Letters to Michael:   Guatemala, April 17, 2012

Dearest Michael it is just two days since leaving the hospital without you.   Page and I are getting into some sort of routine at the hotel.  I sleep no more than 2-3 hours.   Then, we get up early to get back on the internet to make arrangements for your Celebration of Life Ceremony and tie up loose ends back in the States.  Yesterday, we went to the American Embassy and got twenty copies of your death certificate.  They took your passport and marked it cancelled and gave it back to me.  I guess with a cancelled passport and death certificates this must all be real.    I want to get out of Guatemala as soon as possible and it looks really good for us to leave in the morning.  My emotions run the gamut from impossible sadness to numbness that I can’t understand.  I feel strong and stoic one minute and ready to crawl under the covers and just lie there for days.  I can’t do any of this.   I am wondering about the adrenalin coursing through my veins and this pain in my heart; it is real pain, or just a broken heart?  But I can’t say anything to Page because I can’t worry our pregnant daughter. All these chemicals surging through me keep me from relaxing.  I just can’t sit still and I can’t eat very much without it sticking in my throat.  I am tired but have more energy than any time in my life.  

But mostly I am angry with you for not contacting me yet.  I can’t help it I want a sign of some sort that you are with me in spirit at least.  I keep waiting for something, anything, just a sign that you are here with me.  All I have is dead silence.  All my other widow friends told me their spouses contacted them in some way and I expect you to do the same.  It is like when you were alive and wouldn’t turn on your cell phone.  You told me, “I only use it for emergencies, to call you or to tell you when I am on my way home.”   I think you hated to leave it on for fear the battery would run down and you wouldn’t have it when you wanted to use it.  However, my cell phone was always on and you could contact me anytime!  So this is what it feels like, you not leaving your cell phone on for me to contact you.  I keep thinking, “Okay Michael, anytime, get in touch, I am here waiting!”

Page and I decided that since we had accomplished everything we could from a distance it was time to take a few hours off, get out of the confines of the hotel, and go have a little bit of fun.  However, we needed to be back in the city by 4 pm to pick up your ashes. But, until then, we had the whole day with endless hours with nothing to do.  So we hired a car and decided to go to Antiqua where we stayed for two nights.  I needed to return to show Page the charming old city and I wanted her to see our hotel, and thank the wonderful people at the Euro Maya for helping me during your hospitalization.  I think I wanted to be back in the place where you were last a live, reading the paper on your Kindle, and practicing Spanish with the front desk guy.  Did you know his name is Angel?  Michael, you didn’t know that you were conversing in Spanish with an Angel!

We were picked up promptly at 8:30 am, but because of protests and traffic, we nearly had to turn the car around and go back to the hotel.  Luckily, our driver was cleaver and kept trying different streets and alley-ways to get us to our destination.  We were stuck, multiple times, on narrow one lane roads with Chicken buses and other travelers, beeping and waving their arms, in an effort to find a good passage to the same destination.  At one point the driver turned on the radio.  Thankfully it was a classical station, and seeing that we were going nowhere fast, we both settled back into our seats preparing for a long ride to Antiqua. 

Several hours ago, Page and I had been trying to come up with titles to music to play at your memorial.  It was a struggle for me to remember anything you liked.  Then, as if you finally were in contact, the music from the radio played one appropriate song after another in perfect rhythm to match my emotions and the music for your memorial.  The first one was “Smile, though your heart is breaking.”  Now come on Michael, how am I supposed to accomplish that I wondered?”  I scrambled for scrap paper and a pen, tears running down my face, and began to write it all down.  However, the one song that I knew you loved didn’t come through.   I said to Page, “Remind me that I still need to find out that song Michael loved to listen to while sunbathing in our front yard.  It is a Brightman-Bocelli song and I can’t remember the title.  We’ll need to look that one up when we get back to the computer at the hotel.”   It took longer than usual to get to Antiqua but I didn’t mind because I hoped it was you contacting us and sending us messages through the radio.  I don’t normally believe in those things, any more than you did when you were alive, but a broken heart can make you believe just about anything that brings comfort. 

Page and I did have a lovely day touring just a portion of the large antique city. We ate good food, and got in some shopping therapy.  I got to give Angel a hug, and the wonderful woman, who cooked us breakfast every morning, and I shared some tears.  It wasn’t long before we settled back into the car in the afternoon for the long drive back into the Guatemala City.   As we got closer to the hotel and time to pick up your Ashes (do you capitalize Ashes if it is a person?) I asked Page to remind me again to look up that Brightman-Bocelle song.  Then, not more than one song later (I swear this is all true) the song “Time to Say Good Bye” came on.  We couldn’t help but believe you were still contacting us.  With that message in mind I handed Page the card for the funeral home and said, “Please ask the driver to take us there, we have him for the day, and I just can’t go back to the hotel without picking Michael up first.”  Luckily, the driver stopped for gas and Page showed him the card and explained our situation.  Without hesitation he agreed to honor our request.  So I sat back, as deeply as I could, into the seat, wishing the seat would swallow me.  I wanted to suspend reality and just close my eyes.  I was dreading this part of the journey and wishing that the reality of your passing was not really true.  Having your Ashes in my arms was going to be the final reality check.  When the driver pulled out of the gas station he turned the radio back on.  The first song we heard, “Dust in the Wind, All we are is Dust in the Wind!”  I was so shocked that I let out a yelp, punched Page in the arm (wishing I was punching you), and said out loud, “Okay, Michael I get it.”

Letters to Michael:  Guatemala City-Day two

Dear Michael it is the 6:00 am the morning of April 14^th and finally, they let me see you.  You seem so peaceful today.  Just sleeping and breathing on your own.  It is a little more than 12 hours since being admitted to the hospital and thankfully your vital signs are stable and the nurse is taking really good care of you.  The doctor on call for the ICU tells me that you had a little rough patch during the night but now you seem to be comfortable and resting.  I realize that, while I hate to leave, this is the best time for me to get back to Antiqua to gather up all our things and then hurry back to you.  I have called a van service for 11:00 and until then I will just wait here to see you intermittently.  Last night a doctor in the ER let me use his computer to send some e-mails off to Peter and Page.  Since they are planning on meeting us in Huatulco I needed to let them know right away that we wouldn’t be going there with them.  I wanted them to be able to change their plans if they chose to, and let them know that our travel plans had definitely changed.  I was so tired and upset after you left for the ICU that I forgot to tell them what hospital you were in and that they should alert your family.  I figured you would rest for a few days, just like the doctor said, and then we would be on our way home.  This was not the time to worry the family when you would be going home soon. 

