Letters to Michael:  The First of Many… Firsts

Dear Michael, I guess I am going to have to get used to a lot of firsts.  I had two days of travel alone, sleeping in a king sized bed at the Ramada Inn alone, and eating dinner alone in the Ramada Inn restaurant.  In doing those “alone things” realize I will miss having someone to talk to over a meal and a glass of wine.  I will miss laughing about a television show or discussing why the remote control doesn’t work properly.  I will miss arguing with you about what to eat, what show to watch, and how early to arrive to the airport or go to bed.  I miss having you to help me with my suitcases and I miss having you to talk to in the security line.  I think I just miss having you take care of me as much as I miss taking care of you. 

I am sure there will be the first time I go to a movie alone, shop for groceries for one, and the first time I start talking to myself wishing you were there to answer me.  Twenty-one years of making my life your life doesn’t stop when you are no longer here to love and care for.   The realization that I have to make it all about me is not as much fun as when it was about you and me.  I realize it takes time.  But I am used to working out my problems at a faster pace.  I like results.  I like action. I value strength and fortitude.  Why then, do I lack energy to spring into action, recover, and solve many of the problems I believe I need solve.  I find everything very frustrating!  I keep hearing that I need to sit back.  I need to relax.  I need to reflect.  All of which is good advice.  It is just that I find it difficult to sit for long.  I am constantly looking for things to do to stay active.  But then I realize that I am so tired that I wish all I could to do is sleep.  And yet, I avoid going to sleep as much as possible.  I know what I would tell a patient faced with this problem.  But telling myself to take it easy, relax, stop planning, is much harder.  I guess am just too “im”-patient!  No one ever said grieving was quick and easy! I am finding that it is hard and slow!

I have moved to the Buena Vista house.  If I can learn to relax and slow down this is certainly the place to be.   Just as we expected it is in the perfect location, just steps from the warm, beautiful, aqua marine water that is the Sea of Cortez.  The view of the water fills the house with the delicious colors of blue that I love.  However, if you were here you would hear me complaining about the fact that the kitchen is poorly stocked with dishes, and pots and pans for someone like me who expects to put on full nightly meals.  I made my usual pot of beans but the smoked ham hock was not available this time so I resorted to just using a piece of pork shoulder to give the beans that extra flavor and I was not disappointed.   I am glad that Dot is here for company.  While she cannot take your place, she has memories of you to share which are comforting.  I find that I am cooking for her much the way I would cook for you except we are eating far leaner and healthier than you would have liked.  She makes fresh nightly salads and I prepare fish recently caught with a fresh mango salsa topping.   We are avoiding desserts but satisfy our sweet tooth with the delicious fresh tropical fruits that are in season.  Mangos, in particular, are sweet and dripping with goodness. 

I am getting use to the sounds that inhabit the darkness of night.  I was a bit uncomfortable sleeping alone with nothing but a flimsy screen protecting me from the world outside.  In the darkness everything seemed foreboding and scary.  But, I am learning to recognize and enjoy sounds of the night. What I am hearing is the water hitting against a cluster of boulders just off the shoreline and the occasional slapping sound of sting rays as they fly out of the water and land with a smack against the rippling sea.  When the lights are off the stars seem to reach to the water’s edge. They appear so close that you could reach out and touch them.  By about 6:30 am the sun begins to rise in the East casting a purple and red rainbow across the horizon.  Because the Sea of Cortez is a body of water located between mainland Mexico and Baja California, the sun rises over the water and sets behind the house and the mountains that line the highway about a mile away.  Other than the sound of the sea and slapping of the rays it is unbelievably quiet here.  We are far enough away from the highway that there is never traffic noise.  During the day there is the sound of quads that pass in front, along the beach, but that is only intermittent and brief. I am told that on trash day the stray donkeys and cows make their rounds looking for food but I have not seen them yet.  Twice I think I smelled the vapor of a skunk that must have visited in the darkness.  But other than the occasional dog and owner exercising on the beach I feel like I am on my own private island.

I go into the water at least once a day.  There are still warm currents mixed with the chill of refreshing cooler water but that doesn’t deter me from floating along the shoreline or snorkeling further out.  I have discovered a lot of fish.  My new friends are a white and black spotted puffer fish, yellow puffer fish, and schools of other common grey and yellow tropical fish.  There are also schools of fish that look like trout and small black tip bass-like silvery fish with big round eyes.  These fish would probably be delicious served for dinner.  What I haven’t observed yet are the turquoise and pink parrot fish that I saw three years ago.  I hope to find them here again.  Perhaps as the water warms up they will return.   Unfortunately, with warmer water comes the annoying jelly fish but I am learning to avoid those blue bubble-like creatures and hope they don’t come in great quantities until I am ready to leave in mid-June. 

