I needed to destroy something when Sheryl died, but she had me pretty well housebroken. I needed to destroy but not damage. I shaved my beard and head. When I looked in the mirror the face looking back was one of the ugliest, meanest, most stricken faces I had ever seen.
There was no funeral; we were both Anatomical Donors, so the University of Virginia took her body. When they finished, her remains would be cremated and buried on the campus. With her death some young doctors will learn the skills necessary to save others. It is such a waste to have a "traditional" funeral and just bury the body. The only purpose I see for that is to generate income for the funeral industry. "Closure" should happen before death. We should let people know that they are friends or lovers before they die. Be it a long lingering death or a sudden one, what we do and say while they live is far more important than what is said after they have left us.
Sheryl's sister Donna, our niece Jessica and a girl friend came over a few days later to clear out her clothes. They took them to the Disabled American Veteran’s thrift store. I couldn’t do it myself, but it had to be done.
I received several condolence cards and letters from the hospital staff, even her doctors. One was written on a note pad, but expressed sincere feelings. All were hand written – not form letters. Sheryl was one of their favorite patients; she never complained and always tried to cheer up the staff and other patients. Many people forget the stress that is on the staff of a cancer ward. They often could use a bit of cheering up. She would apologize whenever she required any attention other than routine medication.
One thing has improved dramatically. I had been remembering her as she was when she died, weak and emaciated; a skeleton covered with skin. That was not a comforting image. I have several pictures of her from better days and can now look at them without the overwhelming sadness; now I could remember her as she was.
I returned to driving a taxi.
Her little dog, “Booger” still missed his old routine. He thinks that everyone should lay in bed watching TV until about 9 or 10 AM, move to the living room couch for more TV, then back to the bed around 9 PM. Anyone who actually gets out of bed at 3:30 AM and then goes out the front door around 4:30 AM has to be completely nuts. He would wake up to find I’m not in the bed, and lay there barking until I came back. I don’t know if it’s that he missed me or that he was afraid of the dark. I was beginning to think it was the later. When I came home from work he would lay and growl at me - until I fixed dinner, then he was my good buddy once again. He was far worse in the days following her death. He seemed to hold me personally responsible for Sheryl's not being around anymore. He would spend most of his time hidden in the bedroom, when he came out to eat once a day he would look at me and give a low growl. He refused to go outside so I had some cleaning up to do everyday.
I had been thinking of jumping right in and dating again. I felt I had to find someone to fill the void. Then I realize it was far too early; I was not over her as I thought I was. It would be very unfair to start dating and “fall in love” again, when it would not be the woman I was with but it would be just a woman to fill the void. Would I really be in love with her, or in love with love?
Then again, how would I know when the time is right?
I was afraid I’d end up an embittered old man living alone with a bitter mean old dog.
After about six months her little dog started to forgive me. He no longer growled and snarled at me, and even started sleeping in the bed again. He began spending most of his time lying at my feet. That made it easier for me. It was bad enough losing Sheryl, but having her dog blame me for it was almost too much.
There was one consolation. Sheryl stayed in spirit. She would often ride in the car with me, even sit beside me at the bar. When I felt sorry for myself because of the loss, she would apologize again for leaving and I would tell her once again that she had nothing to apologize for. As I write this book she is often standing at my shoulder making comments.
I was sitting alone at home crying over my heartache and pain when she told me to go to the bar and watch some dancers. She rode with me and sat beside me at the bar, admonishing me for not sitting at the stage. I moved to the stage and threw a dollar to the dancer. She made me forget my troubles for a while, and Sheryl went back to the bar.
The Booger will sometimes lie at her feet by the couch.
The ancient Egyptians had no problems with this. They did not limit a person to one "soul", but endowed us with seven. Sheryl's Ka is staying near to me to help my transition from husband to widower.
Or, it could all be a figment of my imagination that I have created to cope with her death.
I was setting at the Junction Café talking to a new waitress/cook. Truthfully, I must say I was doing more looking and gazing than talking. Jessica is a very sweet, very good looking more than amply endowed corn fed country girl from Missouri. She’s only a third my age, but she does make me feel good – a trait shared by most of the women working at the Junction.
I realized that I had been feeling sorry for myself for nearly three years. Sheryl’s death had devastated me, and I had given up on life. I doubt Sheryl would have wanted that to happen.
Jessica made me think – really think – about my situation. I did not die. My wife – the only true love of my life, the whole purpose and culmination of my existence and my final destination had died.
I did not die. I still have a life. I had never given up on anything in my life, so why did I do it this time? I had always found a way to fix a bad situation.
Looking back on my life – I’m at the age where it’s nearly mandatory – I see a lot. I can honestly say “been there – done that” to a lot of situations.
The above paragraph was written over a year ago. My life has changed a little, not back to where it was or where it should be - but for the better. I feel I have a much better attitude now and my finances are looking better. I’ve lost some weight and bought some fairly decent clothes. I actually laugh now and then – something I had not done since Sheryl died. The credit has to go to some of the women at the Junction Café. That shouldn’t be surprising, as it has been common knowledge that bartenders and waitresses make exceptional (and inexpensive) shrinks.