At about 10:00 am I got a call from my daughter, Page. An intern found me in the waiting room and told me that she was trying to reach me.  By some stroke of luck, on Page’s part, she found the correct hospital and made arrangements to drop everything and to come stay with us.   She told me she would arrive on a 7:00 pm flight and would be there with me to help with translation and offer support.  As I hung up from talking to her, a new intern on your case told me that the neurologist had been in, evaluated you, and that your neurological signs were deteriorating.  They were just waiting to take you to MRI.  Once again, bad news, and I had no way to contact anyone. I was so angry that they had just left me out in that waiting room for hours without any updates.  I had no one to help me with translation and no way to contact anyone.  I expressed my anger to the intern and demanded that they let me stand by your bed until you were wheeled away for tests.  Seeing you helped me calm down, how could the news be so bad when you were sleeping so peacefully?    I thought you seemed even more relaxed when I spoke to you.  I was sure you could hear me. You even flinched as they took off one of the electrodes on your hairy chest I thought that was a good sign, reacting to pain.  I thought that you were just letting your brain heal from the nasty bleed and you would be fine.  Miracles happen and I wanted one today.  

Since you were off to MRI, I decided it was the still the best time to make that long round- trip to Antiqua.  I needed to get a hotel room near the hospital, and cancel our current one in Antiqua along with the rest of our reserved tours that we’d booked.  Except for the waiting room debacle, during most of this ordeal I did have the support of the American Embassy.  They posted a guy, named John, on call who I could contact anytime I needed him for anything.  I would point to the phone number and one of nurses (none spoke English) would make the call.    John helped me navigate the difficult language barrier so that I could communicate with the hospital personnel.  The trip to Antiqua was horrible.  There was too much traffic making the trip twice as long as it should have been.  I wasn’t able to get to the hospital for more than four agonizing hours.  I was in the dark about the results of the MRI and torn between being beside you and getting our things.  However, I was lucky to have the kindness of another passenger who lent me his cell phone.  I was able to call John and get him to call the hospital for me.  I needed reassurance and to find out how you were. 

John made the necessary calls and called back when we were returning to Guatemala City, stuck in a major traffic jam of Chicken Buses, produce trucks, and families headed in same direction.   John reassured me that you were stable and doing fine.  That would buy me some time to get to the new hotel, drop off all our luggage, shower, change and get back to you by about 4 pm or so.   The doctor had told me that you could sleep like this for days while your brain was healing.  I had heard about people who had devastating strokes llike yours. They go into comas, rest and heal, and recover quite well.  I was hopeful you would be one of these people.  However, I also worried about the extent of your deficits and how well you might handle the difficulties that you were about to face.  How would you do with a long rehabilitation?  What if you could never fully recover?  Stuck in traffic, I had a lot of time to think. 

When I got back to the hospital it was about 4:30 pm.  You had been moved to another room, and again, I found you sound asleep and breathing on your own.  The nurse in me noticed that your heart was a bit irritable with intermittent atrial fibrillation.  However the respiratory team had been in, and the congestion, that I noticed earlier in your lungs, was gone.  Your nurse’s name was America.  What a fitting name I thought.  We will get you back to America!  When I asked America about the MRI results she sent the doctor to talk to me.  That is when the plans to take you home drastically changed.  He told me you were walking a fine line.  You were sitting on the edge of life and death and I needed to decide what to do next.  More shocked than upset, I became the nurse again, and I asked to see the MRI. 

The MRI told the story.  You had a much larger the bleed than the night before.  It had grown from 3 cm to nearly filling your whole left brain.  “This bleed is not consistent with life,” he bluntly told me.  “You need to tell us what you want us to do.”  My educated brain told me that what I saw on the MRI was definitely not compatible with life.  Even if I wanted to have you intubated and kept on life support it would only be a matter of time before you would die anyway.  I used to kid you that my love for you was so great that if anything ever happened I would intubate you and put you in the backroom with a nurse so I could visit you every day.  Then I pictured visiting you in a nursing home with you communicating we me no differently than you were today.  I realized my love for you was now being put to the test.  I needed to tell them your wishes, not mine.  It is shocking how calm I felt. I was having another out of body experience.  It was as if you were just one of my patients and I was the one talking to the wife, giving the bad news. 

Without hesitation I told the doctor that you had no wish to live in any capacity less than what you were before the stroke.  You had told me often in the past year, “If I die tomorrow, let me go.  I am not afraid; I’ve had a good life.  Just cremate me, send my ashes out to sea, or where ever you like, but don’t be sad, you are a strong woman and you will be fine.”  Here I stood, not fine or strong, faced with that decision and your wishes echoing in my head.  I needed to do the loving thing and let you go.  It was another out of body experience as I said, “We should let him go.  He wanted it this way.”  Like most of us, you always said that when it was time you wanted to go quickly, and painlessly, and I need to respect that.  The doctor informed me that this process could take hours to days.  They would continue to give you medications, monitor you and give you good care.  

When I saw you again, lying there, still peacefully breathing on your own, my mind switched over to your wife again. I said "Okay Michael you get your wish, to go as you wanted."  But I hugged you and told you not to go, begged you to stay, asked you to just stop this stupid nightmare and just get better.  Most of all I begged you to wait for Page. When I talked to you it seemed like your heart rate became normal again and slowed a bit.  So I pleaded with you, “Please Michael, don’t go now, wait for Page. There was no way I could face the next few hours or days alone.  It seemed forever before Page arrived.  But you waited with me like I’d requested.  You were always good like that, doing what I wanted most of the time.  It was a relief to see Page walk through the door, and yet, terribly sad to face the reality of the situation all over again.  We hugged you and talked to you about our love for you. It was hard and we both cried.  Being a strong guy you seemed so comfortable, heart beating, and breathing on your own.  I hoped you would last just a few more days so I could adjust to this horrific reality.   But you had other plans and gave us just a few more hours.