I have already made new friends with the neighbors.  I am sharing the cost and use of their Wi-Fi and have to sit on their porch to get full access.  Daily visits have created conversations which are growing into a friendship of sorts.  I have renewed my friendship with the dog rescue people that we met three years ago and hear the French woman and her daughter (who is now six years old) have returned from France after testing out life on a farm near her family home.  I have not talked to her yet, but understand that she returned after a year or so because she missed the quiet life here more than she needed to be with her family back home.  I remember you talking about these past acquaintances with the expectation that you wanted very much to rekindle our friendship with them again.  I know they will all be looking for you and then sad to know that this time, and for all the times in the future, you will not be returning to greet them with your winning smile and friendly hello. 

It is frustrating and sad, but I am learning to accept that you won’t be coming through the door, or sitting on the porch, or going for a swim with me.  It is crazy that you aren’t here and in so many ways makes no sense.  I argue that you were too young, too full of life and love.  And yet, if I am honest with myself, I realize all the reasons that you couldn’t be here even though I wish otherwise.  There is this silent movie of our last days together in Costa Rica, Antigua, and then, the hospital in Guatemala City that plays in a constant loop in my brain to remind me that you are not hiding somewhere, you are certainly not at home, and you are never coming back.  I wonder how long it will be necessary for the brain to re-live this vivid chapter in our life.

Letters to Michael: Traveling With You, Still a Hassle!

May 16, 2012

Dearest Michael, where were you when I needed you?  Yesterday was a travel day for me and it was exhausting. When you were alive you would often comment about how hard the day was for you and now I am alone and finding it doubly difficult.  This is the one part of the trip you looked forward to very much, to go to Baja.  I find it sad that you couldn’t be here to share this with me.  I left the Mexico City Ramada Inn at nine am and was going through security forty-five minutes later.  That’s where getting you through security three weeks ago was a challenge, and yesterday was no exception.  First, they took my Huatulco pure vanilla.  I had great plans for that yummy vanilla.  It would have been wonderful for flavoring pancakes and using it in a lovely, fruit infused cake of some kind.  It passed through security at the Huatulco airport so I didn’t even think about it for Mexico City.  Then they gave me a bunch of hassle about you again.  This time it was much worse.

They began with spending several minutes looking at your paperwork and making calls back and forth to the higher ups, I guessed.  It was at least ten minutes of standing at the end of the conveyor belt waiting for them to decide whether or not to let “Us” pass.  Finally, they brought in a guy who could speak some English.  Apparently, the fact that you were not properly packaged in a “regulation urn,” caused them concern.   I had read that a sturdy, properly sealed box was good enough but, they kept shaking their heads no.  Of course this was never conveyed to me three weeks ago as I passed through the first time.  I explained, “I have been through LAX, Huatulco, and Mexico City.  The only TSA problems I have had are in Mexico City. Why is that?”  Of course they couldn’t answer that question.  I looked around and realized I was surrounded by three TSA employees who just kept staring at me. I guess they were waiting for me to do or say something.  I probably should have asked for the nearest “urn” store.  Perhaps I should have said, “Well do you happen to have another urn handy from the last widow you hassled like this?”

But I was too upset to get sarcastic, and with their command of the English language, I was afraid I might get delayed further.   So I just pushed your box toward one of the TSA people and said, “You want him?”  He immediately put his hands up and shook his head no.  Then, just as quickly I retracted that offer and wrapped my arms around the box and said “Well, l you can’t have him, he’s mine and I intend to take him to the house in Baja where he wanted to be!” The whole scene was silly.  I know that now but, almost immediately, I dissolved into tears. I was a melting mess with multiple TSA agents not sure what to do with me.  However, within seconds after the tears began to flow, miraculously, it was okay for me to pack you up again and go to the gate.  I guess one female agent felt badly enough that she offered to call the doctor for me because I must have appeared shaken and weak from the whole ordeal.  I was just so angry that I had to deal with them at all.   I just shook my head no, packed up my things, and walked away.  Later, I began to wonder why tears always had to be my ticket out of Mexico City.  Maybe I should have started crying before I put you into the x-ray machine and just cut out all the hassle?  Common sense seems to have no place with Mexico City TSA agents.

