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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Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
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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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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Monday, November 3, 2008
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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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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Sunday, November 2, 2008
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.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Halloween 2008
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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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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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