Trying To Understand - Thoughts On Many Things

Enough already

2011-11-06T14:55:00.000-08:00

How long is this going to go on? Four years later. I am happy now. So, why, oh why, does the anniversary of her suicide keep crawling back under, over and around my mental barriers? Maybe it is because I still have a barrier, and not total acceptance.

I made it through the grief and mourning and guilt and loneliness and cutting myself and wanting to die. I did not make it through the anger. Not yet. It is not everyday, not every month, but as the anniversary comes along the anger wells up again. Anger at being cheated on, anger that she tried to piss me off in the run up to her suicide (I guess to make it easier on herself or to make it easier on me) and anger at what she did to the kids.

OK. This year, this anniversary I need to see about accepting the anger. I have no idea how to start. Well, yes, I do have an idea. Time to return to the shrink and talk some more.

I hope I write more on this later.

Third Anniversary

2010-11-09T18:43:00.000-08:00

November 07. I am in Afghanistan as a contractor. I try to call my wife, but get no answer so I leave a message. And then another one. And then another one the next day. I receive an email from family. Short - Cyndie is gone. I call, find out she killed herself. I fly home. I am in shock, I stay in shock. I do not kill myself only because I do not want to hurt the children any more, hers (ours in my mind) and mine.

Third year on. I am remarried to a wonderful person. My life has had quite a few rocks, health issues, etc., but they are treatable or things I can accept.

Still feel the shock and the anger of betrayal, both literally and figuratively of the suicide. It still hurts, it still raises anger. Time does not heal the wound, but it does help turn the scab into a scar.

Suicide is the ultimate betrayal and the ultimate cowardice. I do not mean a medical suicide with family consent. I mean abandoning love, spouse, children. Cowardice. Yeah, it still hurts.

Still not quite finished

2010-06-11T13:47:00.000-07:00

Fighting off depression and anger again, in about equal amounts. I am getting better, I know I am. It has been months since Cyndie's suicide has seriously bothered me. Not that I forgot about it. Almost every day it pops into my head in one way or another. I cannot get away from her memory entirely, nor do I want to so do. We had children in common and I still love and need them in my life. They are adopted, technically, but in every way my children. Their children are my grandchildren.

I still have anger at the betrayal. At least I think I do. Am I angry at our marriage being betrayed or angry that she left without saying goodbye? That is still the hardest part about suicide. It is what sets it apart from losing loved ones to illness. You do not get to say goodbye.

I have, I believe, come to grips with the balance of enjoying and having a new love and still missing the old. That never seemed to be a problem. It seemed right at the time and now I know it was.

Just wish the anger would leave.

Not quite finished

2010-03-13T10:33:00.000-08:00

Well, sometimes you have to unload again and this is a good a place as any. I am tired of dumping stuff like this directly on friends.

I had a terrifying moment, actually almost an hour, today. First, everything is now under control. My partner has a sinus infection and was taking a new antibiotic. Well, it apparently disagreed with her. Symptoms were elevated heart rate, heart pounding, dizziness, etc. The classic drug reaction signs. Unfortunately I am abroad right now. She called early her time and I talked to her, finally convinced her to call 911 as I was not there to drive and she was not fit to drive.

At this point I am concerned, but OK. We have a plan, things will be fine. I believed we had worked it out that she would get dressed, call 911, then call me and I could wait with her. Apparently she did not catch the last bit - her understanding is that she would all from the hospital or after the EMS techs saw her. So, I waited. No call. Messaged her phone. No reply. Called house multiple times - no answer. Same with cell phone. Finally, and in a bit of a panic, I called emergency services myself and had them on the way when she called me to say she was at the emergency room and OK. I called emergency services back and got that stopped and then called her back and chatted.

It was a bad reaction to the drug. She had a full battery of tests and is now home and comfortable. Not well, but in no real danger. Needless to say, that antibiotic is now in the trash.

The last time I called home and no one answered it was a death by suicide. Yeah, so I panicked a bit. I had images of her on the floor, unconscious, possibly dead. I realize now it was less than an hour of time. However, it was an endless time span of being helpless and reliving my last wife’s suicide. My partner knew I would be upset in any case. She was also apologetic for not understanding. I did my best to tell her not to worry, not her fault. It was not her fault, she was scared.

Two things: Not over the terror of Cyndie’s suicide yet; and I still need to write here at times. I do know one other thing. Well, I think I know. I cannot face the death of my partner, my love, again any time soon. I hate to think it, but had she been dead I truly how no idea how I could go on - or even why I would bother. I need to work on that last bit.

Maybe it is time to shut this down

2010-03-05T16:06:00.000-08:00

Tears have been cried and deep thoughts have been thought. Being more sensitive was a nice experiment, but ultimately it does not seem to be me nor am I good at it. It has been a long, strange trip, but there is so much more of the journey ahead.

I am in working order, not fixed, but working. I love those to whom I am close. Love some friends and am loved. I will never be healed, too many wounds and many of them too close. PTSD was an issue before three deaths in three years. Now? I cannot imagine they have made me better, just better able to endure.

Maybe I will write more someday. I will probably save this for the granddaughters so they can understand some of what we endured, some of the reasons for what we are. Hell, I may find I need to write more tomorrow. For now, time to shut this down.