Perhaps I am just tired of the hassles of travel.  I am glad this is my last bit of travel out of the country with you.  I just don’t have the energy to carry around this heavy box any longer.  There are just not enough words to express to others why I felt I needed to bring you here.  Funny thing is, right now, I don’t feel vindicated or rewarded that I put up a fight to get your Ashes here.  I still feel that I failed because I didn’t get you here alive.

 I want you to know that Los Barriles is just as beautiful as you told me it would be.  I didn’t see the Martin Verdugo Hotel and Trailer Park when we visited before.  You boasted about how nice the rooms were, and how beautiful the Sea of Cortez was, and how much you wanted to stay in the town just to try it out for a while.   Well, I am here, and you were right, it is all true.  I am staring out at aqua blue water, long stretches of white sand and several fishing boats rocking back and forth in the breeze that ripples across the water and cools the air.  The weather is absolutely perfect with a cloudless blue sky and no humidity. There is an outdoor bar that has delicious $2 margaritas that you would love.  Right now there are about a dozen fishermen sitting at the bar laughing and boasting about their catch of the day.  They deciding who will win the money they pooled for the guy with the largest fish.  The more they drink the larger the fish become. 

I am here for two days just because I am honoring your request to stay here.  I would tell you, if I could, “As usual, you’re right, it is beautiful, and almost worth the aggravation I put up with in the Mexico City airport.” The taco stand still exists and sells the best shrimp tacos in town.  There is a new ice cream store where the yummy mango bars are made from home grown mangos.  Doug Steer, and his wife Rosa are still in real estate and think the market here is slow but improving.    On May 16 we move to the house situated twenty footsteps from the water where I will stay with various relatives and friends for a month.  Even though I know the answer, I still wonder why you are not here to enjoy it with me.

Letters to Michael: Climbing out of the Deep End and into Warmer Waters

My dearest Michael I am feeling like the biggest of my emotional storms has passed.  At least this is what I would like to believe.  For right now I have regained some of my optimism. What few grey clouds that blow in and out should be easier to handle.   I think that my frustration and helplessness to change the fact that you will not be calling me or waiting for me somewhere is now reduced to acceptance. But just because I am learning to accept the finality of it all doesn’t mean I feel any less sad.   I can’t say it is easy to be without you but I am getting up every morning and learning to try.  Perhaps swimming is allowing me some of the comfort that I need.  You always looked for places to stay that had comfortable beds that fit my standards and you always liked when I found a pool or body of water that met my temperature requirements. So far you would be glad that all the water I have found here is just the perfect temperature so I can relax.  Floating in a weightless state and staring at the horizon is actually quite therapeutic.
Lori and Mark’s pool was wonderful and we were entertained by birds.  All day long there was a constant rotation of black birds who visited to bathe, get a drink, or wash their food.  Occasionally they would come by to dampen their nest supplies.  Since it was mating season the big male birds would land on the lawn and flair out their feathers and entertain us with a little dance.  The females always seemed indifferent and not as impressed as I was.  But then I am not looking for a suitable mate.   Because of their regular visits to the pool we were often finding things that they dropped into the water.  There would be pieces of nest material, crab legs, and once we found a tiny whole fish that had a little suction cup thing under its chin.  If you were here you might ask, “Do fish have chins?” I am sure we would laugh thinking about that question every time we went snorkeling.
We have been to several beautiful beaches to swim or snorkel with our new friend Kathy.  I wish you were here to meet her.   I know you would have found an instant friendship with her just as I have. We have a lot in common including our love of cooking and she has a granddaughter due just four days before our grandson.  Kathy has given us more time and attention than anyone could ever expect of a brand new friend.  Page, Chandy and I will be eternally grateful to her.  She always seems to show up at the right time to keep us busy, keep us well fed, and show us around.
Huatulco has approximately thirty-five bays with lovely beaches.  To reach them, in many cases, you must drive a distance on twisting narrow roads. Today Page and Chandy got a little green as we reached our destination at the end of a particularly curvy road.  However the beautiful beach was worth the stomach rolling ride.  Once again, the water temperature was perfect.  Unfortunately, the water was a bit rough so I was very cautious not to venture out too far.  As with most of the beaches we have visited, there are open thatched roof structures occupied by restaurants that serve a varied menu and have cute names.  One day we ate at “Ay! Caray” which was fitting as that was all I wanted to do that day.  Today we chose the restaurant called “The Best Place on the Beach” which also seemed fitting.   This is the low season for tourists so many of the restaurants compete for our business and offer guests a safe spot to hang out for the day with very reasonable prices on food and beverages.  Today the food was particularly delicious and we had nearly the whole restaurant to ourselves.  You would have enjoyed the laid back atmosphere, lounged in a comfortable chair or hammock, while you watched the surf and beautiful women stroll by.  There was even a clothing optional beach nearby but only a couple of brave souls dared full exposure.  With all the sand I’d collected in my bathing suit, in the rough water, it was tempting to disrobe and join them.
So far the fish are not as plentiful or as colorful as the ones we saw in Thailand or the Sea of Cortez.  I look forward to swimming in our favorite spot right in front of the house in Baja.  I wonder if the fish we saw three years ago are still there.  I think fish are territorial and can live for years so I hope so.  I remember a couple of large turquoise and pink parrot fish that would greet me each time I went into the water.  I know that if you were here with me now we would be having these kinds of conversations. You would be talking about how ready you are to move out of this claustrophobic condo and travel on to Buena Vista.  It has been a long adventure and I think you were really ready to enjoy this last month of rest and relaxation with our friends and relatives who planned to join us. Throughout the trip you kept mentioning how you couldn’t wait to treat our guests to some of your favorite restaurants. You wanted them to find the magic that we have always found in Buena Vista.  I am sure that it will seem odd to float in the perfect water in front of the house and not see you swimming beside me or waving from the porch.  This is just another cloud I will have to wish away.

