ran across the highway to the Central City Mall … aka the grocery story, in the freezing cold to get more beer or chips or candy. We bought fireworks, and I had a blast learning how to set them off, always saying “you’ll shoot your eye out!” or “don’t stand so close!”

The long road trips gave us time to talk, to sleep, to listen to audiobooks and music. To stop and have Crisp Pinto Burritos at Amigos, and have my personal discovery of the Runza.

And so it was that the first celebration for Adam was at the United Methodist Church in Central City. It was crowded with people who watched Adam grow up, with friends and family. Ed, the man who married us, led the service. Adam’s high school music director, Clay Blackmore, led a reunion choir of Adam’s classmates to sing “For Good” from Wicked. Ed used three Yoda quotes from our wedding to talk about Adam’s life … that Adam lived without fear and made the most of his life. That he lived “do or do not” as best he could. His pastor from youth, Denny, shared memories of Adam. Adam’s mom read a moving poem she wrote about her darling son.

Ed sang “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” — a song he said was the only song he could sing when his son died at the young age of 21.

Mary put together a video of Adam’s life … it was beautiful and I hope to share it soon. We let balloons go for him. I got up to speak. I don’t remember what I said exactly because I didn’t prepare it. But it’s the message I have for all of you:

“Don’t let Adam’s life be defined by his addiction. He was such a wonderful man. I don’t know what the answer to addiction is, but I know it starts within each of us … that we have the courage to ask for help, and that we all have the compassion to give that help. I don’t want others to go through this, and I just want to give someone a chance to live, to reach one person.”

I know I also said what I really know now: I would live my life with Adam all over again, even if I knew what the ending would be; even if I knew the pain it would cause; even if I knew my life would be shattered.

Thank you, Central City. I will always remember you with love.

Grief Revelations

youngbobafett — This photo has nothing to do with the blog. This is us with Daniel Logan, who played young Boba Fett in the prequels. We got his signature on our autograph poster and he was so awesome!

Over the last few days, I have a some certain revelations and steps in my grief.

I’ve read about four books on grief since Adam died. All of them by women, a couple more story-like and based on personal experience, a couple that have been a combination of stories and tenets/steps. What I realized is that I was actually becoming confused by the consortium of stories. Was I doing this right? Was I following a good path to steer myself from “complicated grief” (yes, this is a thing…)? Am I spending too much time in one stage?

I know the only right way to grieve is my way, but these books can be confusing as you judge yourself against others with different experiences. I spoke to my therapist about this, and she told me that she was advised not to recommend grief books to grievers for about six months. The reasoning? Exactly what I was experiencing…confusion about wondering what is right and wrong. Six months or so out, she said, it’s easier for a griever to get a handle on where you are.

Thus, I decided not to read the next book on the Kindle, and at the airport, I picked up an LCD book … a Lowest Common Denominator book … which is my acronym for any mass market paperback (yes, I’m being judgmental here). I picked up “Inferno” by Dan Brown. Aside: I read the Da Vinci Code during the week up to my wedding. I was exiled to the bedroom often to rest because I was so sick I couldn’t speak.

Anyway, about 100 pages in, the writer describes Florence, Italy, in great detail, and specifically Boboli Gardens. I immediately thought “I would like to go there.” The next immediate thought is the resounding sadness that I had actually been thinking of going there with Adam. I had to rearrange those thoughts in my head. My next thought was “Well, I guess I’ll never go there, then.” I couldn’t even entertain the thought of going alone or with someone else. And … cue the tears on an airplane again.

Grief is surprising at every turn. You are hit hard with reminders of what is not to be, even though every other minute you already know your life has changed irrevocably. It’s like you know, but you still keep forgetting.

That’s two things. The third is more personal. I’m in Central City, Neb., watching football (of course) after the celebration of life today (I’ll talk about that in the next post). But last night, around the table, we talked about Adam, addiction and his illness. His dad told me that while Adam was in the Texas hospital last April, he was flat out told “If you drink one drop again, you might as well call hospice right now.”

I did not know this. This was one of my own personal bits of anguished guilt and regret, thinking that I didn’t push doctors hard enough to tell him he could never drink. But someone did, and he drank anyway.

This gave me some sense of peace. It’s hard to explain why. Maybe it’s because it seems to be greater confirmation of the fact that he had an illness that affected his ability to make rational decisions. It wasn’t about loving alcohol more than he loved me… or loving alcohol more than he loved life … but whatever was going on, he struggled with making a completely rational decision not to drink… and there is science behind it. It’s not just willpower.