I will add more of their pictures as I get them.
One of the reasons I like The Junction so well – besides the attractive young women – is the atmosphere. It doesn’t have a fancy decor, the tile and carpet on the floor is getting a bit shabby, as are some of the barstools. It has a friendly “lived in” appearance. The difference between The Junction and other watering holes is the employees.
I walk into The Junction, and before I get to my usual barstool my beer is on the bar. My routine is to first drink a bottle of Budweiser followed by one or two Sam Adam’s Boston Lager drafts. When the bottle of Budweiser is empty a mug of Sam Adam’s appears. Note: I am not exactly a big tipper.
If I am not having a conversation with another customer, the waitress (if not busy) will often set with me for conversation. Dancers between sets will give me a hug and a kiss and set and talk. I think part of that is that I generally don’t tell them how beautiful and sexy they are and how much I really want to get them in the sack – unless they bring up the subject themselves. I know they get tired of men putting the make on them all the time – even if it is an ego boost. Besides, I’m nearly 60 years old, and most of the dancers are in their 20s. If I were to put the make on them it wouldn’t exactly be a compliment.
In general the conversation is about current events, history or just telling anecdotes from our past. My past is considerably longer than theirs, and usually far more colorful – so often it’s me talking and them listening.
I had often seen the surviving spouse die shortly after the death of their love. I now know how it happens. Our will to live drops dramatically, and we do fall apart physically. Shortly after Sheryl’s death my arthritis became excruciatingly painful, and the affected joints had nearly locked up. My weight had shot up to over 285 pounds. When I finally broke down and saw my doctor I was diagnosed with diabetes.
I was scheduled for a total hip replacement for the left hip, and approved for replacement of the right hip and both knees with my shoulders, neck and lower back on the surgery list.
My mother in law came through again. She drove me to the hospital and picked me up when it was over. She took care of The Boogie (he gained several pounds) and dropped in on me during my recovery. The woman is a saint.
When I finally got to where I could walk around without the walker I looked at The Boogie. He was absolutely round. The little dog had noticeable rolls of fat. He was so out of shape that after walking about a block he would lay down and pant, and I would have to carry him home. Pat fed him well.
I soon had the diabetes under control and tried to lose weight. I discovered that dieting doesn’t work – it takes an attitude adjustment and life change. The Boogie also lost weight with me. I started forcing him to walk with me, cut down from three actual meals to a light breakfast and two or three light snacks a day. If he didn’t like what I fixed, he had to suffer and eat dog food.
The Boogie now looks like a Pomeranian again. I’m down (July 2005) to 230 pounds, with most of the belly gone and only small love handles. It isn’t a quick lose diet, but just a change in eating habits. I feel a lot better and think I can put off the other surgeries for a few more years. Less weight on the joints makes them feel a lot better.
Last Friday he started puking blood and had a bad case of diarrhea.
I put him in an animal hospital on Monday.
He came out of the stupor for a couple hours Tuesday, then he went bad again.
He was OK last night, but went into a stupor again.
Today I had to put him down. He didn’t recognize me, and was still in a stupor
I cried.
I know that Sheryl has been waiting for The Boogie to join her, just as The Boogie has been pining for her. Now they are together again. I kept my promise to Sheryl and continued to spoil and love her little dog.
````Another Christmas without Sheryl, and now without The Boogie. The pain is no longer as great as it once was, it’s just a small dull empty spot.
Christmas was actually pretty enjoyable.
I adopted a kitten from Tracy and it is just seven weeks old - with razor sharp claws. A little high speed ball of fur with teeth and claws. My hands, feet and ankles are covered with holes and scratches from her sneak attacks, but when she curls up by my head and purrs the pain vanishes.
12 February 2007
The little Killer Kitten is rapidly growing into a Killer Katt. She’s grown from just a few inches long to over a foot from nose to butt - no tail, just a stub. Her daddy was a wild bobcat and it shows in her personality. She knows no fear, fears no pain!
Katt acts more like a dog than a cat. She sleeps at my feet when she’s not in attack mode, and enjoys dragging my shoes around the apartment and chewing on them.
22 May 2007
I now have another Katt in my life - Katherine. She’s young - 28, I find her very attractive and fun to be with. We’re good friends, and do spend time together, but I am under no illusions that we will ever be more than good friends. I even found myself giving her advise on how to seduce a man she recently met!
That is a sign that I really do love the young woman.
16 October 2007
A personal medical update.
Several months ago a large part of the retina on my right eye detached. I had a scleral buckle procedure and it was healing nicely. The evening before what I was hoping would be my last checkup the other side of the same eye fell apart. Scar tissue from a procedure 20 years ago tore that part of the retina lose. The doc went in and removed the scar tissue and patched things up again. I’m again looking out of just one eye for awhile.
