Widow Shindig

At long last, I finally got on the list for some widow's shindig in D.C. in a couple of weeks. I would never have believed that these soirees are so exclusive. What I am most excited about is that there is actually going to be one other woman there who is my age.

Splitting Skin

The scar on my right hand is almost faded away.

Liz was with me when I slammed my hand on the windowpane in the hospital that day (Day 13). It happened in a secluded area of the hospital after I had listened to the resident surgeon go over Cindy's final CAT scan and angiogram imagery.

From the moment I took her to the ER, I was never in denial that Cindy would have some amount of brain loss. I did, however, feel extremely frustrated that no one could tell me how much deficit there would be. But, I told myself that if she lost motor function, I'd just build ramps for the house. If she lost sight, I would help her learn Braille. If she lost her short-term memory, I would leave notes all around the house for her and learn to repeat things. And I was ready to be a full-time caregiver in her rehabilitation.

But, by Day 13, hope turned to reality as I watched the surgeon point out all the dark spots in the images: "This area right here, that controls motor function. That's gone. That area over there controls hearing. That's gone." For what seemed like an hour, I made her go image by image and repeat the same things over and over. My head shook back and forth as she spoke. When the surgeon pointed to the part of her brain that controlled personality and told me that was gone too, I stopped shaking my head and asked for a moment to collect myself. I walked out of the ICU and then ran down the stairwell.

I don't know if Liz followed me, or if she happened to be in that area of the hospital. If it were up to me, I would not have wanted her to see me like that. I explained to her that the sum total of those deficits meant that Cindy was basically brain dead.

But it was the loss of the personality that hit me the hardest. Those who knew Cindy knew she had an amazing personality. I mean people who had only met her for 5 minutes never forgot her. So, when the surgeon pointed to that section of the brain, I knew Cindy was lost for good.

For 2 weeks, I had kept my cool, I kept a positive demeanor, I stayed by her bedside for 15-20 hours a day, I prayed, I prepared myself for most any outcome. I did all this even though I wanted to scream, run, break some sh*t for most of that time.

After that meeting with the surgeon, all the anger and frustration that I had repressed rose up through my body and collected itself in my right hand. I made a fist and slammed it over and over so hard on the windowsill that the skin near my knuckles split and I bled. I was about to do it again, but then I think I started yelling, and I remember Liz telling me to let it out because she knew I had been bottling up so much.

So, I look at the scar that is disappearing and it makes me sad. If it were up to me, I'd want to be branded with it forever.

Posted with LifeCast

Thanksgiving 2008

I remember vividly the day I came out to my older sister, Tricia. We were at a Chevy's Mexican restaurant with my good friend Josh, who already knew about me, and Tricia's fiancé at the time, Dom. Poor Josh had no idea that I was going to drop this bombshell to my sister over a basket of tortilla chips.

On the car ride over to Chevy's, I asked my sister some innocuous questions such as "What do you think of Janet Reno?" and "Doesn't k.d. lang have such a pretty voice?" I looked over at Josh, who was in the back seat with me, and could tell he was trying not to laugh. He then shook his head in disbelief when he saw me reading a copy of The Advocate that I had strategically hidden behind a copy of People magazine.

When I have an impulse to do something, there is no holding me back. The filter in my head disintegrates and words just come out. We were in the Chevy's maybe 10 minutes when I looked at my sister and said, "Well, I am glad you like Janet Reno because I'm gay too." After I made my announcement, my sister was like "That's fine. Are you going to get the fajitas?" Dom, on the other hand, was very quiet. Finally, I asked him point blank, "Dom, do you have any questions?" And he replied, "Oh, no. I had friends in theater in college, so I know all about it." It was at that point that I confirmed that I had the best sister in the world and she was about to marry the nicest and funniest guy.

As much as I enjoyed this moment with my sister and Dom, nothing tops the funny response my dad had when I came out to my parents a few years later. By this point, I am sure they already knew and were relieved I finally dropped all the secrets. My dad remained fairly quiet and then finally exclaimed, "What about Josh!" I laughed so hard and said, "Sorry Dad, Josh and I will always be just friends." And then he dropped it, never questioned it again, and from then on I had the best relationship ever with my parents.

I've been thinking a lot about family and how welcoming my family was with Cindy from the moment they met her. They took her into the family right away and viewed her as a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and as a wife to me. It's actually impossible to be completely despondent this Thanksgiving because I'm so lucky to have an amazing, supportive family that consists of both my blood relatives and my extended family of friends.

Disappearing Acts

Have you ever sat in a room full of people but felt that, if questioned the next day, no one in the audience would recall you being there? Or, maybe you heard something so incongruous and while you thought you were shouting at the top of your lungs to contest it, there was actually no sound emanating from your mouth? If the answer to either of these questions is yes, then you will know what it was like for me today at the 40-day memorial service organized by Cindy's family in Virginia Beach.