To anyone who read it, thanks for that and hope it helped if you needed help. It was never really for anyone else, just for me. Knowing it was open helped, I am not ashamed of any of the thoughts or feelings I have had.

Jeffrey

It is over

2010-01-31T17:55:00.000-08:00

Mother died this evening. I was not there, but my sister was. I am at home in Charleston. In the next few days I will go to Mobile to help with the arrangements and attend the funeral.

I do not know what to think. Not yet. Glad she is gone and no longer in pain. Sorry she is gone. Sorry for my sister who has been the major person in taking care of mom and who received the bulk of our parent's love. She did get more love, but it hurts her more when they die. I do not begrudge her the love. I do wish I could help take away some of the pain Sis is feeling.

Writing helps, but I do not know what to write. Relieved and grieved all at once. More later.

Hanging On

2010-01-18T18:15:00.000-08:00

My mother is hanging on. Not sure how, but she is hanging on. She is in general systemic failure now. However, except for today, she has been as alert as the Alzheimer's will let her be. Today she was asleep most of the time, even without medication. Since she is in considerable pain, her sleeping without medication appears to be a telling sign. I hope she slips away tonight, while asleep. I know my sister would like to be there at the end, but I hope she slips away, unconscious, unaware. She knows she is loved and has said I love you. I want her to slide away. It is time.

Thoughts on possible imminent death for my mother

2010-01-04T17:38:00.000-08:00

So - I am reading Pharyngula, the best science/atheism blog, and there is a very good thread going on there right now - Cancer is a disease. It is not an easy thread to read, many people sharing their pain and stories. I tried to enter into the thread, came on too strong offering help, and have now backed away entirely. I still read, but I will not comment.

The reason why? Well, one, I was too strong, too eager. In retrospect, I looked like a stalker. Two, the ongoing saga of my mother is at another potential breaking point. Death may be imminent, at least within a few weeks. Simply, she keeps pulling out her stomach feeding tube, will not take anything by mouth, and thus is malnourished. She also seems to be losing the ability to fully metabolize her food. My sister is there, doing most of the decisions, killing herself in the process. I try to support her - no, I do support her. Dr. asked Sis today if she wanted him to try and put the feeding tube back in, i.e., feed her or let her die. Sis said to put the tube back in. Neither Sis nor I believe in needlessly extending life, and mom has a living will forbidding heroic measures, but we are in a gray area. Mom is awake, sometimes lucid, sometimes alert. Were she unconscious, comatose, of the like, the decision would make itself. Now?

My impulse is to pull the feeding, let her slide away, and hasten it with an overdose. I do not think her life is good right now, has not been for six months. She will never walk again, never go home. She may never even leave the hospital and if she does it will be to a full care nursing home in which she will spend her life in bed, sliding further and further into dementia and growing frailer, waiting for the next trip to the emergency room to attend her next feeding tube failure or infection. I have serious doubts she will leave the hospital this time. How much pain do we put her through seems to be the only real question.

I thought of broaching the subject tonight, but Sis sounds so tired. I know I have to bring this up soon. We need to talk about it. I need to get my foot fixed so I can travel as needed. Lots to do. I know there are lots of things to do, right now I just do not know what those things are.

Well....shit! Part II

2010-01-01T03:03:00.000-08:00

I apparently fractured my right heel bone sometime in the not too distant past. I knew my foot hurt, but got used to it. Right before xmas it got worse so I finally allowed myself to be dragged to the Dr. Turns out the heel bone is shattered. However, since it is already healing it may not be worth surgery to fix. In the meantime I am on some really great pain killers and a nice cane my darling bought me for xmas.

OK, that sounds not so good and it does hurt like hell. Still, after the past couple of years this is no big deal. I can deal with physical pain. This is an issue that may be resolved, fixed, whatever. Maybe it cannot really be fixed and I will use a cane the rest of my days. It does not matter. This is a small issue compared to the others. Besides, I have always liked walking sticks and there are some really charming ones out there. I will be OK. Nice to say that now so I will repeat it. I will be OK.

Well....shit!

2009-12-24T04:39:00.001-08:00

Both angry and depressed. We had a nice trip laid on to NYC to see eldest son and his lovely bride. We reserved a room on the train, berths, own bath, shower even. Scheduled to leave at about 1000 PM on Dec 23. Time to have a few drinks, sleep, breakfast, then arrive in NYC before noon on the 24th. We finally gave up and cancelled the trip at 0600 in the morning of the 24th. Eight hours late and no train yet. Good excuses/reasons, but no train. We already started making plans to fly up after New Year's to see them, but right now, just angry and depressed. At least we can get the dog out of the kennel and have xmas day with him. We always hate leaving him.

A less bleak Autumn than anticipated

2009-11-09T00:59:00.000-08:00

A less bleak Autumn than anticipated. My mother survived and appears to be out of danger. For a while it was not day to day, hour to hour, or even minute to minute. For a longish time is was second to second. I said “Goodbye” along with the rest of the family. She is a tough woman, she survived. She went back to the nursing home for rehab for her original issue and I decided to return overseas to work on my book. The day I was to leave she was back in the hospital via the emergency room and again it was bad, but only hour by hour this time. I returned anyway, canceling my flight the morning I was to depart. Again, she survived and I have now returned overseas. She still has multiple complications which threaten her, but not on an immediate basis. I am not sure surviving was a mercy for her. She does have a living will demanding no heroic measures, and we walked right up to the edge of that.