Before you took your last breath, sometime after midnight Pacific Time, on April 15th, I remember putting my forehead next to your cheek, closing my eyes and wishing this part of loving you was not a reality.  How could I possibly let you go and walk out of this hospital without you by my side?  Within seconds my mind cleared, and for a moment, the fear disappeared.  Still hanging on to you tight I could feel the warmth of your face against mine, your heart beating beneath my hand and feel your breathing slowing, almost matching mine.  Then, out of nowhere, the vision of you walking across the patio in Boulder, Colorado came into my mind as clearly as the day it occurred, twenty-one years ago.  This was our first meeting, a story you loved to tell anyone who would listen. It was parent’s weekend; both of us were there to see our sons.  I could see you walking toward me, amazingly handsome, wearing that red stripped, long sleeve dress shirt and beige slacks that I loved, followed by that big, toothy, white grin that wowed me.  You stopped, stuck out your right hand and said, “Hello, my name is Michael, did they send you here to do this on your own?” 

Letters to Michael: Guatemala

Dearest Michael I sit here in the emergency room at Centro Medico Hospital, Guatemala City and you are on your way to the intensive care unit.  The treatment room is empty.  I sit in a chair hugging your belongings to my chest.  There isn’t much, just a pair of pants, shirt, shoes, socks and digital watch.  They are contained within a plastic bag and yet, that’s all I have left of you right now.  I am stuck here by myself.  Our hotel room is forty-five minutes away and I don’t want to go there in a taxi by myself.  You normally make sure I am safe and now I have nowhere to go that doesn’t include leaving you.  All I can do is review what has just happened in the past several hours.  I keep looking around the room for evidence that this is just a joke and I am not really here waiting for you to get better.  Since when, after twenty years of taking care of me, is okay for you to leave me here to make decisions on my own?  I keep hoping that if I close my eyes really, really tight, when I open them again I will be back in our hotel room, with you lying beside me in bed. We might be enjoying some silly TV show or talking about the wonderful day we just had.  That was normally how our nights would go during the four months of traveling South and Central America.   Better yet, maybe we would both be fast asleep having gotten up at five thirty in the morning to catch a van to Lake Atitlan, Guatemala.  This tour was just the beginning of our excursions within Guatemala.  And even though we normally avoided getting up early, we were both looking forward to the adventure that we planned.  Instead of sleeping safely in our hotel room, I am in an empty ER reviewing the last six hours of the adrenalin packed portion of “Our Adventure.” 

What is burned into my brain is the picture of you standing outside the tour office waiting for our van, which was late, to arrive.  Intermittently you would find me nearby, give me a van status and then go back to waiting by the wall.  One minute you were asking me if I was finding anything to buy and the next minute, I see you with a funny look on your face, a tell-tale half smile, on the left side of your mouth, and you were staring out into space, or were your eyes just hoping to find me?  One second you were fine.  The next I am yelling, “My husband is having a stroke, call an ambulance, get me a chair.  And then I hear myself telling you, “Honey sit down you are having a stroke.”  You just looked up to me with disbelief in your eyes and sat down.

However, when I open my eyes in the ER I realize that no, I am not dreaming, this is a nightmare, and you are here somewhere in a foreign hospital with a cerebral hemorrhage.  The intern reviewed your CT scan with me while the nurses changed you into the requisite hospital attire, started an IV, and put you on a monitor.  You were still awake and shook your head yes when I asked, “Can you hear me?”  I had hoped for a good, old fashioned, tiny clot-type stroke, called a TIA that could be relieved by that wonderful clot busting medication I used to give patients when I worked at Santa Monica ER.  But we were not so lucky.  When I saw that “glowing” white spot confined to the one area of your left brain I said to myself, “It figures, give a guy the gift of gab and then take out his speech center, nice job!”  I see the size of your brain; contemplate the size of the bleed, which, at the moment, is about three centimeters, and think, “Pretty damn large!”  I couldn’t help but wonder, after worrying you through all the cardiac surgeries, had our luck just run out?   But the neurologist reassured me that you should be fine. There was no treatment other than reducing the swelling, lowering your blood pressure and waiting.  He said, “Your travels for now are over.  You will need to stay here about one week to get him stabilized.  Then you can get a first class ticket home and soon as possible, start physical therapy for his recovery.”  In a matter of seconds I thought, get a first class ticket?  You don’t know my husband.  Never!  Michael would never splurge that way. 

Our hotel was an hour away and I was in the middle of a major attack of inertia; scared to leave for fear you would need me, scared to go back to the hotel alone.  Since it was almost midnight, the nurses took pity on me and found me a bed in on call room to use for the night.  I was told that the intensive care unit had strict visiting hours and I could see you later in the morning.  But with a cot and a sink I could rest and still be somewhat close to you when you needed me.     However, rest never came.  All I could think about was those first several hours of terror when this whole craziness began to unfold.  

There we were at some remote Guatemalan lake and you were having a stroke.    All my nursing instincts kicked in usurping any wifely panic.  I was in control calling the shots and thinking “Is this really happening?”  You kept telling me, “I am fine.”  But I could see you weren’t.  When the ambulance arrived you even walked from the curb to the ambulance and got in just as the right side of your body began to weaken and give away.  I was angry that you were so damn stubborn that you had to do get into the ambulance all on your own.  I guess you were trying to prove to me, and everyone else, that you were fine and could handle this “little” problem just like you handled everything else.  We got oxygen on you right away and then there was the harrowing ride up the hill to the hospital that made me dizzy.   I was holding onto your head partially to steady you and so I would stay steady, trying unsuccessfully not to slide on the ambulance bench, from side to side.   