According to tradition, this type of service is held 40 days after a death, mirroring the period between the resurrection and ascension of Christ. About twenty of us traveled down from the Washington, DC-area to attend the service. We had no idea what to expect.

The priest began his homily talking about the importance of home, family, and marriage. When he got more specific about Cindy's life, he said that although she was not "married" and did not have a "home," she still lived a good life (apparently a home is made when a woman marries a man and has at least 1 child). During the homily, I turned to my friend and said, "Uh, didn't Cindy and I have a home?" I mean, we never had a kid, but we had 2 godchildren, a niece and a nephew, a dog, a cat, and about 11 koi fish in our pond. And, we may not have been married according to the law, but I'm pretty sure we lived like one. I mean, she often got mad at me for scratching the wood floors, for not drying off my feet before stepping onto the bath mat, and for always getting lost while driving. That's standard operating procedure for most married couples, right?

Throughout the homily, I was shaking my head left and right. This couldn't be happening to me. Why couldn't I stand up and shout, "She did have a HOME and it was with ME!" I mean I used to be a Lesbian Avenger, but here I was sitting quietly and watching my existence for the last several years get erased. These kinds of disappearing acts were a popular theme in melodramatic gay movies from the 80s, but they could not be re-occurring in this day and age, right?

I am sure the priest asked some basic questions of the family before today, but it was obvious he had no idea who I was to Cindy. I was not mentioned during the intercessions, nor was I acknowledged by the family during the part where you say "peace be with you" to your neighbors. I might as well have been a stranger who walked in off the street to sit in on the memorial service of a random person.

People tell me, "Oh Jen, don't worry. No one can take away who you were to Cindy. No one can erase the great memories you had together." But, I want more than just the mental relics. Why couldn't I have also had public and legal acknowledgment of who Cindy and I were to each other for all these years? And when it comes down to it, it's a cop out to only accept our own memories. Memories are not enough anymore. This is about a public consciousness. This is about altering our definitions of family, home, and marriage. This is about expanding the vernacular.

Purgatorio

I am sitting alone in a Jiffy Lube and Christmas music is piping in the waiting room. I never believed in Hell until this evening. So, here I am waiting for an oil change without ear phones for my iTouch. I even made a feeble attempt to convince the cashier to change the music on the radio:

JM: Would you mind switching to another station?

Lucifer (the Jiffy Lube cashier): Yes, I would.

JM: But, there's no one else here and it's so loud.

Lucifer: Why? You don't like Christmas music?

JM: Didn't we just celebrate Halloween last week?

Lucifer: Oh, come on. It will make you smile. You look like you need to smile more.

JM: I'll pay you $10 to unplug the radio.

Lucifer: Oh wait, here's a good one coming on. You like this song, don't you?

JM: Nope, no I don't. Not a fan of Bing Crosby.

. . .

The reason I am here for the oil change is because I have to drive 3 1/2 hours to Virginia Beach to 1) deliver Cindy's car to her mother and 2) to attend some 40-day church service for Cindy. I have been on edge about this event since the moment I heard about it. Unlike the funeral service, for which I planned every minuscule detail (along with Karin, Liz, Katie, and Mrs. Milko), I have had no part in the planning of this 40-day thing. I don't even know the purpose of it.

Throughout the time Cindy was in the hospital, I remained respectful of her faith even though I am not a religious person. I brought priests to her room to pray for her. I called on Catholic friends to have their churches say prayers for her. I sat for 2 hours talking to a missionary about what I needed to do to save Cindy (apparently all I needed to do was to save myself first and then it's super easy). And poor Tanya may remember the morning I woke up in a frenzy determined to locate the water from Lourdes I had buried in my house somewhere. That morning I drove frantically to the house and ripped it apart to find the tiniest vial of Lourdes water. I had the hospital priest sprinkle that water on Cindy at least 3 different times while she was in the ICU. I used to be a skeptic. But, during those horrendous two weeks, I had more faith in water than in science.

I have no idea what to expect tomorrow. I feel like the 5-year kid who doesn't want to detach from their parent's leg on their first day of school. It is going to take physical force to propel me forward. How many times do I have to say goodbye? Everyone tells me it's going to get easier, but I am sick of hearing it. It's not even Thanksgiving and I have to listen to those children singing the chorus to "Feliz Navidad?"

Eulogy Delivered at Cindy's Funeral on 10/18/2008

(Photo courtesy of Matt & Lisa)

A few people who could not attend the funeral service asked me to post the eulogy I delivered at her funeral service. I think the speech below is better received in person than on paper, but hopefully you will still get a feel for what I found special about Cindy.