I have said goodbye, if something happens now, I do not feel the pressure to get home before she would die. I would still want to, but that pressure if off. I have said what I needed to say. Not that she knows me, as far as I can tell. She will never return to her home. After rehab she will go to another wing of the nursing home. She will need more care than she can get at home, more care than in home nursing will provide.

If she avoids further infections she will live quite a bit longer. She is already 88, but the women on her side of the family seem to be nearly immortal. Unfortunately, they also seem to develop Alzheimer’s pretty early. That is OK as long as she is happy.

Last year, at my brother’s funeral, she already had no idea who I was. However, we had a nice talk about my kids, my family, my life. She was engaged and lively. Totally out of touch with reality, but seemed happy with it. She no longer seems so happy, but it is hard to tell - this has been a miserable experience for her. Not only unpleasant, but unfamiliar surroundings and she cannot understand where she is or why she is there. She does not remember her surgery and cannot understand why she cannot get up and walk away. She wants to go home, she never will. She talks about her Daddy coming to get her. She knows my sister and eldest brother because they see her every day. Well, not sure she knows who they are, but recognizes them as belonging in her world. She will ask about me and express her desire to see me, even when she just has. Not being recognized bothers me less than I thought it would. It is not her fault.

So, this Autumn, so far, was not marked by another death. Did not make it three in a row. I am grateful for that. Last October my brother died, two Novembers ago, my wife killed herself. I think enough is enough.

I accepted my brother’s death pretty quickly. He had been ill a long time and was miserable. I miss him, I loved him. I accept his death.

The suicide has been much harder. That anniversary was last night. I did what I said I would do a couple of entries ago in this blog. I drank, not that much, cried, some, smoked, thought. Not the last tears, not the last ache, but without much anger and that is real progress. I did not get to say goodbye, I was not ready to say goodbye, I still cannot say goodbye aloud, but I can wave goodbye, and do it without excessive anger spoiling and poisoning my memories. That is good enough for the second anniversary.

Another Autumn To Hate

2009-10-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

It has not happened yet, but my feeling is that my mother may die within a few days. I am currently abroad and am trying to get home as quick as possible. My sister thinks that I may need to hurry if I want to see her while she still lives. No definite data, but it does not look good. So, tomorrow I will travel all day to get to my home, then travel the next day to her home. My sister and older brother are there to take care of things. My sister is like me, capable, decisive, and a bit of a control freak.

Mom is 87 years old, suffering badly from Alzheimer’s, and fell and broke her hip last month. The entire joint had to be replaced and she seemed to come through the surgery well. After a few days she was transferred to a nursing home for rehabilitation. We doubted she would ever return to her own home again, but only thought that meant she would have to stay in the nursing home.

However, she has proven unwilling to eat or drink much and continually pulls out any IV. She is now malnourished and dehydrated and has pneumonia. The pneumonia may be the result of aspiration when people tried to help her eat. No ones fault, everyone has been careful. She is back in the hospital, doped out and with an IV running full bore. Sister and brother decided to allow a feeding tube to be inserted. This is kinda dicey as she has a living will which forbids extensive measures to prolong life. Their feeling is that feeding may allow her to survive, or a least give her a chance. I told my siblings that they are on the scene and I will back any decision they make. I know they will show mercy and not needlessly prolong her existence once she is no longer able to survive. I believe everyone has done everything they can to help. I do not think it is going to matter this time.

She was the baby of 13 children and is the sole survivor. She buried her husband, our father, over a decade ago and one of her sons, my middle brother, last year. At that funeral, she already did not really know who I was, but seemed quite happy to talk to me about my family and my children. She was happy with life, mostly. She lived in her own home, my older brother lived with her, and sister was in the same town and over to see her most days. She was not really in contact, but got along well enough, had lots of care and visits from extended family.

In the last few months, she has not been as happy. She had frequent pain in joints and bones, was unable to get around with any ease, and was less and less connected to the present and resented it. She has been difficult to be with, live with, work with. She was always stubborn, runs in the family apparently, and this aspect of her personality seemed to be taking control. My sister has persevered, but it weighs on her and, being a control freak like me, had trouble dealing with her own anger, guilt and concern.

I would like to see her before she dies, if that is in the offing. I want to see here for me, not her. I doubt she will know who I am. There is, of course, the possibility that she will pull through. She has always been a tough woman. Still, if I do not go home this time, and if she dies, I will regret it.

She was not always the perfect parent, who is? Certainly not me. I have been a less than perfect son, like so many of us. My sister was pretty close to perfect and well loved by both my parents. My brothers and I got what was left over. At least, that is how it appeared to me. However, sis did not demand such affection, and always took care of me when I was little. She is a good person. Tough like me, if much more touchy feely and willing to cry. Much more in touch with who she is.

I know I am beginning to hate Autumn. It used to be my favourite season, especially in the South. Finally cool enough to enjoy the evenings and days still warm enough for shorts and sandals. If my mother dies, it will make three Autumns in a row with the death of a loved one. My then spouse in 2007, my middle brother in 2008, and now my mother this year. Death is becoming a habit, and I am tired of it.

I doubt this makes much sense, I am mainly just marking time until I get on the plane tomorrow. Laundry and dishes done, bags are packed. Just waiting.