From the recent Surgeon General’s report on addiction:

… substance use disorders are said to involve compromised self-control. It is not a complete loss of autonomy—addicted individuals are still accountable for their actions—but they are much less able to override the powerful drive to seek relief from withdrawal provided by alcohol or drugs. At every turn, people with addictions who try to quit find their resolve challenged. Even if they can resist drug or alcohol use for a while, at some point the constant craving triggered by the many cues in their life may erode their resolve, resulting in a return to substance use, or relapse…

I guess my thought is, I’m still trying to work my way around the guilt I feel. Even in the above paragraph, there are phrases that trigger my guilt … Adam had triggers … they were our house, our city, our friends, our routines. We probably would have needed to uproot our entire lives to help conquer this, and we were talking about it. As I’ve said, we just ran out of time.

My therapist asked why I was continuing my sobriety. I first said “it would dishonor him.” She asked me “how would it dishonor him?”

My answer finally was…”Having a drink means I no longer have to be/need to be/want to be sober. I no longer have to adjust my life willingly for the person I love. Drinking means admitting Adam is gone. That I have no one to support anymore.”

Drinking means going on with my life. Going on without Adam.

I guess I’m not there yet.

Songs in My Head

I looked for songs that had lyrics like “All the lights are on in the house because dark corners are sad” and “I have so much cheese in my refrigerator” but there aren’t any that I know of. Also, here’s a pic of Bix. 15170860_1363179543706301_5978077271499093714_n

Random songs that hit me in my grief. And you know, I am not a music nerd. But shit, these tunes are in my head all the time. It’s been one month exactly since Adam died.

The Smile Has Left Your Eyes by Asia (yeah, 80s friends, bet you haven’t heard this one in awhile!)

Wait by Alexi Murdoch (I just discovered this song and artist in a random playlist last week)

Horses are Faster by Ian Munsick

Overkill by Colin Hay (because I can’t sleep) “Ghosts appear and fade away…”

Texas Morning by Mike Nesmith (was one of my songs with Dad, so it’s hitting me now)

Of You by the Monkees (written by Nez) … because this song was a private love song I had for Adam in my head all the time. I never told him that.

Carlisle Wheeling (Conversations) by Mike Nesmith (this song is about real relationships … the middle, which I think is way better than the beginning)

Can you tell I go to Nez in sadness? Because he’s a genius.

“Forgive me my dear, if I seem preoccupied, if the razor edge of youth-filled love is gone. But we’re a both a little older, our relationship has grown, not just in how it’s shaped but how it’s shown.”

Nerd Shirts

15230742_10154724889459197_1777099154587128998_n — Adam’s all-time favorite T-shirt

Had to ask for help tonight. I needed someone to get me started on laundry and cleaning out the refrigerator, so I texted Kathy. Of course, she was here with dinner and Tom, her very handy husband!

But the most important task was moral support. My friend Laurie plans to make a quilt out of Adam’s favorite T-shirts, and I needed someone there as I picked them out. His favorite “Nerd Shirts.” I probably picked out too many, but here they are (NERDS!) in no particular order.

Blue Sun
Mal and Cobb as Calvin and Hobbes (They aim to misbehave)
Black Marc Ecko Stormtrooper motorcycle design
Stay-Puft Marshallow Man
“Blink”
Jesus as a barcode
Starfest Star Trek shirt (from our last Starfest!)
Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Klingons
Romulan Ale: Legalize It!
Spanked (I honestly don’t know what this was, a band?)
His most worn Team USA shirt (because he was so proud of his work with the USOC)
The aberrant “ou are the result of 3.8 billion years of evolutionary success. Act like it.” He had two of these because this one, ironically, came without the opening “Y.”
The design of the “Trojan Rabbit” from Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Wocka Wocka Wookie

Oddly, these are hard to part with, even though I would never wear any due to our, um, chest size difference. Lauri is planning to get flannel backing that matches the color of his Clan Currie tartan used for the wedding kilt.

Going through his closet was difficult, and I’m glad I had a friend. Every shirt, pair of shorts, pair of pants, has a memory associated with it. Also, for fuck’s sake, Adam, you absolutely refused to throw clothes away. So many. I just had to shut the closet when I was done. I’m not ready to go through this stuff yet.

Is anybody?

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