Eulogy for Cindy Rono by JM

If Cindy were here right now, she would be feeling a lot of pressure to cheer up this room. Whenever she saw a somber face, her first instinct would be to go up to that person, grasp their hand with both of hers, and ask, “Can I get you something to eat? Do you want something to drink?” Or, better yet, if there was food going to waste, “Are you done eating that?” Cindy loved making people feel happy, feeding people, and caring for all. And she often said to me, “Jen, if someone is feeling sad and you don’t have the words to comfort them, just hug them, just put your hand on their shoulder, or just hold their hand.” For Cindy believed that the power of touch was all that you needed to let someone know they are not alone and that you care.

Because of my special relationship with Cindy, I was lucky enough to learn many things like this from her. Through our years together, I came to understand the various aspects of her that made her so memorable to so many people, even those who had only met her one time:

1. Cindy made everyone feel important. No matter your job or life experience, she was always genuinely curious about and interested to know you and know all about you. I remember one time we were talking to a woman at a party and Cindy asked her what she did for a living. The woman replied, “It’s not that interesting, in fact it’s a real conversation killer. I lease office supplies to companies.” But, to Cindy this was fascinating. Cindy asked her all kinds of questions and afterwards, I asked Cindy “were you just being polite?” And she was like, “No, what she does is really cool and I found out she actually leases to my company.” Cindy’s curiosity about people was genuine. And I am sure if I were to survey most of you in this room, you could also remember a time Cindy asked you a ton of questions about yourself, while also managing to never answer a question about herself—which gets me to my next recollection about Cindy:

2. Cindy put everyone else before her. I remember one time I called her during her lunch break and she was actually in her car on her way to church. Since it was not Sunday, I wondered if it was some religious holiday. But, I soon came to understand that Cindy often stopped by the church during the week to pray for others. She never prayed for her own health or her own good fortune, but only for the loved ones around her. When a co-worker was diagnosed with cancer, she went to the church and prayed for her recovery. When a friend of hers was having trouble conceiving, she went to the church and prayed for her fertility. When a friend was struggling to receive his U.S. citizenship, she went to the church and prayed for his paperwork to finally be processed. And when a family member was unwell, she went to the church and prayed for their health to improve. As most of you in this room know, Cindy was an extremely positive person and she believed that with support we could overcome any trial or tribulation—which leads me to my last example of Cindy’s spirit:

3. Cindy loved underdogs. She loved the story of the person who, when faced with life’s toughest obstacles, rose above them to the surprise of everyone around them. We’d often watch the big tennis matches on TV together and she always loved it when the lower-seeded player surprised everyone by triumphing over the more seasoned player. She loved movies where the down-on-her luck character breaks though their situation and goes on to live a happy life. And she loved the true-life tales of underdogs who, in the face of poverty or illness, were able to find joy and love in their lives. And I am sure many of us would consider Cindy Rono an underdog as well. For, we all know, she was an unsung hero who never took credit for all the work she did while on Earth.

I am going to miss Cindy Rono tremendously. She was my partner in crime, my Las Vegas partner, my Scooter partner, and a great partner in life. And I am sure if I were to ask all of you, you would also be able to remember a time that Cindy was a partner to you, an angel, a confidante, and a best friend that you will never forget. I know I will never forget her.

(Delivered 10/18/2008)

Abigail Salmon

I read Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones a couple of years ago. The novel begins with the brutal rape and murder of a fourteen-year old girl, Susie Salmon. Susie then watches from heaven as her family and friends attempt to go on with their lives. I remember as I was reading this having the hardest time sympathizing with or even understanding the character of Susie's mother, Abigail Salmon--until now.

It took me about 2 weeks, reading 3 chapters before bed each night, to get through the novel. During this time, Cindy was very annoyed with me for the impact this book had on our nocturnal routine. She kept hiding the book from my nightstand. In its place, I usually found 101 TV Guide Crossword Puzzles or Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life. I can't say I blamed her--The Lovely Bones is guaranteed to deflate anyone's erection.

In the novel, after her daughter's death, Abigail becomes further and further withdrawn from her family and friends. She goes on to have a loveless affair with the detective assigned to the case. Eventually she abandons her two children and her husband and moves to California to work in a winery. I recall griping about the Abigail character to Cindy, "There's no way a mother would abandon her two living children to work in a winery. Why isn't she out there with her husband searching for her daughter's rapist? Why is she carrying on with that boring detective? This makes no sense at all!" To which Cindy responded, "I can't wait till you are done with that book. Those bones are bustin' up my groove."

What I didn't know then was that when you suffer such an unexpected and violent loss the playbook for your life completely changes. And the person you were before that loss may not be the person you are after that loss. Foods taste different to me, certain songs I loved before now induce loathing, and people that I politely tolerated before now come across completely tiresome to me. My head throbs with the conflicting responses and I am constantly second guessing the new feelings I am experiencing. But, I don't think I can be that same exact person anymore--it would be a descent back into a life I can no longer lead because Cindy is not here on Earth. Like Abigail Salmon, I am not simply running from the past. Rather, I am rewriting the playbook at the same time I am lamenting the part of me that I can no longer be.