Last Tears

2009-09-27T01:54:00.000-07:00

"These are the last tears I'm gonna cry for you." It is a song by the Indigo

Girls "Last Tears") that has caught my attention of late. No, I do not think

the tears I have shed are entirely gone, nor do I want them to be, but it is

time to move on. It is time to lose the anger. Grief, like death, seems to

go through stages and I have been stuck in anger for too long. I want to move

to acceptance. Not understanding, I do not think that will ever come, but

acceptance. Acceptance with memory intact. Acceptance without pain would be

nice, but I will be happy with acceptance without anger. Pain is an old

friend and I can deal with it.

Music has helped, more than I expected. I wrote earlier that I had put a lot

of my music aside: Meatloaf, David Wilcox, Manhattan Transfer, some of my

Lyle Lovett. I put aside most of the love songs I sang when I looked for

love, and sang after I found it. I also put away most of my classical music.

Cyndie did not know classical before we met and we had a wonderful time

learning it together, her for the first time and me really listening to old

favourites with a new appreciation. Same with jazz vocals and big band - they

all went into the bin, literally deleted from the computer, pretty much gone

forever. Some I may get back into, some I know I never will. David Wilcox is

probably gone forever. I discovered him when we met and his songs were the

leitmotif of our courtship, marriage, and now her suicide. One David Wilcox

song did help stabilize me. The song is "For Real" and the lines that meant

the most are, "Death took the husband of a neighbor of mine on a highway with

a drunk at the wheel. She told me 'Keep your clean hands off the laundry he

left and don't tell me you know how I feel'." (I know now to never use I know

how you feel for any tragedy, I do not...you do not either. At best, and it

is best, you can say you know what pain feels like.)

So, some new songs, some old friends untainted by memory. Tom Waits, who she

never liked, Indigo Girls, some new Jazz vocals by Jane Monheit even some

techno like the Safri Duo. Many of these songs hit hard, especially the

Indigo Girls one mentioned above. It is time to cry it out, then dry the

eyes..."I won't forget, I don't regret...but these are the last tears I am

gonna cry for you". Of course the singer will have more tears to shed, but

that the soul wrenching kind of tears needs to go away and stay away. Tears

of memory and loss are fine, tears leading to anger or dark sadness are not.

I do not want to forget, I want to accept.

Lots of Tom Waits helps as well, always has. I do not care if I am the only

person who likes him, he speaks to my heart and his voice is like mine so when

I hear the pain in his voice it feels like my own raised in song.

So. Going to give it a try. As the second anniversary of Cyndie's suicide

approaches, it is time. Not sure I can handle forgiveness, that is going to

take a bit longer and the betrayal was deep and personal. However, I think

she tried to atone for the betrayal by killing herself and I try to take that

into account. In my opinion, she had not a good enough reason - I was not

ready to say goodbye, I had no chance to say goodbye. If I am honest with

myself, I know that is part of what drives the anger, I did not get a chance

to say goodbye. The honest part of myself also admits that I never would have been

ready to say goodbye.

Because she did betray me, I am not sure what would have happened to us. I

would like to think I would have forgiven her, but I am not sure I could have.

My new partner and I were discussing things after dinner one night, around the

table with after dinner drinks. She said something beautiful and painful,

i.e., that she was happy with what we had, but thought that if Cyndie walked

in the door at that moment she was afraid I would go to her. I thought of

that and something crystalized in my head - no, I would not. The pain was too

keen. It is not the betrayal that would have made it almost impossible to

forgive, it was the fact that I was literally willing to die for her and she

was not willing to live for me. Maybe that is unfair to her, she was mentally

ill, but it is true. I would not now return to Cyndie if she was magically returned.

People mention that she had mental issues for years, and that it really was

not a surprise. Well, it was. She seemed to be getting better, had started

with a therapist after years without regular meetings. She had projects

started and had ordered things for her hobbies that only arrived after her

death. It was a surprise, yes. It was not a surprise, no.

A friend gave me a wonderful piece of advice early on. She said, do not make

her into a saint. True, she was not. However, I moved too far to the other

side and somewhat demonized her. That is also not true. She was a human,

both flaws and beauty. She was not always a good person, but I knew the demons

going in and learned many of the others. Maybe I could have forgiven the

affair, I do not think I ever could forgive the real betrayal of us - killing

herself. Suicide of this type is the ultimate selfish act.

I still had to deal with guilt and I do believe that drove the anger to a large

extent. The question of what I did or did not do haunted me a long time. I

have come to believe I could not have done more than I could. Her children,

we have five in common, say I made her happier and longer than anyone ever had

or probably could. I do take comfort in that. However, if I want to be

honest with myself, I have to admit that guilt drove at least part of the

anger. Easier to blame it all on her, is it not?

