Altered States

"Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!"
~ George Taylor (Charlton Heston), Planet of the Apes

Talking apes on horseback. That's what some days are. Weird, surreal, and sometimes Charlton Heston shows up in a loincloth.

This week's been as ugly as the weekend was pleasant. Insomnia. Migraines. Grief percolating to the top again. Disturbing images of Charlton Heston in a loincloth.

One disquieting thought, worse than the Heston thing, has just begun to haunt me.  As time goes on, I change from "Johnie and Linda" to Widower John, Marital Zombie. As grief plods on, changing me in subtle and not so subtle ways, I ask myself: If Linda were to return to me today, would she still love me? Would she like me? Would she give me that smile and that sparkle? Will I change so much I'm no longer the "Johnie" part of "Johnie and Linda"?

...and why would a loin-clothed Charlton Heston figure so prominently in my imagination today?

Surprised by Vague Well-Being

“God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. In this trial He makes us occupy the dock, the witness box, and the bench all at once. He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down.” 

― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

This weekend was a welcome departure from the normal widower fare.  I did very little outside the apartment. I watched some movies. Cleaned. Did laundry. I purposefully did not work (much). I wish I could say I found "joy" this weekend,  but I will say I wasn't as sad. Instead of wearing the cheap polyester leisure suit of grief (replete with disco-bells and absurdly wide collar) I was allowed the rare emotional equivalent of a sweatpants weekend.

Some of the things I learned or relearned this weekend, in no particular order:

1) I instinctively make my bed with hospital corners. This is leftover emotional conditioning (scarring?) from my military days.

2) My wonderful dog Chloe, who passed away last month, is somehow magically still shedding in my apartment. The jury is out in my mind if she's some kind of crazy Ghost Dog. I could build another dog out of the hair she's left behind, which I'm tempted to do except I'm sure it would either try to kill me Pet Cemetery style or the local villagers would storm my complex with pitchforks and torches (thank you, Stephen King and Mary Shelley!)

3) One no longer mops with a mop. There are all manners of contraptions to choose from, none of which look like the Raggedy Ann-style Rasta-dreadlocked  mop of my youth. Why does the world hate mops, anyway? These weird sponges on a stick or dryer-sheet looking sticks don't cut it.  If you think these are an improvement, you have been duped my friend. This is not progress. It's literally frustration on a stick.

4) I read for the first time in a long while this weekend  I've dearly missed reading. The last two years I haven't retained anything regardless the number of times I'd re-read a paragraph. The five years before that  I read medical journals and tips on care giving. Unless you're an even sadder and more depressed person than I, these things could never be mistaken for "pleasure" reading.

5) I spent a lot of quality time trying to remember the activities I enjoy. This will sound ridiculous to anyone who hasn't suffered loss / PTSD / depression or similar injustices of spirit and is not as easy as it sounds.  The last seven years (the final of the last 17 years) were spent as shield bearer to my Soul Mate as she fought back cancer.  When constantly in battle, you enjoy the quiet moments just being together. Going for a drive. Holding hands. The "little things" cliche is true when you spend every month unsure if this doctor's visit will be the one where the final shoe drops.

Now that I'm single (I could say a widower, half a person, alone, abandoned, but I think "single" is a sufficient euphemism especially as I really am having a good weekend), I've forgotten what I like to do. Sure, I know what I used to like to do but that's more like a vague theory than a memory. Ever try to recreate something your grandmother baked?  You remember how much you loved it. You have the stupid recipe but you just can't quite get it. It's kind of like that. Only instead of a baked treat, it's your life.

Recalled to Life

 “Buried how long?” 

 The answer was always the same: “Almost eighteen years.”

“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?”

“Long ago.”

“You know that you are recalled to life?”

“They tell me so.”

“I hope you care to live?”

 “I can’t say.”

~ Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities 

I know grief and loss. The dark nights of anguish. The questioning. The anger. The despair. I know the endless days when it feels like you're losing your mind. I know the weeks that flash by when you just know you have.

I'm no psychologist. I'm not a counselor or clergy.  I'm educated in nothing therapeutic. I'm a career military and security professional. I'm a political scientist, a father, and a self-described a semi-kosher Zen Methodist. 

And I'm a widower.  A younger widower.  My Beloved Bride passed away 19 months ago.  I didn't sign up for this club willingly. I was drafted entirely against my will. I've become the most reluctant subject matter expert in the history of subjects, matter, or experts. I share my experience freely for those in the same leaky, terrible boat and those looking on safely from the shore. I'm sometimes funny, often inappropriate, but always touched with a little sadness.  I'm a clown on fire. Kinda funny. Kinda horrible. Kinda hard to stop watching. 

I've experienced grief in most varieties; anticipatory, complicated and most shades in between. In the five and a half years after my Bride's cancer metastasized, we lost her mother, father, and grandmother.  I retired early from my dream job to become a caregiver.  Last month my Grandma died. Hell, three weeks ago I had to put down the family dog who'd been with us since 2001.  I'm not sure what I've done to piss of the LORD, but I am truly sorry (did I mention I'm sometimes inappropriate?).

19 months on and I can function some days. I even manage a sort of happiness for brief periods. But if this is my "New Normal", I don't care for it at all.  I'm being recalled to life. I'm being recalled and I go kicking and screaming. Do I care to live? It's still too early to say. 

Life Goes On...

Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow
Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'
~ Journey

It's been a long time since I've been able to write. It was too soon when I tried two years ago. It was too soon when I tried again last year. I honestly have no idea if it's too soon now. So much has changed since then. Things are better, worse, and the same. My journey (I hate that word...more on that in the future) has had more incarnations than Dr. Who and more emotional turn over than ...well, lead singers for the group Journey (which I don't hate so much).

My grief has subsided and intensified, depending on your perspective.  It's subsided in that it is not the overarching theme of day to day living anymore. Had you told me this last year, I'd have laughed at you. Loudly. And probably rudely! And I might have punched you in the throat.

It's intensified in that I've transitioned from grieving the loss of My Beloved full-time to simultaneously grieving loss and rebuilding a life where I'm almost single.  Grief has gone from an 80-plus hour a week profession to a part-time fast-food job. It's irritating, doesn't pay well, and offers no benefits. The loss is no longer in a suit, shouting in its cell phone and angrily texting while driving 85 through the school zone of my sanity. It's now a pimple-faced teenager in polyester that can't get my order right despite asking me three times if I want fries with that. ("I don't want fries! Sweet Jesus, I ordered a chicken salad! Why would I want...? Never mind, kid. Just ring my up.)

I'm rebuilding my life while dealing with the ghost of my marriage and past life. My emotions and thoughts are a construction site cacophony of complicated grief and pale hope. I occasionally have flashes of insight, but more often than not I stumble in the dark; laughing, crying, sometimes both at the same time. Sometimes making that weird snorting sounding when you halfway cry then have a hiccup (man, that hurts).

Through all our travails and pain, life goes on. The wheel really keeps on turning. The trick is not letting it crush you.

Brown-eyed Girl

Yes, Dear Reader, it's been more than a month since the last post.  I've actually written manu posts since then.just couldn't bring myself to post them yet. Someday, maybe.  Against my better judgment I'm writing tonight  Read at your own risk. It is unedited.  --jgw3

Six months ago. Six months ago my Bride laid her burden down.after 15 years of cancer, fighting with courage (she'd hate that I write that!), compassion, grace, and dignity, she decided it was time to finish her fight. She finished her fight, deciding she had nothing left to prove. I'm extremely proud of her.

Still, FUCK! The pain I'm feeling today and this week is severe. (Yes, those who know me as a Christian realize sanctification has yet to work its final work in me...military friends know I reserve profane language for particularly emotional outbursts).