Earl Mertoun's Song

Throughout these past 2 months, I have had to march head first into inconceivably painful circumstances. Imagine going into your doctor's office and knowing you're due for your yearly rectal exam. Or, how about walking into a Best Buy knowing you need to return that camera, but the box has already been opened and you really don't want to pay that restocking fee. Or, better yet, boarding a cruise ship that is expected to skim the Bermuda Triangle and you forgot your Dramamine. How do you summon the strength to plow through these uncomfortable conditions?

As soon as I made the decision to dial 911 for the ambulance, I knew everything that came after that would be grueling and intolerable. But despite all this, I had to very quickly teach myself to walk like a soldier through the next weeks of my life. Stumbling half-assed through it all was not going to be an option.

Yet at 34, I still felt like a college kid. I watched MTV, I went out every weekend, I wore Pumas all the time. But as soon as I led paramedics up to our bedroom to palliate Cindy's incapacitation, I was no longer that 20-year old. I now had to make decisions that would affect someone else's life. How was this possible? I could barely decide which shirt to put on in the morning without Cindy's help.

Even after that night, I have had to charge into more unimaginable scenarios. Not one of them could I walk away from, not even today, which was my first day back at work since Cindy went into the hospital. The day itself was fine, but the evening was my downfall. I had to drive by the house to pick up the mail and the familiarity of the routine took me in a direction I had hoped to avoid. I wound up alone in our bedroom re-reading a love letter that Cindy had written me in 2002 where she quoted a favorite poem by Robert Browning: "My days were sunless and my nights were moonless . . . if you loved me not!' Even though there were no sheets on our bed and I had the heat turned off, I laid there for 2 hours. I wanted to leave sooner, but I could not rally the strength to walk into the night by myself.

There are times when I know that I HAVE to keep moving. But my body wants to reject movement that feels as though I am going to catapult myself towards a pile of rocks. My only hope is that, as the months go on, the surfaces I am propelled to soften.

Life in a Screenplay

In a few hours I go back to work. I have not been in my office since September 30th. Everything I did that day in September just swirls in my head and, even now as I write this, my head shakes in disbelief and regret.

That morning I left home early because I had a site launch that afternoon. It was my second launch that month and I was extremely proud to have completed both high-profile projects on time and on budget. I worked through lunch and hinted to my boss to throw me a party that Friday. I remember I even left work on time that night because I went to a former employer's retirement party that evening. I did not get home until 9:30pm and had minimal conversation with Cindy before going to bed.

Popular movies trick you into thinking you'll say something so profound before someone you love dies. You might think you'll hold them in your arms, tell them that you will love them forever, and even ask that they wait for you on the other side. What I did not know was that this is a luxury. In the world we live in, people talk about their sore backs, why the kitchen sink always gets clogged, and why they'll never eat Thai food two hours before bed. The last thing Cindy asked me for before the aneurysm ruptured was the batteries for her blood pressure monitor. I got out of bed, went to the kitchen, found her batteries, and then tossed them to her. Some people are given the "Beaches" script and the rest of us are given the Cassavetes scripts.

I would have been happy to at least have gotten the Jean-Pierre Jeunet screenplay.

The Epilogue of the Nurse Trees

Sometimes when I was hiking through the park, I would come upon fallen Joshua trees. The sight of these collapsed trunks were jarring at first. After all, some of these trees have toughed it out in the most inhospitable of conditions for hundreds of, if not a thousand, years. I wondered what would become of the dead Joshua trees? Would they just remain on the ground for eternity buried behind the Mojave's yucca plants? Or, would the park rangers come by and sweep out the deceased. Either possibility did not seem like an honorable ending to such a resilient tenant of nature.

When I got back to my hotel that night, I pulled out my book on desert ecology and discovered that these departed trees were in fact known as "nurse trees." Nurse trees often start out as the shelter for a smaller, slower-growing tree or plant. That's because a Joshua tree seed must be dropped in a protective location to survive. The safest site is typically within a nurse plant--a plant with many spine-tipped leaves and therefore not likely to be eaten by desert animals. As the younger trees grow and become more acclimated to the desert sun, the older nurse tree may die, trusting that its young companions can protect themselves.

However, while it may appear that the nurse trees have reached their conclusion, these trees actually continue to care for their neighbors. In fact, they are critical to the survival and propagation of other kinds of living beings. Desert wood rats, birds, squirrels, scorpions, and lizards can nest in the holes of a fallen trunk. Termites can feed on the wood, ensuring that the old tree recycles into the ecosystem. And even though the main trunk is expired, clones of the perished nurse tree can come up from the base and the tree can continue living.