At Last - Etta James

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVI254QGSQ4 )

So where am I now? I am with a person who loves me despite having seen me at

my worst. She is adorable, lovable, helpful, close without smothering, and I

finally believe she is going to stay, that she will not be taken from me. Oh,

yes, there was some guilt in giving my love to someone new - guilt that helped

to drive the anger, but I think I have moved beyond that. In an odd way I am

sure Cyndie wanted me to be happy and find someone who could give me all her

love. I got lucky and I did. One door closed and another one opened, to

quote an overused cliche. Repeat, I got lucky. Will there be more tears, more pain

at remembrance? I hope so, it means that I will have dealt with it. Any time

you lose a loved one there should be tears, there will be pain. There will

even be anger because one is never ready to say goodbye, but the anger should

be allowed to fade. The love and good times should be allowed to thin and

fade the anger and allow new love and good times in to complement, not

replace, the old ones. My new love and I both took a chance that things would

work, there were no guarantees. It has, very well. Moving on and being happy

is not a betrayal of memory, that was a hard thing to learn. Feeling guilty

for being happy is normal, but hiding beind anger to cover both loss and guilt

at moving on is dreadful.

So, are these the last tears I am gonna cry for you? No, surely not. This

November, 2009, the two year anniversary, I am abroad and alone. So, what will

I do? Have a drink, have a cry, wipe the tears, sober up, "make some coffee

black and strong, give thanks for healing time, finally make up my

mind...these are the last tears I'm gonna cry for you".

Last Tears - Indigo Girls

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTnN5ehNbX4

I wrote this as pretty much a stream of consciousness and only reviewed to try and get caps and spelling right. I decided not to edit it. The formatting is screwed up and, frankly, I do not care. Comments always welcome, you can even say you know how I feel, but would prefer you just say you understand what pain and loss feel like.

And the anger still boils up at times...

2009-08-09T16:54:00.001-07:00

As I stated in my last post, so long ago, I got married on 24 Jan 09 to a wonderful woman. She knows my flaws and past, loves me anyway, and has done much to bringing me back to normal. That is why I hate being pulled back into the painful past at times.

Yes, I know the past is there and cannot be forgotten. I do not want to forget it, I just want it to stay in the little box I created for it. Yeah, I know that will not work either.

I am happy, things are going well, life is good. For months after Cyndie killed herself I could not imagine ever saying those things again.

I think it is because things are going well that being pulled back into anger and pain is such a pain. Anyone who has ever lost someone will recognize how hearing a song or seeing a movie clip will bring back the memory of the lost one, bring back that pain. My particular problem with this is that I am so heavily involved in music. I have it playing almost all the time. Why is this a problem? Well, I exposed Cyndie to large body of music for the first time, especially classical, but also people like David Wilcox. If you do not know him, search him out. I can no longer listen to him and have deleted all his song files from my computer. Did the same with Mozart and Meatloaf. Both of them are too closely associated with her, and car trips, and lazing after making love.

However, that is not why the anger is back, I think. OK, I am not really sure. I think the real trigger was moving picture files off my computer and onto disk for storage. To do that, you have to look at them. Some were family type, some alone, some innocently intimate. All were twelve years of my life and seeing each one was like raking nails across a scab. Eventually it comes off and you bleed a bit. It is a self inflicted wound and you are angry with yourself for making it bleed and angry at the circumstances that lead to the first injury.

I do not want to lose my memories, I do not want to forget. There was much good in our life together, most of time together was good in fact. I want to look back without anger.

The new love in my life understands and accepts this. She has her own anger issues with the women who hurt me and our children so bad. I am actually glad to hear that from her, not sure why. When I spend a couple of days in a blue anger funk she always accepts and understands, leaving me room as needed. I know it hurts her and I feel some guilt about that, which she understands, but sees no reason to feel upset about. She is upset for and not at me. Yeah, I got lucky and I know it and tell her with every I love you.

So, the anger still pops up as we begin to approach the second anniversary of Cyndie's suicide. I try to accept it. Try to let it wash through me. Try not to scratch at the scab. I try to understand. I am so glad that I am not alone.

What a long, strange trip it has been - Part I

2009-01-17T07:14:00.000-08:00

To recap: In November 2007, my wife committed suicide while I was in Afghanistan. I considered eating my gun or walking out into a mine field, but friends took my gun, sat with me and one even escorted me home to Charleston, SC.

The kids rallied around me. My friends rallied around. I survived the first week and the funeral and the cremation and the aching emptiness of a house not only empty, but bereft of life.

I had/have a good therapist and anti-depressants and made some promises. First promise I made was to scatter her ashes in the water at Isle of Palms beach in April '08. I knew this promise would make me hang on for a time and let the hole in my heart, in my life, scab over. I kept that promise and I kept the promise to the kids to not leave them without a father. I have been in wars, been poor, been homeless, been ill - holding the promise to the ash scattering and to my children was the hardest thing in my life.

I was not perfect. I broke my hand twice on inanimate objects - doors mostly. I went to a biker bar, picked a fight and beat the hell out of a stupid redneck, breaking my hand again. It felt good and I am not sorry I did it. However, I am ashamed at my lack of control for wanting to get into a fight. I realize it was part of a death wish.

I did not work for over a year, living on my pension and my savings. I ended up virtually broke.

My health went to hell as I stopped taking care of myself. My immune system took a dive and my thyroid went berserk and tried to kill me. This was one of the things that pulled me out, odd as that may sound. I went to the Dr, found out I was about two days away from a massive stroke and started to take care of the issue. It is still a problem, but is being controlled and I am getting better.

