7.18.2015

Nine years.

Hi smoosher, 
 
It's been nine years to the day and boy does the thought of your death still send me.  That awful day we lost you after months of fighting.  And no matter how I  spin it  - you're still gone.  Still can't hear you tell me how you are.  Still can't laugh at your crazy faces or voices.  Still can't hold your hand or hear your heartbeat. 
 
Your death is the only thing in my life I can honestly say I cannot fix.  I can mend relationships; work harder professionally; do research to improve my parenting; exercise and mind my nutrition to get healthy... but your death is the only thing I truly cannot change.  And that, my friend, is simply maddening.
Edie (who is now 5) was home with me today and yesterday with a fever.   Yesterday she was looking out the back window in a fever-induced fog and said, "Mama,  look.  Daddy Mike's tree.  It's just... so beautiful." 
Because,  somehow, that tree, the one that Heide picked up randomly for me,  the one that  I planted on our wedding anniversary a year after you died,  the one with your ashes beneath it. That fucking tree is at its peak bloom every single year on July 18th - the very day you died. Once again, this year.  It is beautiful.

So, here on earth, in the shadow of your absence, things go on.  I just wrapped up my first sabbatical, which was pretty productive.  Baxter finished 4th grade and Edie is going to start Kindergarten in the fall.  PJ got moved to the homicide unit, which, while super prestigious, is also stressful as hell.  I remember your remarking about how Jim Carpenter had an insanely difficult and serious job as a Philly DA, and you found it hard to understand  how he could put that all aside  to "make the funny" in ComedySportz.  That job?  That insane job?  That's what PJ does, too.

You know, I miss the simplicity of the life you and I had, but  there are so many variables  wrapped up into one, it's hard to say  what I miss.  I miss being in the city and getting together with our friends ...whenever.  But that is something that  disappeared once we all started families and fled to the burbs - not just because you died.  I miss having a perpetually playful homelife, where  the stakes were low and we were just... silly all the  time.    But perhaps that would have receded with parenthood anyway.  Since you got  sick when Bax  was 10 months old and died 8 months later, it's hard to  know.  But it's definitely all confounded in this little mind of mine.

What I do know is that I married someone who you would love and respect, though he is quite different from you.  PJ is morally serious.  He is playful and funny, sure... but he also feels the weight of many social problems with his every breath.  He and I often talk about the kind of emotional  detachment he needs to have from his profession.  He can't  win every trial.  He certainly can't  bring victims back  through his courtroom successes... but he still feels it - and I can see the furrow  in his brow at the end of a long and troublesome week.  When I lament this stressful life we  have,  he reminds me that this morally serious person is the one who, at age 27,  was ready to date a widow with a child, and to assume the role of Baxter's father.  As I always say, "it's a complete  package.  No substitutions."  I think I have changed a lot, too.  I am still playful, but not as lighthearted.  I miss that me.  Because  you left  when I was just  becoming a real grown-up, I can  never  know if  I would have missed that "old me" anyhow.  But your departure sure left  an inconvenient causal agent on which I can continue to blame my lack of silliness.
In terms of the big picture  --- Bax is doing great.  He has lots of friends,  is doing exceptionally well at school, is playing the piano like a boss, and is a happy and  confident kid.  He sometimes caves under the weight of frustration (like, from having to fold his clothes or having to shut off Minecratft), which does worry me.  I actually talked to him today about how  he can't have a broken spirit from such minute obstacles and setbacks.  He seemed to get it, but I know the next time I tell him he can't  watch TV until his room is cleaned,  he'll look like I just snapped him with a whip.  Meanwhile, Edie continues to be a handful.  She never caves.   Quite opposite of Bax, Edie's spirit is NEVER broken.   Instead, she fights tooth and nail for everything.  While this might serve her well at the U.N., here in our home it can be particularly trying.  And yet,  she also  loves with abandon, hugs so hard that your wind gets  knocked out, and will  tell any member of the household that they "are the best person... EVER."  
 
Oh... and we got a dog.  A floppy muppet of a dog named Lucy - and I am in love with her. She lays down at my feet while I work and write.  She walks with me and licks my face.  She endures the children's insane affections.  And... I love her.
You will be excited to hear that ComedySportz is doing very well.  We are the exclusive  renters in the Playground space.  We have increased  programming, education opportunities and Red League.  Our crowds continue to be  decent size and our product continues to be super solid.  The improv scene in Philly is blowing up.  We are not the only show in town.  But, I would say, we are still the best and most consistently strong improv show in the city.
Smoosher, I want to write forever because it fools me into thinking you're right here, but I can't.  I need to help put the kids to bed and reorient myself to the world that is here now.  That is the double-edged sword of grief - the desire to connect with the past while still being firmly rooted in the present.  And now, my daughter is crying for me and Baxter is begging dad for a "mama snuggle," so I must go. I love you, smoosher


4 comments:

Kath said...

This is beautiful

Irfa arifin said...

Saya

Irfa arifin said...

Saya

Anonymous said...

I have only recently come across your Blog and learned of your past life with your husband and how deeply you loved him. Grief is a funny thing like Love it can make us do wonderful things and it can ruin your life by hanging on to the past and the loss of a loved one. I applaud you for growing and moving forward, while you can never have what was lost you can cherish and know that you had a wonderful person in your life. I have been reading through your older posts and feel connected to your pain and relieved that you have moved on and made peace with your loss.

Joe