Letters to Michael: Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

May 8,2012

Yesterday we moved into the condo.  As predicted it is tiny, a little less clean my standards, and I am frustrated that there are no places to hang towels and we have lost our ocean view. The overhead lights cast a glare that I hate and there are no lamps to soften it. When I get frustrated with these little things I remember our eleven year old neighbor, Marlow singing for you (in life and at the memorial) “The Sun Will Come Up Tomorrow.”  But today, for me, the sun did not come up until around noon.  I wasn’t sure it would ever come up.  In fact, if given a choice, I would have avoided leaving my bed all day.  I was, indeed, Alice falling down the rabbit hole and not enjoying one second of the dark, ass over teacup, ride.  Death is not something you can run from.  You can’t even hide.  The reality of it finds you and pushes you so hard against a brick wall that it your breath away.  The finality of death is an unacceptable assignment that is impossible to grasp, comprehend, or learn anything from.  Trying to feel lucky isn’t even working anymore.

One part of my brain remembers you in such detail.  I remember our first few exciting dates, our living back East and all the details of our life in Manhattan Beach.  I am constantly reminded of all the places we’ve traveled.  Someday those memories will make me happy. But, right now I am reminded that if you were here you would tell the stories that people ask to hear and I would relive our adventures through you. I might fill in when you leave out a part you’d forgotten but, I always liked the way you told the stories best.   But now, when I tell a story about the places we have been, it starts with, “My husband and I went there and….” And for a second I pause, catch my breath and find myself thinking, “This stranger has no idea who you are and that you no longer exist.”  How many times will I have to explain that you died, or worse, how many times will it happen that they don’t even ask?  It seems strange that you are not here for me to be proud of and laugh with as “we” get to know those strangers together.   

What is unbelievably difficult to grasp is the reality that you actually no longer exist.  My brain just can’t compute that finality.  If I start to miss you, which is becoming more and more often, then my brain says, “Well just make a call!”  Then reality kicks in and pretty much knocks me back down the rabbit hole, into darkness, and I am free-falling into a sense of unending pain.  I hate the kind of pain that three simple Advil won’t cure.  I am generally a cheerful person and I don’t enjoy unreasonable amounts of crying.  I hate pity parties where I am the only guest.   I can almost always talk myself out of any funk and rise above any problem big or small.  But, right now, this problem is insurmountable.  So far I have no solution to this problem, none!   You were my go to guy when I needed to solve a problem.  You listened better than anyone I know.  Even your closest friends confirmed that reality about you.  When I was in a funk, and there were no words to help, you just wrapped your arms around me.  You gave me a safe place to process and gain control.   All I could think today was, “What the hell do I do now?  Where are those arms to surround me now?”  Today my energy for anything fun was tapped.  The mere suggestion of going for a walk was unthinkable.   Go for a walk?  The effort of taking one step seemed impossible. 