The little remote hospital ER was more like a clinic than a real hospital.  A blood stained blue cot mattress and bloody dressings decorating the floor, this is the type of hospital horror stories I’d heard stories about. Beware of hospitals in a foreign country.  Now, for us, this horror story was playing out in Technicolor.  They would have put you on that dirty mattress had I not yelled, “Don’t we get a sheet?”  With continued oxygen you seemed to get better.  You could talk a little and your right side regained its strength.  The silly left-sided smile relaxed and you were nearly normal again except for stumbling through your words.  Out of nowhere a representative from embassy arrived. He immediately jumped into make any necessary calls and discuss ways to get you transferred two and a half hours away to a private hospital in Guatemala City.   You kept saying as best as you could, “Go back, go on van, I fine, be fine, go hotel.”  At one point you even put your shoes on and stood up, as if to say, “See, I am fine and I don’t need to go to the hospital!”

As time ticked away, I realized that the golden hours of getting you treated, for what appeared to be a TIA, were coming to an end.  According to research, three hours is all we had and it was 1.5 hours from the beginning of your symptoms. With minutes rapidly ticking by I wondered how many precious brain cells were we losing? I couldn’t sit still, I needed action and you needed to be transferred right now.  Like an episode from Star Trek I thought, “Beam me up Scotty.”  Failing that, please give me wings to carry you to the hospital fast!   You recognized my anxiety and patted the space next to you on the dirty stretcher and said, “Sit.” So I did, feeling defeated and frustrated.  I’m screwed, he’s screwed, we are all screwed.  But those feelings lasted only a minute or so.  I needed to get you to a big hospital fast.  But just as I was suggesting we call for a helicopter, I looked outside and saw the rain began to fall and the fog rolling in.   We are definitely screwed I thought.  No way can we make it in time in an ambulance over winding mountain roads, through fog, and then stuck in big city, Friday night traffic.  But that is just what happened.  It was two and a half hours of hell and you reassuring me by saying, “I am fine” and once asking “How much longer?”

Upon our arrival you were alert but having trouble with your thoughts.  You went from saying, “I’m fine to wondering what was happening and saying “(this is) So strange.”  When we asked you to write your name you did so perfectly. You wrote MIKE and then just letters that had no meaning.  When we asked you to read back what you wrote you hesitated and then rattled off numbers as you pointed to the letters on the page.   I couldn’t help but think, “Wow this is interesting, doesn’t the brain work in mysterious ways.  Then I thought, when I get time I want to look that phenomenon up to see what part of the brain that is coming from.  But then realizing when you recover from this and can’t process, can’t write, can’t think straight, you will be so angry.  I thought of all our plans to rent Page’s condo.  You would swim in the pool, get back to playing golf, watch high school sports and I would shop for the new grandchild that was on the way.  How could any of that happen if your speech center was gone?   At one point the doctor took me aside and said, “This is the part I hate.  We need a money guarantee to treat your husband.”  I said, no problem here take all my credit cards and treat him!  But the clerk kept stating that they needed your passport for a guarantee.  Your passport was an hour away with everything else.  I had no cell phone, no computer, and no address book with family phone numbers.  Everything I needed was an hour away! 

Just when the hospital staff was deciding what to do to make sure the bills would be paid, you complained of slight pain in your head and closed your eyes.   For me it was just like a scene out of the Shirley McLain movie Terms of Endearment with me yelling for someone to help you!  When I asked honey does it hurt a lot?”  You just shook your head no.   Finally I cornered the intern and told him, “Stop asking for credit cards and passports, we have plenty of money just get in here now and treat my husband”  “NOW!”  I found myself yelling, I want an IV, Oxygen, monitors and let’s get him to CT or MRI now!”  “Someone take care of my husband now!”  His condition is changing!”  You could nod your head in response to my questions, but no longer opened your eyes, and stopped trying to talk to me. The wife in me just hoped you needed to rest and the nurse in me knew something devastating was happening.   I wondered how does someone recover if the speech center is gone?  How did this bleed happen anyway? The questions just wouldn’t stop.   And now, as I lay in silence on this narrow stretcher, with you somewhere far away from me, I keep thinking about the minute this stroke started and wondering, what, if anything, I could have done differently.  Get me a time machine; I want to go back to this morning.  There are things I need to change.

To start with I would change that I didn’t sit with you this morning.  Instead I climbed into the seat behind you in the van and put our back pack on the seat next to you, instead of putting me there.  I will never forget what you said, “Aren’t you going to sit with me?”  I expressed an interest in catching some sleep during the two hour trip to the lake and needed my own seat so I could stretching out,  “I just need a little more sleep, I’ll come sit with you in a while,” I rationalized.   I also figured you would want a bit more leg room for that metal left knee!  We have traveled like this before and I thought at the time that it was an odd request; we were close enough that I could reach out and touch you anytime.  It was just a five seat van, not some gigantic Greyhound bus!  Even as I write this I wonder if you had some premonition that your time was no longer indefinite. 

 It wasn’t long before the other passengers began to fill up the van and I moved to an aisle seat next to yours.  By then you had struck up a friendly conversation with some men, sitting in front of you, who split their time between living in Israel and Miami.  It wasn’t long before the conversation got around to politics and the crazy, current American political situation.  It was obvious by the tenor of the conversation that both parties were of the same mindset and you were in your glory talking about one of your favorite subjects-Obama and the conflicts within the Republican Party.   I remember thinking how nice it was for you to have someone, other than me, to share the latest political news. 

Our trip at Lake Atitlan began with enjoying an American breakfast with our guide in a tiny town beside the lake.  Then, along with just two other guests, we got aboard a small outboard motor boat and headed across the lake to visit three small cities that seemed to grow out of the rocky hillsides that surrounded the tranquil lake.  The visit to these different cities runs together in my memory now.  One was known for textiles, one for having wonderful artists, and the third for markets, long haired women, churches and a great restaurant to have our lunch.  You kept telling me to look at one little kid after another.  “Oh Cindy look, there’s another cutie” you’d say.  I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed more exhausted than normal. We had only walked a couple of feet when I stopped to go into to a shop to purchase a scarf for my daughter-in-law.  When I came out to ask you for money you were sitting on a stone ledge.   I thought this was odd but didn’t comment because you were in the middle of a conversation with the guide.  Then, a block later, I turned around to look for you.  I will always remember what I saw like it was yesterday.  You were just a few feet away, up the hill from me and you had stopped again. You looked unusually pale standing there catching your breath. This picture of you is still so vivid.  I wonder now why this particular picture of you is still imbedded in my brain.  Why not the healthy pictures of you that I fear are fading, the ones I need to hold onto? Why do those pictures disappear so quickly? 