However, let me give credit where credit is due. I have a friend who was/is in love with me. She knew that love would go no where as I was married, but loved me anyway. She had her own struggle after my wife's suicide, not wanting to capitalize on the opportunity of a tragic act or take advantage of my grief, but wanting to be there for me. On my part, I nearly dropped contact on my way into my hermit crab shell. Long story short, we negotiated the mine field of issues, my therapist was so much help there I cannot thank her enough, and allowed love to grow.

Still shortening the story, my friend is now my love and on Saturday, 24 Jan 09, we will be married in front of family and friends. My kids love her and support the marriage and the ones who physically can will be in attendance.

I have more to say about working out if love was an option and dealing with death and the, "am I using her as a replacement", issue, but for now I can only say I got lucky. I am in love with Wendy as a separate and distinct person, and I want to marry her.

Good things can happen.

Death in the family - Again

2008-10-08T03:57:00.000-07:00

Death in the family - Again

Gary Steven D, age 61, my second eldest brother, died after a long illness last Sunday. A short statement and one that cannot hope to encompass a rich life, that cannot capture how much his family loved him, that cannot capture how much he loved others, how he loved life.

Gary had a joy for life, a zest for it. He was a competitive swimmer in his youth, played baseball, and was a city star in High School football, often playing both offense and defense, a true 60 minute player. He was a Boy Scout, one of the youngest Eagle scouts ever, and a member of the Order of the Arrow along with earning a wealth of merit badges. The outdoor life suited Gary, he loved doing things and watching things and making things and learning about the world about him. He was also an excellent cook and once made a Thanksgiving dinner which his family still remembers as one of the best ever eaten, no mean feat among so many decades of holidays.

He won a football scholarship after High School, but was not ready for college at that time. He joined the United States Marines and did a tour in Vietnam in the artillery. He was lucky enough to escape physical injury, but the experience troubled his spirit. For all his ruggedness and outdoor spirit Gary was a sensitive man, moved by a good poem or movie. Moved by his love of family and friends. Moved by art and beauty.

Following the war, he returned to school, joined the United States Navy and became an X-Ray technician, working in several hospitals both in and then out of the Navy. However, he was increasingly plagued by ill health, some possibly due to his service in Vietnam. He faced each problem and each crisis with courage and perseverance. Finally, his body was too tired and he passed away from us, his loving and loved daughter by his side.

In the novel "Two Years Before the Mast", by Henry Dana, he relates an incident. A self important captain of a small coastal steamer, a carrier of cheap tinware and the like, was in the habit of hailing all ships he met to boost his own small ego. One day he hailed a ship dimly seen in the morning mist, crying out in his small and squeaky voice, "What ship is that, and whence, and whiter?" Out of the mist sailed a tall and majestic schooner laden with billows of snow white canvas sails, and a deep booming voice replied, "The Begum of Bengal, 128 days out of Canton, China, carrying the spices of India to Boston Harbor, homeward bound! What ship is that, whence and wither?"

This just crushed the little skipper and he humbly replied, "Only the Marianne, two hours out of harbor, bound for Kittery Point and carrying nothing in particular." He was humbled, as we all are at times. Humbled as Gary is, as we all are, by death. But for most of his life, Gary was not the humble Marianne, he was the majestic Begum of Bengal, 61 years out, heading for harbor and rest.

I miss him.

And so it goes

2008-09-18T04:00:00.000-07:00

I survived the medical treatments and am, while not exactly healthy, better than I have been for a long time.

I also leave today to meet a sweet friend and ask her to come live with me and share the rest of my life. She knows my flaws, including that I am still getting over the death of my wife last year, and still wants to be with me. I fly today to NM and then we will drive back to Charleston SC together. A large blonde Lab will occupy the rear half of the car, if not slightly more. It will be nice to have love, laughter, and a dog in my house once again. Correction in our house, no more lonely.

I will probably post once or twice more here, and then I will let it die out. I hope to let this chapter in my life wind down. It will never end, there is too much history, and grown children and grandchildren to remind and be reminded. It is time to move on, time to stop crying except when I want to cry.

Suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness and leaves pain in its wake. If anyone reading this is considering suicide, please seek help. A cliche, but true none the less. If anyone reading this is the victim of suicide and needs to talk, write here and I will try to reply. I will continue to check this blog for that possibility.

To well wisher and friends, thanks. I made it this far.

And still more good news

2008-08-06T07:37:00.000-07:00

Liver is fine. Initial blood tests showed issues but cat scans and follow-up tests have shown it is normal.

Only thing left now is thyroid. If I can find someone to accompany me, I can get that scheduled soon. Not sure why someone has to take me home, i.e., sign for me. I have driven home from worse things. Ah well, just something to be solved and I really should not complain.

All for now.

And a little more good news

2008-08-03T17:35:00.000-07:00

Thyroid has to go, and sooner rather than later, but evidence for cancer is small, as the cancer should be, if present at all. Treatment for the thyroid, radiation kill, should make that issue moot. With any luck, will have the treatment/surgery by the middle of August. Short recovery period and then back overseas to work.

Liver is still iffy. Blood test show something, cat scan does not. Still working on it.

Just wanted to share some good news.

Things to Do

2008-07-30T15:15:00.000-07:00

First off, sorry did not mean to sound so mysterious on Pharyngula. I am just going to be away for an extended period and got a little sloppy sentimental. I have enjoyed that blog and (most of) the people. I may be back before xmas.