I now understand much more fully the depths of depression people can fall into.  Grief is a close relative to depression.   I don’t think I’ve met that relative yet.  I realize that am just sad, shocked, confused, and in pain.  My energy for doing much is quickly running out.  If I am lucky this will be short term.  Right now my diagnosis is grief.    Fortunately, Page is here to pick up the pieces.    But what do I do when the kids go home and get busy again?  What do I do when all my friends are sick of seeing me sad?   I’ve been in their shoes and it isn’t easy to carry the weight of someone else’s sorrow very long.   Normal life returns for others not experiencing the situation on an intimate level.  It is only natural that life goes on for others, it should.   But I can’t help but wonder what is normal for me without you? When will that fog obscuring something called “The future” clear away?  I have twenty-one years of living one way so I am not sure what comes next and how to act.   When I am with other couples I am no longer one of them, I am walking alone because I am odd man out.  I haven’t been that person in so long I keep turning around and looking for my other half and he is not there!  

So which is easier, staying in the rabbit hole, or climbing out?  I know I have to face the music, and working out a new gig.  I am just not sure of what tune to play.  I think that this is going to be a very slow dance toward the light.  You don’t cut off your right arm one day and learn to write with the left the next.  It takes time.  It takes banging the head against the wall of reality until you get tired of that headache and stop.  I never imagined being so frustrated and angry.   I am practical and smart but this particular problem has me stumped.   I guess that is why it is recommended that after a big loss, such as this one, to take at least a year before making any dramatic changes.  However, we were traveling.  I live out of a suitcase.  When does that merry-go-round stop and I find some sort of permanency again?   

Michael, you have been gone less than four weeks.  Why does it seem like a lifetime?  How do I get through a full year??  I see other people managing to do just that, they work through it and end up on the other side.  Today I can’t picture walking one step without you there.  I can’t even get it through my stubborn brain that I will never hear your voice again. The sound of it is already fading. But I remember you had one of those voices that was so wonderful it should have been on the radio announcing football games, or commenting on sports, or stumping for your favorite political candidate.  I loved your voice, and even after all these years, just the sound of it made my heart jump with excitement.  You were my guy who loved me unconditionally.  You were a once in a lifetime and I expected to have at least that long together with you.  When I went to the American Embassy in Guatemala to pick up copies of your death certificate they asked for your passport.  I got it back with holes punched in it and a big stamp next to your picture that read, “CANCELLED.”  Your passport was good until 2015.  Who knew that your passport to life had an early expiration date? 

I know that I expect a lot of myself.  But this is all such new territory.  And damn it, contrary to popular belief, I am not that adventuresome without you.  I am not sure that I can go to Costa Rica and live for an extended time without you. While I am looking forward to watching Page give birth, and can’t wait to hold the baby in my arms, there is a reality that takes a bit of the glow off that part of this fairy tale.   Page lives in the jungle.  Even though it is exciting to have monkeys in the back yard, it is not so exciting to have the possibility of scorpions and tarantellas hiding under towels, in shoes and in the shower.  You always took care of the extrication anything I afraid of while I ran for higher ground.  

I can almost hear you arguing that this visit with my daughter will be fun and different because there will be a wonderful baby to hold and love.  And yes, this is an exciting, once in a lifetime, can’t wait to happen, bonus for me to experience with Page.  Right now it is really the only carrot that keeps me sane.  But it won’t be the same without you there to agree that this is the most beautiful baby on earth.  You won’t be there to see him surf at age two like you predicted.  You won’t be there for me to come home to when my usefulness in Costa Rica has expired or the bugs or snakes chase me away.  Actually I am a nomad. This is true because right now, and for some time to come, by our own design, I have no home.  Until I figure things out, feel comfortable living in our home without you I will live out of a suitcase.  The rent that house brings in is my safety net.  But more importantly, I can’t picture unpacking and moving into any place without you.   I keep being reminded that my handsome, funny, sensible companion is gone.   I guess over the next year I will be making a lot of trips to the rabbit hole.   I hope to be sensible and not to fall in so deep I can’t easily climb out.  

Letters to Michael: Getting Lucky?

My darling Michael, tomorrow we are moving from the Penthouse to the Outhouse, so to speak.  I can almost hear you making that sentence up yourself.   Even if we were going right back to Ninth Street our house would seem pedestrian after ten days living out everyone’s fantasy.  Who, but the rich and famous, has a pool with such perfect temperature water just one step from the living room?  What home have you lived in recently where you can nearly touch the ocean that appears to be within reach at the end of the pool?  And very few have the ocean penetrating every room including the master bathroom.   Yes, sadly we have been spoiled, and very lucky to have the use of this wonderful home.  But we will still move into a condo in town.  At least there is a pool there too.  However, all good things must come to an end I am learning. I am hoping that the new place is, at the very least, clean, quiet, and air conditioned-comfortable. Before being spoiled by Lori and Mark’s house that is all we ever needed.   