I praise G-D He spared Linda the worst of her pain. I praise Jesus that His Name was on my beloved's lips at the end, reaffirming the blessed assurance that she dwells in the House of the LORD now and forever.

Linda's in a better place. Exactly six months ago I was sitting with my bride, waiting for the hospice nurse to arrive and officially pronounce her departed. Silly. Me and my children were with her at 8:23 PM (2023 as I'm more comfortable saying). At that time, we watched her breath her last. I checked her breathing and her pulse in what I still feel was a must-to-clinical manner that did not betray my intense pain and loss even in those first moments. By 2223, the official time of my Beloved's passing, she had already been rejoicing in eternal health. Her reward with the Almighty was merely two hours old. Two hours of eternity. The barest of an infinitesimal fraction of a moment.  I sat with the Temple that was her earthly abode while she started her eternal joy. Angels surely celebrated this saint while I sat with what she left behind. Memories. The  battered body of a warrior. The amazing children and grandchild she ushered into this world and eventually eternity. The remarkable part of her soul that will always be part of me. The remnant of Linda is greater than what most will ever be at their best.

Tonight, I sit in my courtyard smoking a cigar and drinking bourbon gifted to me from good friends who were there that evening. I bask in the love of my children and grandchild who were in the trenches last year and that night. The wailing and tears of my parents, who should never see the death of a child, echo in  my ears as I remember than evening. Friends who made Linda's funeral a celebration of her spirit and ministry. The friends (not friends...family. Family and more) who made their way to be by our sides. Family and friends who were with us in those final moments in thoughts and prayer in ways they will never fully realize here on earth. I am loved by these and by HaShem, Almighty G-D. His angles minister to me even now.

Despite all the joy in my life, despite the blessings I have, I hurt tonight. I'm ripped in pieces. Love is at once the salve and the dagger. It soothes and it cuts. Love is the only thing worth a damn in this world and the only thing that can truly cut your soul in half. Linda, I miss you madly, deeply, truly. This is the last seperation we must endure. In short order, as eternity is measured, I will be with you again. I will be with you forever. We will praise Our G-D, worship at the throne of our Savior, and continue our love throughout all time. Such love cannot have an end. I love you, my Brown-eyed Girl. I have since the mountains were under the sea and will long after this world passes away.

Once More Unto the Breach

It's been three months since I created and made exactly one entry to this blog. I haven't forgotten about it. I haven't run out of things to say. I certainly haven't stopped grieving Linda's passing. Grief is difficult. Grief is incredibly hard. It's devastating  and it’s monotonous. Truth be told, grieving may be the second most trying thing I have ever done. Watching my beloved Linda pass away was the most gut-wrenching, demoralizing, dehumanizing thing I've ever had to do.

So here it is. Five months later. What can I say I've learned (besides the whole "grief is really hard" thing)? Over the next few blog entries, I'll share with you the lessons I've learned so far. (NOTE: Experiences may differ depending on griever. Not valid in all 50 states. Professional griever on closed course. Do not try on your own. Grief may be closer than it appears in the mirror. Not FDA approved. Some restrictions apply)

First, most important Commandment of Grief: There is no right way to grieve. Period. Anyone tries to tell you how to do it, do not waste your time with them. Leave. Quickly. Make up any excuse that gets you away soonest. "Oh, I have to go wash my stereo system". "My cousin's just called and I need to attend his one-armed, tone deaf kid's xylophone recital". "Holy Crap! My cat's on fire!". It doesn't matter, Get away from anyone who tells you how you should be acting, or regurgitates the 5 steps to grieving they learned in their undergrad psych course they took once to get that online degree in Dutch Art History. Grief support is vital and indispensable (we'll discuss that later). Grief itself? Not a team sport. Certainly not a sport where you should take coaching advice from amateurs. Who are amateurs? Anyone that 1) isn't you or 2) doesn't have the word "grief" or counselor" somewhere in their job title.   

