New Year, Old Habits

I'll probably be at work tonight when 2008 bids adieu, so I won't be able to give my lady a toast with bubbly. But there will be fireworks downtown, so I'll be up there on the roof, raising a glass of whatever drinkable liquid I can find, watching the skyrockets and remembering when.

The tradition continues.

Five years ago ...

I proposed to Deb on Dec. 7, 2003.

It seems so strange to think it was only five. It's hard to believe so much could have happened between then and now. A wedding. A honeymoon. Moving to Florida. A whole marriage. Two cancer battles. A funeral. Mourning. Practically a whole lifetime.

Had I known what lay ahead, would I have still gotten on one knee and called her up the stairs back then?

Yup. Only a hell of a lot sooner.

I miss you, Sweetie.

Checking in

Hey, Sweetie.

On Thursday it will be two years since I lost you. How am I doing?

Eh. Let's talk about that later.

The cats are doing OK. I just gave them their monthly dose of flea medicine. It's harder to do that now that you're not here to hold them down. I have to be sneaky and hide the tubes in my pocket and catch them unawares. They resent me for a few minutes, but then I give them kitty treats and all is well again.

The house is still standing. I finally got around to putting up a shed in the back yard to replace the one we tore down. Yeah, I said "we." Even though I did all the work, I still give you credit for coming up with the plan to tie the support beam to the car and pull it down. You really missed your calling. You should've been a demolitions expert.

I had my appendix out in June. I really missed you then. I could've gotten some payback for all the times I filled your water bottles and brought you mac and cheese in bed. I guess I'll have to collect when I see you again someday.

Went to visit your grave a couple of weeks ago. The cousins are keeping it up nicely. Lots of mosquitoes, though. I suppose it keeps the tourists away, though.

OK, you want to know how am I doing? Well, I know I promised you I'd be OK, and I'd say most days I am. But there are times I'm not.

I went out on a date about a year ago, a little after the anniversary of your death. She was nice enough, but she wasn't you. No, that's not fair. It's not that she wasn't you. She just wasn't enough like you. She wasn't as sharp, or as whimsical, or as ..., well, it just wasn't right. I know I told you I'd keep my options open as far as getting involved with someone again, but the idea still seems as absurd to me today as it did when you suggested it. It's still too soon.

I still find myself setting aside time to talk to you. Well, I don't know if it's really you. It just may be the part of you that I carry around with me. We have some conversations, but it's getting harder to hear your voice when I do, so it may be getting to the point where I'm talking more to myself than to you, in which case I'll stop. I can talk to myself anytime.

The days I don't feel OK are mostly the ones where I stop to think about what could have been. I figured by now we would have gone to Ireland, would have gotten you that Mini Cooper, would have started talking about adopting ...

Instead, I'm here, and it's not quite where I planned to be.

But then again, neither are you.

In the grand karmic scale, somebody owes us both big time.

The important thing is I'm still here. Even if it's just to keep the cats fed, I'm still serving a purpose.

And I'm still keeping alive the memory that there once was a beautiful girl who for some crazy reason decided to love this weird guy.

Love you, Cutie.

Tim

4 years down the road

Happy anniversary, sweetie. I'd still trade all of my days without you, before and after, for any of the days we were together.

To sum it all up

It was the night after we found out Deb's cancer was not only not gone but was spreading. We were lying in bed together, and I was holding her.

"You know," I said, "and I don't want this to sound wrong, but even with you being sick, this has been the best two years of my life."

"Mine too," she said, "even though I could've done without being sick."

I've always been glad I said what I said, and that she said what she said. There's no better way we could've summed up our marriage.

The Lost Kitty

This long-haired cat showed up in the laundry room at Deb's apartment one day. Some people were feeding it, and a little girl named the cat Rachel.

The story goes that Rachel belonged to a family that moved and left her behind.

As always, Deb fell in love with the cat instantly, but knew she couldn't keep her with Boo Kitty around. This was before we lived together, so she coaxed me into taking her on a trial basis.

I wasn't a cat person. At least I didn't think I was. So I said I'd try it for a few days, and if it didn't work, off to the pound she'd go.

Deb, of course, was counting on the fact that I wouldn't have the heart to take the cat to the pound.

So Rachel and I became roommates. She was a pretty intuitive cat. She got lost when I didn't want to be bothered, but she wasn't shy about seeking attention. I made a bed for her out of a box and a blanket, but she found a spot on the foot of the bed to claim, and that became her spot. She, unlike most cats, slept at night, and when I woke up, she'd still be at the foot of the bed.

I bought her a couple of toys, but when I tried to play with her, she looked at me like, "You've got to be kidding."

Yeah, that was the moment I became a cat person.

The first week was fine. At the beginning of the second week, though, I noticed she wasn't eating. Then she stopped drinking. And there wasn't anything to scoop out of the litterbox.