I am not fine, I am not truly well, but I am probably not in mortal danger. I am going to focus on my health, mental and physical, for a while and that will take most of my attention and probably a little hospital time. If I am well enough, I will head back to work in Autumn. My work is overseas in various trouble spots and the available bandwidth in such places is usually barely capable of supporting email. Even if I am not truly well, I have to work - personally and financially.

Best news for last. I have found someone who loves me without conditions and knowing exactly what I am and what damages I carry. I will talk about this more later. It is a good thing.

All for now, cheers to all.

Health Issues

2008-07-11T05:53:00.000-07:00

Some people have expressed some concern about my health issues. Well, not grim, but not good. Thyroid will have to go whether it is cancerous or not, so that should work out OK. Liver problems are still being looked at, but most of a life spent in some of the less salubrious parts of the world means I probably should not be surprised.

Good news, BP responding to drugs, my heart is in good shape, and my cholesterol level is the envy of all who hear it.

I do not blame Cyndie's death for my health problems. At worst, it only exacerbated them. It is too easy to blame everything on that trauma. That said, last year at this time I was in perfect health, especially for an overweight smoker with a fondness for fried goodies. The truth is, I stopped taking care of myself for months after she died.

Anyway, I will survive. Cancer or just thyroid removal. Liver issues are a little more iffy, but they can also be treated, I hope.

Every time I talk to my kids, I say I love you. My health issues have not changed that, always done that.

I am coming out of the tunnel. Sometimes I walk, sometimes I run, and sometimes I am reduced to crawling. Whatever the speed, I am trying to get back into the sunlight.

Ciao all

Boredom of Sadness

2008-07-03T16:34:00.000-07:00

Pain is boring at times. Sadness and depression are boring.

Going through a bit of a bad patch. Not sleeping well and what sleep I have is crowded by dreams. I can still dream of Cyndie and wake to look for her, wanting to talk to her, forgetting for a moment that I cannot. Reality crashes you hard in the face when that happens. They are not all nightmares, most, recently at least, are just innocuous dreams.

I have had nightmares. One was spectacular. I have PTSD and one particular bad memory/dream is having someone bleed out under my hands, I was a medic at the time, with nothing I could do to stop it, too much damage, too many holes, too much blood. There is lot more to the dream than that, but this is enough. After Cyndie's death, I had that dream come up to the surface again for a while, the horror stops were all pulled out I guess. The wonderful (heavy sarcasm) variation was when Cyndie's face started replacing my dying buddy's face. Luckily, that only lasted about two weeks. Rarely have either version now.

There is a boredom to this. I am tired of being sad, being caught unawares and dragged down into depression. I have gone whole weeks doing well, then get blind sided by something simple, like finding a chapstick she used. Or just a stray memory. You try to avoid those things, but you still get caught. I know I am better, much better than last November. Better all the time. However, some of those times , these times, just suck. Tired of it, and that in itself is depressing.

I do see a mental health professional and I take anti-depressants. It helps.

PS - Do not be afraid to make comments, I only bite the people who deserve to be bitten.

Back Again

2008-06-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

Trip from hell in some ways. I found a job, saw some of my friends and saw some of my family in the area. That is all to the good, but lots of pain too. I also fell ill which really, really sucked and kept me from seeing two of my granddaughters.

I think I have to stop taking long car trips. I am so used to Cyndie next to me on a trip of that length. We traded driving, lit cigarettes for each other, opened snacks and sodas and listened to music and played "chain letter" on a thousand topics. Amazing the things that end up being hard to take. On that note, I have only been back to the beach once since she died and I keep putting off going there. Maybe tomorrow.

I went to the beach once near mid-April this year. I made a promise to scatter her ashes in Spring at the beach - she loved the beach. I went out early, sat for a while, then opened the package of ashes, walked into the surf and let her ashes go - into the water not the wind. I also wired our two wedding rings to a lock, for weight, and tossed that as far out as I could. The inscriptions read, "Always and forever", guess that was wrong. The water is pretty cold that time of year, but it felt good. I sat back down in the sun for a bit and then went home. The mark on my ring finger still has not faded.

In mid November 07, at her viewing, while looking at the empty husk that had been my life for twelve years, I promised her and the kids that I would scatter her ashes in April. Actually, the promise was for me. I made a promise to do something, a task, something I was honour bound to accomplish because I made a public promise. That helped keep me from killing myself for a while. I hoped that giving myself about five months would get me past the danger point. It did.

Goals were and are important for me in dealing with this. Waiting until April to do the ashes was a big one, but I also had smaller goals. I only bought food and cigarettes for one day at a time for months. Grief might make you forget food, but nicotine is a harsher mistress. So, every day, showered, dressed, and got out. Some days the trip was literally only to buy cigarettes, 20 minutes out and back. Some days longer, and then longer and longer. I judge my progress by noting that I now buy cigs a carton at time again.

We bought this house in March 07 and moved here from our first retirement location. We moved in in April 07. I left for overseas at the end of September 07. She killed herself in November 07. I have now lived in this house alone longer than I did with her. And it is still so empty.

Changes and changes

2008-06-18T05:48:00.000-07:00

Well, off today to DC to seek a new job overseas. My other contract, which took me to Afghanistan, has been canceled so must look elsewhere.