I see a wonderful grief counselor. I say wonderful, though I would often describe her as more of a pain, but that’s unfair, What is accurate, painfully so, is that she forces me to do the one thing I asked her to help me with shortly before Linda passed away, namely, mindfully grieve the loss of 9/10 of my life. I want to be deliberate in my grieving and my grief counselor helps me with this. She also sent me to a bereavement support group, a support system I at once despise and love. My apprehension being: Hey, I'm a dysfunctional mess. Why am I teaming up with 15 other folks who probably have worse coping skills than I do? Does this Grief Counselor mental health "professional" not see where this can go hideously wrong? Turns out, sometimes just seeing how messed up others are can be of great benefit to you. Also, the act of helping others helps you. Yeah, that sounds New Age'y like I should break out the tie-dyed hemp shirts and matching flip-flops, but I'll be skinned alive if it isn't true. 

Speaking of being skinned alive, next time I'll tell you how grief will no-kidding make you fell like you're locked up naked in a Syrian prison with an angry man, a tarp, channel locks, and a cheese grater. 

The Mayans Were Only 3 Months Off...

I started writing this a week after my wife Linda passed away from her long battle with cancer. It's taken me a while to create and post this blog It's been two months nearly to the minute as I type this that she left me us.  Much too soon.  

Why a blog?  I want a place to document my grief and the process of change I'm going through. I want my grief understood by others for whatever help it may be to them and as an act of catharsis for me.  A grief observed is a grief most effectively worked through.  May this provide comfort for some and insight for others. 

Blessings,

Johnie

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Life forever changed two months ago.  I buried my Linda.  She was my best friend.  My lover.  My companion.  The mother of my children.  My beloved bride for 25 years.  She fought cancer and beat it back for nearly 15 years, showing courage, perseverance, and the greatest of human dignity.  We married young, when I was 19.  I cannot remember a time when I was not “Johnie and Linda”.  Now she’s gone and I’m half of who I once was.

This was a hard year.  I say this as a retired military officer, a veteran of the War on Terror and, nearly as terrifying, a father who successfully raised two children though adolescence relatively unscathed. Linda’s breast cancer metastasized in 2007 and in March of this year this insidious, merciless blight spread to her cerebral spinal fluid.  She beat the prognosis for every diagnosis she received.  In the end, G-D granted her the ability to lay down her life when she was ready, on her terms.  Her death certificate says she died of Stage IV Breast Cancer, but that’s because we don’t possess the language to describe the truth:  Linda had nothing left to prove to cancer or anyone else, so she decided it was time to rest.  My Linda was a Warrior Queen.  Resplendent in Glory and draped in Honor.  Heaven’s most mighty angels surely welcomed her as an equal; a soldier worthy of praise for the many battles she won.  I morn her loss as profoundly as I admire her fighting spirit.

You would imagine with almost 15 years to ready myself, this transition would not be so difficult. Linda and I planned every aspect of her fight against cancer.  Meds. Treatment. Even how and where she wanted to die.  We tackled the tough questions of faith that accompany such a good woman facing such a horrible disease.  What I didn't plan for, even a little, was what to do after she was gone.  Sure I had life insurance and that type of thing.  I like to think myself a good provider for my family.  All that aside, I did not plan to no longer be “Johnie and Linda”.  I did not want to acknowledge the end of the fight.  I did not plan for the inevitable life after being a couple because I felt it would be defeatist.  I did not plan for where I am at now and where I stand scares me to my core.

When you are joined in Holy Union, two become One.  It is a beautiful and sacred process; one that I was privileged to experience in the best possible way for 25 years.  The down side is that when half of you is called to their Eternal Reward, the process of Two becoming one is painful beyond belief.  The separation is not surgical and there is no anesthetic.  It’s a tearing and ripping that is done while you are fully conscious and it hurts like hell.