Though you stopped a lot over the past two to three months, as we walked the streets of South America, you seemed unusually tired today,  I wondered, why is he so pale?  “Michael, are you okay” I asked?”  And typical of your usual responses to me was, “I am fine.  Doesn’t our guide know you need to stop more often to shop?”  This was code for “I need to rest more often.”   But it wasn’t long before you passed me as we slowly made our final decent down a steep hill and back to the boat. I said “Hey speedy!”  And you shot back something like, “Going downhill, piece of cake.”   I thought, okay he is fine.  He is going downhill faster than I am and chatting with our guide at the same time.  He must be fine.   You even kept looking back up to me and wondering why I was taking so long.  You would turn and say, Watch out for those wet rocks on the road they are slippery, don’t get run over by a tuk- tuk!”  I thought good, he is being his usual protective self.  So I put all my worry aside and began taking in the sights with my camera.  All the shops were so colorful.  And since I didn’t have much room in my suitcase for the beautiful tapestries, I figured that I had plenty of room in my camera to take the colorful sights home.   

At one point I noticed that it was three o’clock and the tour was nearly finished.  I rushed to take in just a few more sights and haggle with someone over a beautiful tapestry that might look great at the end of one of our beds.   You wrapped your arm around me and said, “What do you want to buy now?” Since you and the tour guide looked impatient, I stopped my negotiations and followed you both to the dock.   We just needed to get back across the lake and onto our waiting van for the two hour trip back to Antiqua where our beautiful hotel room and bed waited our return.  On the boat you grabbed a seat beside me as we endured the slow process of crossing the large lake, which had grown choppy with the afternoon wind.  You asked me questions about whether my dad liked musicals.  I thought it was an odd question but told you I had no memory of my dad ever liking musicals the way you did.  This triggered my mind to drift to other questions I should have asked my father who had been dead for fifteen years.  I remember thinking how hard it is to have someone close to you die and wished I could just give him a call and ask, “Michael wants to know if you like musicals.”  Crazy how long someone can be dead and yet you still miss them a lot.  I also caught myself thinking about how many people I’d lost in the past twenty some years. 

First of my family to go, besides elderly grandparents, was my sixty-eight year old mother who died of lung cancer in 1986.  Then, in a quick three month succession, I lost two friends and my cousin’s husband in the fall of 1987.   After a near ten year reprieve, my father died at age 81 in 1996.   In 1997, another good friend of mine died of ovarian cancer, a month after “my” ovarian cancer was detected.  Over the noise from the outboard, Michael asked me what I was thinking and I quickly changed the subject to the choppy water and the beauty surrounding us. It had started to rain just a little but the sun was still shining.   I looked around for a rainbow, but never found one.  Now, here I sit, in a tiny room near the emergency room, reflecting on the day, and I can't help but wonder, was I going to lose you too?? 

Fate: Set in Motion

As most of you already know by now, my Prince Charming died of a massive brain hemorrhage on April 15, 2012.  Page (my daughter) and I were there hanging onto him until the end.  We brought him home to Los Angeles, and on April 22, and along with 350-400 people, had a lovely ceremony to celebrate his life.  We had completed four months of our six month trip to South America and Central America.  We were in the home stretch so to speak.  All that was left was some excursions in Guatemala, a brief visit to Mexico City, and then several restful weeks in two beautiful places in Mexico, Huatulco and Buena Vista.   Michael was getting tired and looked forward to lazy days by a pool or swimming in the tranquil waters of the Sea of Cortez.    Because he looked forward to these last few weeks so much, when his prognosis did not look at all favorable I promised him I would take him along to the places he wanted to go. I was angry that he wouldn’t be going in the form I wanted him to go.  However, I figured he would be pleased that I didn’t stop our plans and just sit home and cry.    

 Two weeks ago today we were visiting lake Atitlan, Guatemala.  Michael told me it was one of his favorite tours of the trip and added, “This is one of the best days of my life.”  Little did we know significance of that statement.  During the preparation of the DVD for his celebration, I couldn’t help but notice how much he changed during the last month of his life.  Even though I saw him slow down and rest more than usual, I believe I ignored his overall decline in health.  I remember thinking that his annoying three week cough was possibly as sign that his congestive heart failure was getting worse.  But I just kept thinking, “Come on Michael stay well enough to get through to the end of this trip.” I remember noticing how much slower he walked and how he seemed to stop to rest and catch his breath more often.  Even though I wanted him to slow down, change plans, and return home, he refused.  It is amazing how many “what if’s” come to mind.  But the reality of the situation is just what it is…he had a stroke for which he couldn’t recover.  I can’t go back.  There are no time machines even though I wish there were.   He was just a ticking time bomb that started with his unhealthy diet, and ultimately, the bad luck of having an enlarged heart and heart disease. 

I am finally beginning to realize that the hours wasted on “what ifs” can tear you apart and it still doesn’t change a thing.   The doctors in Guatemala all reassured me that his fate was sealed with a history of atrial fibrillation, significantly enlarged heart, and coronary artery disease. Each diagnosis added to the complexity of his illness.  Yet, neither of us saw him as an ill person.  He loved life.  It was only recently that his decline in health was becoming so obvious.  “I haven’t been the same since that damn mitral valve surgery (January 2011) he would say.” 

I still remember when Michael had quadruple by-pass surgery six and half years ago.  I got to see his chest x-ray and remarked about his unusually enlarged heart to anyone who would listen.  While no one else seemed to comment much about the size of his heart, I remember thinking, “Yikes, this isn’t good!”  It was only a matter of time before the enlarged heart would begin to fail, and most likely led to the catastrophic events that ended his life.  While this isn’t what I wanted, Michael died the way most people say they would like to go, quick and painlessly.  He enjoyed his life until the very end and told me many time over the past few months that he had no regrets, “If I die tomorrow I have had a good life and I am not afraid to die.” 