One thing, I get to see two of my children, their spouses and two granddaughters on this trip. Looking forward to that. Also get to see a couple of old friends, some of whom may offer me a job.

So, about a nine hour trip via car from Charleston, SC to DC. This allows some time to think, but outside of the shell of this house and my current existence. I used to love car trips, now they hurt in an odd way. That empty passenger seat needs filled.

Ciao

What Not to Say?

2008-06-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

Well, oddly enough, writing a bit more.

I have been thinking about my experiences in dealing with other people after Cyndie's suicide.

First thing, I know you all mean well (however, see below), but about the worst thing to say to me was, 'I know how you feel'. Really, the love of your life killed herself while you were in a combat zone? You lost your future in a rush and without any warning? Your heart was tossed on a bonfire? You cried for weeks and had to literally force yourself not to commit suicide for about a month?

No, you do not know how I felt or how I feel. I will not know how someone feels who undergoes almost exactly the same thing as I did. We are too different. I was much better with phrases like, "I cannot imagine what you are going through". You know what? When I heard that, I would actually listen and respond with something like, 'If you have experienced loss at all, you do understand some.", and then I would smile, and then I could talk.

No, you do not know how I feel, how I felt. However, if you are normal and of adult age, you probably have lost someone you love. Loss is loss, pain is pain, and even puppies cry over puppy love. I think what is different with suicide is the time it takes to accept the loss. There is an huge amount of anger to go along with the pain of loss that we all feel. There is a lot of guilt to get through, the "what did I do wrong?" questions that plague the late night and pre-dawn darkness.

One thing I did not want to hear is your story of loss. Sorry, it did not make it better. Now I can talk to someone about their own loss, but in the three-five months after it happened, I just did not give a damn about your loss.

I also did not want your prayers. I appreciated the idea, and most casual friends/internet friends did not know I am an atheist. However, when someone says they do not want to pray with you, take the fucking hint!

A special sub-group of the above. More times than I thought possible, I have had religious people tell me they pray for me and are sorry my wife went to hell. I have been good up to this point, but the next person who says that is going to be crippled, possibly for life. I have plenty of frequent flyer miles, so will be glad to hunt you down if you post such a comment here. I am not fucking kidding.

Rambling, rambling. Maybe this is the best way to deal with this. Certainly not a coherent blog.
You, y'all, the big other, ordinary people, everyone in the world - you do not know how I feel. I hope you never do. Ordinary loss is bad enough. Suicide sucks the soul out of the survivors. Suicide is the most selfish act I know. I do not mean medical suicide by a terminal patient, that is seldom a surprise. What I mean is going from looking forward to a life together, finally retired, working just enough to have money to have fun, finally being together except for four months a year and only two months at a time, finally getting to love you as much as I want to, finally thinking things are going to be OK. And having that all taken away in a flash. No, you do not know how that feels unless it has happened to you, and even then you do not know how I feel.

Enough for the day.

A little more

2008-06-11T05:14:00.000-07:00

I have found it almost impossible to work on this blog. I have created and destroyed many posts, over and over and over again.

I have not learned to understand my wife's suicide. I am learning to accept.

It has been seven months now. In the past few months I have removed and thrown away Cyndie's makeup, clothes, shoes, purses, and other items. Oddly enough, the makeup was in some ways the worst as these were very personal things. Lipstick that touched her lips, and perfume that is so familiar, and the many day to day things she touched and used. Shit, I am crying now and I have learned to hate crying. Trash goes out on Tuesday night for Wednesday morning pickup, so one thing I learned was to toss things on Tuesday so they would not hang around. It took much strength to not dig in the trash for the perfume.

I saved two items of clothing, both old and rather ratty. Eventually those will be stored away some where. I still have her main purse to go through. I went through it once, and then just packed it away. In the purse, I found the first picture of me that I ever gave her. After that, I just put it away, the pain is still too fresh.

Suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness. She left me and her children and grandchildren behind. She left a note for each of us, but it is not enough. My note created more problems than it solved for a while. She said she feared our marriage was failing and did not want to wait around for it to die. Neither I nor the children understood that. Later, I did understand. She had an affair. I found this out while searching her laptop for clues to the big WHY? In fact, I found this out the night before the viewing and subsequent cremation. Not sure it made it worse at the time. Right then, it was just another bee sting in a face already full of tears.

I was in Afghanistan when I found out she killed herself. I went from war to a series of plane rides to home to her death. It was mostly a fog. A friend took me all the way from Kabul to Charleston, SC, we look after our own. I was away for a two plus month job and was due home in about 20 days. My friends took my gun away and watched me until the plane ride. I was close to walking out into a mine field, might have if not watched.

I was close to my own suicide for several days, but could not do that to my children and granddaughters. Wanting to kill myself is long past now, except for a few moments in the dark before dawn.

This is a ramble, but have decided to let the ramble stand. This is purely an expression of pain. I see no moral, no story, nothing. It is just part of acceptance. I may never write again, I may tomorrow. I just do not know.

Intro

2008-04-27T04:33:00.000-07:00

My name is Jeffrey, I am in my mid - 50's, semi-retired, and at a confusing place in my life. My wife committed suicide in Nov 2007, after living with depression for most of her life. I don't know if any of this will be useful, but maybe just writing "out loud" about things will help. I hope so. Suicide leaves such a huge amout of debris in its wake. More to come.