When I got back from my trip to the desert, a lot of people asked me if it was difficult to be in such a beautiful place without Cindy to enjoy it with me. While I did feel some amount of sadness, I was often overwhelmed by how much the land and its inhabitants embodied her spirit. And nowhere was her strength, her compassion, and her selflessness more present than in the realm of the nurse trees.

Desert Photos Posted on Flickr

I posted my photos on flickr. Here's the direct link to the set: http://flickr.com/photos/dcjenniferm/sets/72157608886371123/.

Any picture with me in it was taken with a tiny, flexible tripod, so cut me some slack on those.

The First Widow's Club

Since my plans for a support group have been waylaid, I will not turn down any offer to casually talk to any other widows or widowers. So far I have three people in my unofficial group:

1. JL--Today I drove to Annapolis to have lunch with JL. Her husband, who was in his mid-60s, passed away from pancreatic cancer this year. She served me cold cuts for lunch and banana bread with Cool Whip for dessert. I haven't had bologna in ages so that was a real treat. Something about losing your loved one makes it hard for you to eat anything but the most basic of foods. In fact, for the first 2 weeks after the funeral, I lived off of mashed potatoes and turkey soup.

JL, is a friend's mother from high school. Although I have not seen the friend or her mom for at least 17 years, she had no reservations about extending support to me and allowing me to share my story. I was moved by her story as well and the struggles she endured while her husband was sick.

2. MC--He's my pen pal from Arizona whom I have never met in person. He is teaching me about learning to live a life with a "sweet sadness" as opposed to one with sadness and despair.

3. JP--She lives in Seattle and although I have never met her, she writes me the most helpful messages. This week she reminded me that it is okay to honor my feelings of grief and sadness, as long as I am still kind to myself.

Oftentimes, I have to write back to some of these members with questions like: "What do you mean let the emotions wash over you?" or "How I am supposed to be kind to myself when I just want to slam my hand through a window?" And, without fail, they write back right away and with an example from their own experience.

I am so grateful to these people for opening themselves up to me and holding a flash light for me as I walk through this dark cave. But, most importantly, I am slowly feeling accountable to my fellow club members. If they are doing their best to allow their emotions to be expressed, to be kind to themselves, and to enjoy each day, then who am I not to do the same?

What I Found in the Desert

There was one day when I lost the trail path during one of my hikes. I had veered off course a little to examine some interesting-looking plants and when I turned around the trail had vanished from me. While most of the trails were fairly well-marked, this one was a little tougher than the rest. I tried to look for some footprints on the sandy path, but I kept making more of my own footprints and getting confused. There were not a lot people in the park, much less on the trail I happened to be on, so I decided to sit on a rock and wait until another hiker passed by. I knew that if I tried to find the trail again, I would walk around in circles and get completely lost. So, I said to myself, "Just sit here and trust that you will be fine."

The sun was shining, the sky was this most amazing shade of blue, and I was completely alone. And I was so happy, in a way that I have not been happy in ages. I sat there for about ninety minutes just thinking, remembering Cindy and how pissed she would have been that we were lost, humming, eating salmon jerky (thank you Katie and Laura), and reading my astronomy guidebook. Eventually, I spotted a couple walking a distance away. So, I shouted over to them and asked if they could stop where they were so that I could catch up to them and get back on the trail. They were totally nice (from England in fact) and were more than happy to let me walk with them the rest of the way. During our walk down together, we spoke about the best time to visit the Lake District, why Piccadilly Circus is better than Times Square, and of course, the election and how we finally got it right after eight years.

What I found in the desert was my survival instinct. After Cindy died, I have to say I did venture into some dark thoughts and I lost my ability for a while there to visualize how to move forward. Everyone kept saying "breathe," "put one foot in front of the other," "take it one day at a time," but none of that computed in my mind. I had to somehow get back to what I knew before Cindy had the aneurysm. And being from NY and DC, I used to be pretty good at knowing how to take care of myself and survive. It was foreign to me to not know how to survive or to even want to. Surviving should be as easy as breathing, as eating when you are hungry, as going to sleep when you are tired. But when you lose someone that is your entire life, your love, your future, you temporarily lose your most fundamental instincts.

Being out in the desert, on my own, I was reminded of those instincts. I knew to not freak out when I got lost, I knew to bring 2 liters of water with me, I knew to bring warm clothes for when I reached the top. By the end of my trip, when I took a moment to reflect on it, I realized I wanted to survive and I had remembered the tools you need to employ to do it. What was once vague and lost to me was now as instinctual as putting one foot in front of the other, breathing, and getting up each day. I know there will be more times where I feel lost, but I know deep down, somewhere inside of me is a survivalist mindset and sometimes I just need to refresh my memory on how to tap into it.

JM's Desert Mix Tape

These are the tunes I've been listening to as I drive through the desert.