We all said our last goodbyes to Michael last Sunday, April 22, 1012.  However, for those of us who loved him most, it is really difficult to say goodbye.  We will all miss his smile, his laughter, and his generous hugs.  I will miss his kindness and love.  He gave me hope in mankind.  After one failed, loveless marriage I didn’t think there was a man in the whole world who would show me the kind of friendship and love that he showed me.   I was lucky to have known him and it is hard to let him go.  As requested by many of you I am going to continue my blogs.  I have been waiting for inspiration and overlooking the obvious.  I have decided to title them “Letters to Michael” since he is with me on this final phase of our trip.  It is somewhat comforting to have him with me, going to the places he really wanted to go.

It’s Raining Molasses and Crabs

April 6, 2012

We have been in Playa Guiones for eight days of mostly relaxation that includes beach walks, ocean swims and plenty of pool time.  In the first few days it was brutally hot mid-day but cooled to just pleasant, mildly humid-warm at night and early morning.  Then a few days ago, the late afternoon sky turned black with dark, moist clouds that brought thunder and cleansing, heavy downpours.  The rain is a welcome change for those who live here and drive the dusty roads every day. The dust is so thick that it gets into your pores, lungs, and sinuses if you are not lucky enough to own a car.  But have a car, and it becomes encrusted with a thick, gritty film that obstructs your vision and chokes the engine with prolonged exposure.   Fortunately, with the rain, the dust settles back on the roads and the ruts turn into delicious smelling molasses puddles.   During the dry season many businesses pour a sugary, syrup-like mixture on the roads to control the dust.  When it rains, that syrup resurfaces and leaves you craving a molasses cookie.  

The charming red and black crabs return with the rain.  They make their homes in the ground and come back to life when the dry season is over.  It is fun watching them go about their business hunting for food, fighting over females and protecting their territory.  Last night I found one of the babies, no bigger than my index fingernail, hurrying across our bathroom floor.  At first I thought it was a big spider, but was relieved that it was “just a crab” and let it find its way out, hopefully the way it came in, under the space in our door.  At least I hope it found its way out!!  Perhaps I will get stopped at the border when they discover it has tried to smuggle itself out of the country inside one of our suitcases!

With the rain, Costa Rica seems to have come alive again.  Along with the crabs there are healthy looking green iguanas that strut around the pool and climb into trees to munch on tender new leaves.    These prehistoric looking creatures are such beautiful specimens, sporting armor that you would swear is just a costume designed creatively by some computer animation team in Hollywood.  They are so attractive that it is difficult to stop taking pictures of them. We have a porch outside our room with rocking chairs, where we can sit, relax and hear the sound of the waves in the distance and the tinkling bell like sound of the cicadas that play their music 24 hours a day.  The sky is alive with various birds traveling the treetops, putting on mating dances and building nests to prepare for spring.  In the morning, the howler monkeys make a noise that is similar to barking dogs as they stake out their territory and lay claim to a favorite mango tree loaded heavily with ripe fruit.  In the evening, there is an old bullfrog that chimes in and adds his bass notes to the music that permeates the warm night air. 

The sea seems to have an abundance of life too.  When I went for a morning swim yesterday, a wave of six inch fish washed over my head, and when the wave settled it seemed like the area around me was boiling with the movement of the large school as it passed by.  At that point I decided it was time to get out of the ocean because I didn’t want to encounter the larger fish that were no doubt “hunting” the group of little fish they had rounded up. We also have been enjoying the food from the sea. Many of the restaurants here are outdoors.  Some have just a thatched, palm style roof; others have beautiful, high pitched teak roofs, but generally all the sides are open to the air.  One night we had perfectly seasoned fried fish as we sat at a table with nothing but the sky and stars above us and the sea was just 200 feet away.  While we waited for our meal, surfers nearby caught the last wave as we all witnessed a purple-red sunset.  The ceviche here is fresh and delicious and so is the tuna Carpaccio that is sliced paper thin and tastes perfect on freshly toasted focaccia bread.  Just add a cold beer or crisp glass of white wine and you know you have found epicurean heaven!  We will savor these last few days of nature, good food and the companionship of my daughter and her friends.  Just one more big adventure awaits us in Guatemala.  Time to get organized again and learn what we can about the places we will see along the way.

STEPPING BACK IN TIME:  24 HOURS IN LIMA, PERU

March 29, 2012

It is true what Frommer’s travel guide tells you: “Be aware of the cab drivers, they can rip you off.”  In most of the cities we have traveled there is a kiosk selling taxi vouchers, but when we landed in Lima we didn’t see any, and it was close to midnight by the time we cleared immigration and customs.  We were eager to get to the hotel and go to bed, so the first official looking cab driver that approached us got our business.  He started to negotiate a price that we didn’t agree to, but we soon got him to come down $10.00.  He asked the name of our hotel, grabbed our suitcases and asked us to follow him to his large black van.  He had an official badge around his neck, so I figured we were in good hands.  He told us that it would take an hour to get to the hotel, and when we saw the traffic we decided that he was probably not exaggerating.  However, it seemed to me that he was going in the wrong direction.  Even though I’ve never been to Lima, I felt something was wrong.  At one point we went through a very poor and rundown part of town and I kept saying to myself, “Where are the bad guys, is he going to take us to some guys who could rob us?”  Later, Michael confessed he had the same feeling and was making plans to reach over the seat, grab him around the neck and threaten to break his neck if he didn’t take us to our hotel.  But that was never necessary.  Later, we felt lucky that nothing bad happened.  Unfortunately, after about 45 minutes of him weaving in and out of traffic, drifting across lane lines and a lot of honking from other motorists (he was a bad driver), we ended up at the wrong hotel, out in the suburban part of town.  I keep reminding myself, “Trust your instincts.”  Once we clarified this mistake and he got us to the correct hotel, we just felt grateful that nothing bad happened and realized he was a nice, albeit overly eager, guy just trying to make a living.  I realized that he was just so anxious to have passengers that he didn’t reconfirm where we were going.  Since he didn’t speak a lot of English, it was difficult to communicate with him.   But in my head I kept practicing something I could say to him should he get confrontational, “Es su Ciudad, no mi ciudad y no mi problema, es su problema!”  He had me worried when he just kept repeating, “That’s not the right hotel, you go downtown, that different place, that not this place, that in middle of city, why you go there and not here!”  As he was driving away from the wrong hotel, he just kept repeating this, putting on his brakes and hesitating as if he might pull over any minute and let us out.  He seemed angry.  So I kept practicing my rebuttal over and over…su problema, no mi problema” and praying he would take us to our destination.