I called Deb, and she said I was probably worrying over nothing, but if it went on for another day we'd take her to a vet.

It did, and off to the only vet we could find on a Sunday, the one at PetSmart.

A blood test confirmed the worst. Rachel's kidneys weren't functioning. We could try an expensive treatment, but there were no guarantees.

As Rachel's owner, the decision was mine, but Deb had to help me make it. So we put her down.

It was the first time Deb and I cried together. It wasn't the last.

After that, Deb would thank me for making Rachel's last days comfortable. I think it was an important step in her beginning to trust me.

I suppose looking back, there are parallels to our lives together and that cat. How I wasn't certain how it was going to go when I entered into it, but I came to cherish it quickly, only to find it was over much too soon.

But I don't want to reduce Rachel to a metaphor. She was the cat that brought Deb and I closer together, and even though we were only together for a short time, she played an important part in our lives.

Goodnight, Rachel.

I've got nothing

Being Valentine's Day, you'd think I'd have something to say today.

Nope.

We always said Valentine's Day is for amateurs, for those who can't say "I love you" the other 364.

That still goes.

That's all.

Open my eyes

You ever have something staring you in the face every day but you don't really see it?

On my desk is a silly piece of paper. It was left on my pillow one of the first nights after Deb and I moved in together. It's a picture of a heart with the words "I love you" written over it.

I glanced at it every once in a while, but tonight was the first time that I looked at it in a long time and paid attention to it.

It was written in pencil, pretty quickly. The writing is crooked, the heart isn't perfect. I guess she just decided on the spur of the moment to surprise me with a little note just before bed, because she knew she'd be asleep when I got home.

I stuck it up on my desk and it's been there ever since, through two moves. She even mentioned it once, about how silly it looked.

It's been up so long I stopped paying attention to it. It was just part of the room.

Tonight I looked at it and realized what it is.

It's what I thought I lost when her last phone message to me got erased. It's a permanent symbol of her telling me she loves me. And I've still got it.

Yes, there are losses. But there are some things you never lose.

The story never ends

I went on the Barenaked Ladies cruise again this year, and like last year I had one of those moments where I was acutely aware that someone who should have been there wasn't.

I was at the stern of the boat (that's the back end for you landlubbers), looking at the moon reflect off the water, and I missed Deb. She should have been there, and we should have been holding hands.

In an earlier post, you can read about how on last year's cruise I was missing her and somehow pictures of her turned up on my camera.

The next day, I was looking for my watch, which I stashed in the luggage after we got to the airport so I wouldn't have to worry about it going through security and I found this in the pocket of my suitcase:




It's the friendship ring I gave to her our second Christmas together to make up for the mood ring I gave her on the first.

Since she died, I have looked everywhere for it. I was going to put it with the engagement ring and wedding band in her ashes. Afterward, I presumed it got lost in one of the moves.

What are the odds it would turn up just when I needed to see it the most?

Even now, she amazes me.

I don't care who heard

I was on lap 12 on my bike today when "You and Me" by Lifehouse came on my MP3 player.

I stopped the bike at the bottom of the hill, where the river runs, and started singing.

What day is it, and in what month
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up, and I can't back down
I've been losing so much time

The song was popular when Deb was sick the last time, and despite my denial and hopes that she was going to get better, when I heard this song I realized that there could be only a short time left, and it made me try to appreciate every moment we had.

Cause it's you and me, and all other people
With nothing to do, nothing to lose
And it's you and me, and all other people
And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you

I told her this song reminded me of her because it really was how I felt when I looked at her. She would enter my line of sight, and she was all I could look at. Sometimes she'd look at me and ask what I was doing. I'd tell her I was just checking out my girl. She would say that she loved the way I looked at her because it made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. I told her that's because she was.

What are things that I want to say, just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words, you've got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

I started singing louder. I didn't care if anyone was around. I was singing to the river, the sky, the face in my mind.

Cause it's you and me and all other people
With nothing to do, nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all other people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

I think she only heard the song once. When it was on the radio all the time, she wasn't driving a lot because she was sick and she wasn't working. I remember we were on our way to a doctor's appointment and it came on. I told her this was the song that made me think of her. She listened and said noncommittally, "That's nice."

There's something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

What can I say? She had different musical tastes than me. Doesn't change what I think about the song. Besides, it gave us stuff to argue about.

Cause it's you and me and all other people
With nothing to do, nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all other people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

As I was pulling into the funeral home to deliver the clothes for Deb's funeral service, this song came on the radio. Ever since then, when I hear it, I think it's her, telling me she's thinking of me.

What day is it, and in what month
This clock never seemed so alive

New Year's Eve

At midnight I was on the porch with a picture of Deb and a glass of wine.

I promised her again that I would be OK and keep an open mind about falling in love again.

When the new year began, I gave her picture a kiss.

I'm writing this just in case anyone was afraid I didn't have anyone to kiss at midnight. Of course I did.

I had her.