1. You Can't Always Get What You Want--The Rolling Stones
2. Going to California--Led Zeppelin
3. Intervention--Arcade Fire
4. Hey Jude--The Beatles
5. Hard Sun and Guaranteed--Eddie Vedder
6. Thunderbird
7. Life in Technicolor--Coldplay
8. See the Sun--Dido
9. Just Fine--Mary J. Blige
10. Born to Run--Bruce Springsteen
11. Thank You--Alanis Morissette
12. More Than a Feeling--Boston
13. Taking Chances--Celine Dion
14. Il Buono, Il Cattivo, Il Brutto
15. Alive and Kicking--Simple Minds
16. Lose Yourself--Eminen
17. I Still Haven't Found What I Am Looking For--U2
18. Take a Picture--Filter

The Nude Bomb

While I am in the desert, I can be anyone and do anything. There's really nothing holding me back. So, it should come as no surprise that I spent the entire day at a nudist spa and resort.

Before images of hippies and Renaissance Fair folk flood your minds, let me assure you that the nudists (I mean "naturalists" as they prefer to be called) I encountered were everyday people that you would never know enjoy a natural lifestyle when given the chance.

I met Richard, the son of one of the founders of the naturalist movement. He spoke to me for about an hour about the election, the economy, and the wonders of wind turbine technology.

I spoke to Devin and Carly, the married math teachers, who were here for a major math conference, but made sure to fit in time for a little naked living.

Before you think I only met self-proclaimed naturalists, I also spoke to people like Kristen who had never done this before. She is a breast cancer survivor who had a lumpectomy and a masectomy. I told Kristen that she had a great canvas there for a badass tattoo and she smiled and said that she already had something in mind.

I also met Jake, the avocado/fig/almond farmer from California. I enjoyed our conversation about the challenges facing American farmers today and the difficulty in making a living in agriculture.

Am I going to become a naturalist? Probably not. I went through an entire bottle of sunscreen in one sitting (who knew all the additional areas that you need to cover!). I'd like to say something very intellectual and profound about why I went. That it was some spiritual journey to get back to the core of things--to my natural essence. But, I'd be lying if I said that. I only went because I am never going to have a body as good as it is now so I have to make the most of it while I can. Of course, when asked what brought me there today, my fellow naked compatriots got the spiritual journey answer.

An Uphill Climb

When Cindy was in the ICU all time could do was move slow. I remember just sitting and simply watching her chest move up and down for hours on end. Everything in the hospital moved slower than expected. They said her first surgery would take 4 hours, it wound up taking 8 hours. They said the second surgery would take 90 minutes, it took 3 hours. After the surgeries, they said we had to sit and wait 14 days before she was out of the woods for spasms. And I remember just sitting in her room listening to 2 sounds: the sound from her breathing machine and the sound of the minute hand from the clock in her room.

Today at the park, I purposely chose the path with the longest incline. I've always felt that there was something meditative about moving your way up a mountain and not having to worry about the time. When I am on a steady uphill climb, time cannot pass slow enough. I never want it to end. When I was hiking up Ryan Mountain Trail today, I stopped often to look at all the trees and plants around me. I continually searched out flat rocks for which to place my trusty tripod on. I hummed the title song to "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" over and over. I said "Hello Hiker" to any person I encountered on the trail. I remembered that sometimes the slow, monotonous passage of time can be a welcome comfort.

A Stop at the Crossroads Cafe

I have had the 1993 French film, "Trois Couleurs: Bleu" by Krzysztof Kieslowski running through my head. I have seen this movie so many times, I don't even need to read the subtitles.

In this movie, Juliette Binoche plays a woman whose husband and child are killed in a car accident. Suddenly removed from any familial bonds, Juliette attempts to cut herself off from all that she knew before. She leaves her apartment, abandons most of her belongings, and ignores her old acquaintances. As the movie goes on, however, Juliette discovers that she can never truly disconnect from society. She needs to work with her friend to complete the music composition her husband never finished. She needs to help her neighbor out of a sticky situation. And she decides to help support the mistress who is pregnant with her dead husband's baby.

Since Cindy's death, I am constantly flirting with the desire to cut myself off completely from all that I knew before. It's no wonder that I took a trip to the desert. Even though I am sure that this town has a population of 3, it's impossible to completely disengage.

I actually tried to see if I could go most of the day without talking to anyone. I was not able to make it. When I sat alone at the pool today, the lifeguard solicited my advice on computer jobs. I requested more bath towels and the front desk attendant asked me if I wanted any chocolate chip cookies. And a woman was unsure of whether to get the soup or the salad with her sandwich at the Crossroads Cafe and I could not stop from shouting out across the counter: "You've got to get the artichoke heart soup, it's the best soup I've ever tasted."