We arrived at the Gran Bolivar Hotel about 20 minutes later, and it is grand indeed!  Built around 1926, this hotel is very large and still has furnishings dating back to that era. The hotel was compared to the Waldorf Astoria in NYC and The Biltmore hotel, which were both built around the same time.  As you will see from the pictures, it has not been updated since that time, either.  In the lobby is a Model T Ford dated 1920. In the entryway, there is a Tiffany glass domed ceiling that is just beautiful.  The beds and furniture are from that era.  Had they updated the bedding and bathrooms, it would be a fancier hotel that could compete with the more modern hotels like the Sheraton down the street.  Even at one in the morning, we could not imagine sleeping in the bed we were first offered.  The rooms were spacious, the ceilings easily 12-14 ft. tall, but the bed was harder than the beautiful inlaid parquet floor and only a double, which barely accommodates one of us, let alone a guy with a bad cough and a woman with long thighs and big butt!!  So after a bit of haggling, they gave us a room with two bedrooms and four beds for the same price.  This new configuration worked great-- the guy with the cough could be isolated!!

 The hotel had many interesting features, like an old fashioned bar-club room, grand salons for weddings and banquets, and a large outdoor second floor patio that would be perfect for high tea.  Another feature that wasn’t so welcome was found as we were getting ready to leave.  I took a picture of this hotel resident whose “nearly dead” body (bigger than my thumb) was moved for the picture.  This ancient occupant in our room went unnoticed until this morning, when I nearly stepped on him.  In hotels of this era, it should be expected to find these creatures, whose family likely roamed these halls in the 20’s and even in prehistoric times.

Downtown Lima is a grand city that retains the beauty of the 1920’s with many large, ornate buildings.  We were taken on a tour that we arranged through Viator.com and had a good time getting to see the area in just four hours.  Lima is so large that I could tell we just barely skimmed the surface of all it has to offer.  In the suburbs of Lima, there is a place called Miraflores, which has a beautiful coastline with parks perched on top of cliffs overlooking the water, similar to Santa Monica.  One park is dedicated to lovers and has a large statue of a reclining man and woman in an embrace.  There are long, Gaudi-like, mosaic tiled benches inscribed with stanzas from famous poetry.  Like many countries, millionaires have their homes near the beaches.   Unlike any country we have been to, there are ancient ruins reminiscent of pyramids called Huacas.  They date back to the Inca era 200 b.c.  Many Huacas have been unearthed and restored in the most exclusive residential and commercial areas of Lima.  It is fascinating to notice the juxtaposition of the ancient and the new as if the Incas still occupied the land surrounding these temples.  Even today, archeologists are continuing to discover artifacts that were used in ceremonies such as funerals and sacrifices to the Gods. 

In the downtown area, there are several grand squares and massive buildings.  The tour included an in- depth tour of two large churches that are now museums. Churches figure prominently in South America.  Historically significant, Church is where people congregate on Sundays and when the “Americas” were being colonized, they were the center of all the money and power.  One of these churches, the colonial era St. Francis, dates back to the 1700’s, surviving the devastating earthquake of 1746.  Today Convento y Museo de San Francisco, as it is formally called, is a functioning monastery even though a large portion is open for public viewing.  There seems to be constant restoration in progress.  In many areas, we could see the beginnings of beautiful old frescos being uncovered on the walls and near the ceilings.  Moorish-style tongue and groove pine ceilings and glazed ceramic tiles from Seville complete the decor. 

In the late 40’s, an entire network of 15^th century catacombs were discovered beneath the church.  Currently, the bones from the thousands of people buried there are on display in this extensive underground network of tunnels and rooms.  According to our guide, the bodies of the poor were buried in separate grave areas. Once decomposition was complete, the bones were then gathered into one common pit, piled one on top of another.  Wealthier patrons of the church were placed in crypts, where multiple generations could be buried together in a marked grave site.  Archeologists were allowed to unearth many of the graves, study the bones, and then put them back in the various grave sites.  All the bones seem to be mixed, with none representing parts of a whole person.  Femurs are lined up together; skulls are gathered in one area, and there’s an area for dozens of pelvic bones.  Once the scientists were finished studying the bones, they decided to arrange them in various designs that were to be “more pleasing to the eye.” I wasn’t allowed to take pictures, so you will just have to let your imagination run wild.  It was sobering to realize that all these bones represented the remains of thousands of people who lived several hundred years ago.  There are no relatives alive today to detail the kind of life these people led.  It also reminds me how precious life is, and how brief a period of time we have to enjoy the time we’ve been given. In comparison to the Galapagos animals, whose prehistoric ancestors can still be found roaming the Ecuadorian islands today, humans have occupied a very brief and often troubled place in history. 

Today we leave South America.  As our airline skirts the coastline, I can see the mighty Andes in the distance.  We will always have fond memories of the people we met and the places we visited in the land discovered by Vespucci.  We enjoyed the people we met and hope that many will keep in contact and visit us one day.  We loved sampling the food and wine and learning about various cultures along the way.  Quito and Cartagena stand out as the most culturally diverse, interesting and fun cities.  I thought with the three months we allotted, we would never have to return to this area again.  I was wrong!  I need to return to Peru and travel to Cusco and Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca and the Sacred Valley.  Buenos Aires is a city so large that one could visit many times and still come away wanting to do and see more.  Argentina stands out as a country so immense and diverse that it is impossible to travel to all the places in one brief month.  It would be fun to go back and take more tango lessons, travel to the mountains and glaciers in the south, and drink more Mendoza wine.   I will always have fond memories of Maipu, Argentina, Francisco and his dog Souki, who charmed us with his manners and big brown eyes. We were grateful to Carli and Antonio, who took care of us while we visited Isla Margarita, Venezuela.  It was fun to meet new relatives in Bogota, Colombia and be escorted around that area by them.  We have met some wonderful people from Canada whom we hope to visit this summer, and many others whom we hope will visit us one day.  Had it not been for the people we met along the way, we would not have had as interesting and enriching experience as we had.