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Washington National Airport

This is the earliest that I have ever gotten to the airport in a long time. If you knew Cindy you may recall that she never liked arriving at the gate with time to spare. She much preferred to squabble in the car en route to the airport, park in the premium lot since we lost our window to park in economy, sweet talk the people we needed to cut in the long security line, sprint to the gate dropping our boarding passes along the way, and shove our carry-ons underneath our feet since the overhead compartments were filled with the bags of much more relaxed passengers who arrived at airports on time.

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Dancing in the Streets

I just got back from the impromptu celebrations on the streets of Washington, DC. After President-Elect Obama was declared the winner, thousands of people took to the streets to scream, dance, clap, high-five, sing, and hug everyone.

I had never seen or experienced anything like this before. People of all different races, nationalities, and genders were joyously shouting and talking to each other. What made this scene so amazing was that this was occuring ALL over DC, not just one street or neighborhood. Nicole and I drove from Capitol Hill to Dupont Circle to Adams Morgan to K Street and, no matter where we were, there were 1000s of people celebrating outside.

As we drove down the streets, cars honked and people shouted "we did it!" and slapped my hand as they walked by my car. When Nicole and I walked to the White House, random supporters came up to hug us. In the crowds of thousands around the White House, people waved flags, cried tears of joy, and sang the Star-Spangled Banner as well as a version of Ludacris's "Get Out the Way."

What made this spectacle so amazing was that all these different types of people were so happy and hopeful. It was not just one group of people celebrating. In fact, a number of people remarked to us that they had NEVER seen this kind of unbridled joy unleashed on the streets ever before.

I know Cindy was watching this from above with Barack's grandmother and, in particular, loving all the dancing in the streets. She would have been so touched to see all the races come out together like this. I would have loved to experience this with her.

P.S. Rocky, thanks for experiencing with me another monumental event in our lives. Nicole, thanks for be willing to shout with me and dance in the car until 3:30am.


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Election Day: Vote!

I voted today for Barack Obama. Did you?

"Surely we can agree that our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters deserve to visit the person they love in the hospital and to live lives free of discrimination."

--Remarks of Senator Barack Obama: The American Promise (Democratic Convention), Denver, CO (August 28, 2008)

Jack Tripper and Me

In an odd way, my life has turned into a scene from "Three's Company." You may recall on that show the numerous pratfalls that Jack Tripper could suffer through for just a solitary scene. In any given episode it would not be uncommon for Jack to trip over a chair, drop his wine, grope a woman's breast in an attempt to break the fall, land in a man's lap, and then have his pants split open all in front of Mr. Roper. What made those types of scenes so memorable was the absurdity of all those things happening at the same time. Only in a sitcom could so many unbelievable events happen all at once, right?

This evening I definitely felt like Jack Tripper. In addition to the everyday pain I have to go through from losing my soulmate and partner, there are dozens of absurd situations I need to stumble through every minute as well. Here's a sample from just this evening in fact.

I received a letter from the life insurance company asking me to prove Cindy didn't know she had a little pre-existing condition called a brain aneurysm before they accept the claim. At the same time I am dealing with this, there's the letter from the Postal Service informing me that Cindy's mail is going to be forwarded to her mother (without her asking me first if this is what I want). Thirty minutes are then spent on the phone trying to explain to her mother WHY I might possibly want to keep receiving this mail and why this was not her decision to make. And I have to believe that if this was a sitcom that our audience would love the running gag of me having to explain to her mom for the hundredth time that Cindy was like a wife to me: "She was my wife and I was her husband--only with bigger boobs." But, what really would have had our studio audience falling down laughing in the aisles was when I attempted to remove one of our air conditioning units and upon opening the window ever so slightly, watching the unit drop 2 stories to the ground.

As I sit here comforting myself with this newfound kinship I have with Jack Tripper, I am reminded that the best jokes in life are the ones that go balls out. And at least I can say that my specific miseries are not wimpy.

(P.S. Thanks to Martha for taking my call--I knew your crisis hotline skills would come in handy. Thank you Beth Boobs for staying with me on the phone for 2 hours until I remembered how to breath again.)

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Sleeping Around

As most of you know, I've been relying on the kindness of various people to not let me sleep alone. Since the time Cindy went into the hospital, I've been crashing in friend's guestrooms, sleeping on their floors, or having actual bodies sleep in my own guestroom bed with me.

At first, I couldn't help but feel like a burden to folks. I was uncomfortable with the idea that I was disrupting people's normal sleep rituals. I hope people know this was a survival mechanism on my part. I was so afraid of being alone at night because nights have this sneaky way of seeming eternal, foreboding, and unchanging. I thought that if I was with someone who needed to go to work, feed their kid, or walk their dog that I would be safe from the night lasting forever. If I was with those types of people, then, without a doubt, the day would have to appear eventually because they'd have to do their normal routines, right? As long as I believed in this, I could survive the night and not get led into despondency.

Last night I forced myself to sleep completely alone in my house for the first time. I'd like to tell you that it was easy. I'd like to tell you that I didn't have the TV on, the radio on, and every light on in the house at the same time. I'd especially like to not mention that at many points I pleaded with Cindy to come back and even offered to switch places with her. And I wish I'd never have to divulge that at one low point I started talking to the cat in the offchance Mr. Kitty was reincarnated as Cindy.

I can't really explain all this, but it goes back to taking everything literally and needing to believe in something bigger than yourself. Before all this, I was a pessimist and a cynic. But now, if you had a hidden camera in my house, you'd see that I am staring at pennies and hoping for them to move across the desk like Patrick Swayze did in Ghost.

But the pennies never move. The cat never talks back. And I am still here on Earth and gearing up for night #2 alone.

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A Thousand Cigars

There's a part in the film "Amelie" that always stuck with me. Near the beginning of the movie, Amelie discovers behind some loose tile in her bathroom an old metal box of childhood memorabilia hidden by a boy who lived in her apartment decades ago. She resolves to track down the former owner of the box and surprise him with this treasure. Eventually she locates him and leaves the box for him in a phone booth. Upon opening the box, the old man, moved to tears, has an epiphany as long-forgotten childhood memories come flooding back.

Since the funeral, I have been trying to weed through all the stuff in the house. If you knew Cindy, you know she saved everything. And I am not sure why, but Cindy saved most of these mementos in random cigar boxes. It's possible these boxes once contained actual Dominican cigars. But, as far as I can tell, their main purpose has been to safeguard assorted items from Cindy's short, but quite entertaining life: a matchbook from the Cafe Du Lac in Amsterdam, an old Swatch watch, a 1998 dime, a photo of John Wayne Bobbitt taken at a Dominos Pizza, a grey and black pebble with a cross on it, and a sticker that says "I Saw the Flame" from the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games. These particular items pre-date my time with her. So, unless she regaled me with the stories behind these artifacts, I am left to construct my own tales of their significance.

I also come across the boxes that contain memories from our time together: a matchbook from the Palace Hotel in San Francisco where we spent one of our first nights together, her 2003 medal for completing the Las Vegas Friendship 5K (a race she decided to do on a whim at 5am--after staying up all night playing craps), a movie stub from an Almodovar movie we saw together. And, like the old man in Amelie, when I touch these items, a rush of memories flood my mind and it is almost too much for me to absorb. It is as if I am transported back in time to the origins of those remnants. When I look at the medal, I can smell the smoke of the cigarette she inhaled right before the gun went off. When I touch the matchbook from the hotel, I can recall the bright light in the lobby that forced me to wear my sunglasses inside (for which she made fun of me). And when I think about the Almodovar ticket stub, I can vividly remember our conversation about traveling to Barcelona before we got too old.

In the movie, after Amelie witnesses the impact of these mementos on the old man, she resolves from that moment on to do good things for other people. I almost feel compelled to adopt such a mission myself. And maybe the only way to dig yourself out from intense sadness and pain is to think of and care for the people around you.

Halloween 2008

I totally forgot it was Halloween yesterday until I saw about 3 Cindy McCains walking in Dupont Circle. In order to make the holiday more fair and balanced, I donned on this mask.

Don't forget to vote on Tuesday. Do you know where your polling precinct is?

Group Schmoup

So, I contacted one of the support group coordinators directly on the phone today and had to laugh after the call. I actually don't think bereavement support is rocket science, but you'd be surprised. Here's a sample of the exchange:

Grieving Widow: Hi, my name is Jennifer and I was referred to you by so and so.

Support Expert: How can I help you?

GW: Well, I need some support. . .

SE: Uh-huh.

GW: . . . in a group setting.

SE: Can you tell me a little bit about your stor--uhhh . . .your situation?

GW: Well, my partner died from a brain aneurysm a little over 2 weeks ago and I am only 34 and I don't feel equipped to deal with this.

SE: That's rough.

GW: No sh*t.

SE: How are you doing otherwise?

GW: Not too well obviously, I need some support.

SE: It's good you are reaching out to us then.

GW: Yeah well, it was really hard for me to summon the strength to do it.

SE: It's a good thing you did.

GW: When is your next group meeting?

SE: February 2009.

GW: Febru-- Did you say 2009?

SE: If you'd like, I can put you on the waiting list.

GW: There's a waiting list?

SE: Yes.

GW: Is there like really good food served during these meetings?

SE: You see, there's a cap on the number of participants and they are all 12-week sessions.

GW: But February 2009 is after Thanksgiving. It's after Christmas. It's after New Year's for pete's sake.

SE: I know.

GW: If I am actually able to make it through and survive those holidays, I could run your f*cking support groups by February 2009.

SE: If you'd like, I could call around and try to find you another group.

GW: Yeah, why don't you do that? I am really anxious to get in one.

SE: I'll give you a call next week then?


Needless to say, I probably won't be waiting by the phone for her call.


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