Do not be afraid to travel to Colombia, Argentina, Chile or anywhere else in South America.   We never had any issues with our safety.  All the various airlines we used were safe, comfortable, and served good food with free alcohol!  Airtreks.com issued all our tickets online, and they were always waiting for us at the ticket counter when we checked in.  The tickets were reasonably priced, and Airtreks was always available to help us make any changes along the way.  I recommend taking an I Pad or computer so that you can stay in touch with family and friends by e-mail and SKYPE.  Even though we say goodbye to South America today, our trip does not end in Peru.  In approximately ten days we will be in Guatemala, where more ancient civilizations are waiting to be discovered.  But first we are on our way back to Playa Guiones, where in one day I will get to know my unborn grandchild.  Tomorrow we will find out if we are having a boy or a girl.  And the life cycle continues!

Quito Revisited

March 27th

When we visited Old Town Quito with our Celebrity group, it was a sunny Saturday, and all the indigenous Ecuadorian women and men were out in full force selling adorable paintings and scarves at every place we stopped.  We have returned to the old town and find it just as charming.  Unfortunately, the street vendors are no longer here.  They added to the ambiance of the city I thought.   Perhaps it is a weekend event, or possibly, when the tour buses come to town so do the vendors.   We are staying for two nights in a very charming hotel with old world appeal.  La Casona de la Ronda, a beautifully restored mansion originating in the 1730’s, gets the award for the most interesting and comfortable hotel in South America.  This three story home, with a typical open central courtyard, originally having a fountain, that was removed or destroyed sometime over the past 300 years.  According to lore, the original owner was quite wealthy and didn’t work.  Perhaps it was family money that kept him solvent. He used the home as a place to welcome clergy who were traveling through town, or who were waiting for a church to hire them.  I was told that the city is in the process of restoring many of the historic buildings in this town.  The street, La Ronda, is famous for being the oldest street in the city and one of the few that has all the buildings fully restored. 

The new owners of La Casona de la Ronda worked 3-4 years to restore this place to its current beauty and charm.  I am writing this blog from the common area that is decorated like a living room with a small wood burning stove that warms the place nicely.  When I look up from my computer I have a view of the patio where there is a wall of plants that goes up at least thirty feet.  It is filled with healthy hydroponically grown plants.  They also get the award for best breakfast, with warm croissants, eggs made to order, delicious frothy blackberry juice, and hot tea.  Everything, as you can see by the pictures, is just charming.  There is even a fourth floor, accessed by a winding staircase, that has an enclosed patio that overlooks the city, and the angel on the hill looks down on the hotel, offering a sense of protection, probably from the next volcano eruption.  There are large boulders jutting out of a wall or two that add to the decorative interest.  It is surmised by the current owner that these large rocks must have ended up here after the last earthquake.  

Old Town Quito, in spite of warnings to the contrary, is quite safe and friendly.  With all the stories we were told or read, you would half expect pickpockets and knife wielding bad guys around every corner and lurking behind all the grand columns in the center of town.  When we traveled with the Celebrity group, none of us were allowed to wander far from the group.  There was even a guard posted to keep watch over us.  In the two days Michael and I have wandered these streets alone, all we have encountered are beautiful people going about their business.  There are loads of parents picking up darling, uniform- clad children from school, Indian women, with babies strapped on their backs, selling apples and fruit, and many local people just shopping and going about their daily activities.  I think it is a shame that people from North America are fed such propaganda about the various places we have visited.  So far, we have found all the cities to be safe and welcoming.  We didn’t like Venezuela because it is a country that is in disrepair.  It is difficult to find anything charming about the places we went during our travels in Venezuela.  However, all the people we met, from cab drivers to our new friends on Isla Margarita, were very nice and did what they could to make our stay a positive experience.   I know that there are pickpockets out there just waiting to score (what town doesn’t have them?), but none of them have tried to score on us.  Perhaps we have been lucky, or perhaps we have just been careful and tried to appear confident in our movement on the city streets.  We don’t dress flashy or wear anything anyone would want to steal.  I left all my jewels (the one or two I own) at home, and my camera is never hanging around my neck to tempt anyone.  Even so, this is a city of people who appear to be just going about their lives, shopping for dinner, having lunch, planning a birthday party and buying a festive cake. 

Today we visited a museum where they have pre-Colombian art and relics on display.  Much of it is dated 1200 bc.  The museum is a beautifully restored two story home that also has a center courtyard.  We spent about two hours viewing the approximately 500 pieces of pottery and art that they have displayed in various rooms of the home.  We were forced to prolong our visit because, just as we were getting ready to leave, the skies opened up and it poured!  There was even pea sized hail that covered the courtyard, which soon flooded with water from the downpour.  Apparently this is typical weather in Quito.  It is sunny and warm in the morning and cool and rainy in the afternoon.  We didn’t care, as this gave us an excuse to linger longer in the museum shop and chat with the young saleswoman who had a very good command of English.  Michael loved asking her questions about how to improve his Spanish, and in exchange he helped her with some English words.  Then, upon her suggestion, we went to a restaurant that serves typical Ecuadorian food.   There was only one set menu for lunch.  No written menu, food was just brought to our table.  The place had no more than eight tables and a large flat screened TV.   The food was great and what a bargain!  The first course was a thick, hearty bean and potato soup.  Next we got a plate of red beans and rice, served with a thin cut of steak that was tasty but a bit chewy and delicious sweet fried plantain.  They gave us a sweet tomato juice that is an orange color made from a tree tomato, which is considered a fruit here.   Then we were served a tiny pastry.  I asked for hot tea to take off the chill and dampness of the day.  Our total bill came to $5.50.  Yes, $5.50 for both meals!  Come to Quito, where there are no bad guys that we could find, eat hearty local food, and stay in a restored historic hotel.   You will enjoy walking the safe colonial streets and meeting people in a place that oozes charm.