Last night was Cinco de Mayo.  We celebrated by having a delicious dinner created by Chandy and Page.  Then we spent the evening in the pool.  It was the fullest and closest moon of the year.  It began as a rosy pink orb, a three dimensional form so big that you would swear that you could almost reach out and touch it.  Failing that, with the right vehicle, you could believe that you would be there in seconds.   In the past, on the rare occasions when I was traveling without you, I would look at the moon and know that somewhere out there you were looking at the same one and you were waiting for my return.  Last night however, my first full moon without you in twenty-one years, that reality is no longer the case. 

As I pondered the moon, I wondered about you and what people call a soul.  Do we really have one?  If so where does it go when we die and why hasn’t yours visited me here yet?  What is all this talk about the dead watching over us?  Just wishful thinking I am beginning to believe.  If our long departed loved ones were really watching over us why is there so much hate in the world, so much pain, and heartache?  My mother for certain would never, and I mean never, let me hurt the way I do today!  I used to tell you that “something” pulled us together.   Something put us in the same spot at the same time so we could meet.  Why would that same “something” have you get sick and die early robbing me of the warmth of your skin, the comfort of your voice, the tenderness of your heart?  I just checked and my safety net is gone.

I am trying to learn from this situation.  I am trying to figure out what to do without you when all my plans included you in them.  I am taking the time to contemplate the bigger picture and what that future might look like.  I see the moon so clearly but the bigger picture is shrouded in a dense fog as thick as the rock wall that protects this house from the ocean.  I now see how silly I was to think that my plan to grow old with you was even a plan.  I can plan a meal, a party, and a trip but I can’t plan my future other than what happens this next minute.  Beyond taking the next step forward, I have to stop planning.  If I plan to go into the pool for instance, I might decide that the water is too cool and have a seat.  Page might decide she has a question and I’ll turn to discuss what is on her mind instead.  I figured we had a plan.  We’d travel for six months and then move into Page’s condo and the rest would unfold.  We returned together from the last trip we took.   Why not this one?

I took it for granted that I would get on that van at Lake Atitlan with you by my side.  I planned to sit next to you all the way to the hotel because I hadn’t done so that morning.  I planned to have you here with us (not your Ashes) in Huatulco and Buena Vista but that won’t happen either.  One second you were fine and asking me what I was going to buy and the next you were having a stroke and changing our plans, irrevocably, forever!  I am learning that I have no real control over the plans that really count; the life and death kind. 

I had no control or even any plan to meet you in Boulder, Colorado September 20, 1991 but I feel lucky that I did.  Why don’t I feel lucky now??  I know this is going to sound stupid but, if I try hard enough, I am trying to see your death as lucky too.  I know that sounds awful, so let me explain.  I am trying hard to reconcile myself to the fact that your heart problem led us both to this place.  I feel lucky that you were with me for six and a half extra years. You could have died of a heart attack in 2006, riding your bike on the strand before we realized four major veins in your heart were one clot away from killing you.  I follow that logic with, “We got lucky then, why not now?”  I have looked up congestive heart failure and cerebral hemorrhage, again and again trying to find a correlation between the two so I can better understand what caused the stroke.  I know there is a correlation but there isn’t much information that helps me understand what happened. 

Lately, I have even been studying the pathways of the brain so that I can better understand the deficits you might have had if the bleeding had stopped and I had taken you home. The biggest thing I am learning is that no matter what, had you survived the first 3 cm insult in your brain, you would have been forever altered and no amount of therapy could have fixed the damage that was done.  I realize that I would have brought home the body of a man I knew but the mind that I fell in love with would have been forever altered and changed.  I have taken care of stroke victims so I know what I say is a fact. But it still doesn’t help how I feel.

So as I work through this problem of loss I realize you wanted me to have the memories of you that I do today.  You wanted me to love the man I married, not the damaged man you could have been.  You hated that your heart betrayed you and slowed you down.  You hated that your joints stopped functioning and kept you from playing the games you loved.  You would have hated having a mind that was forgetful, speechless, and altered in anyway.   I am just working out this kind of luck in my mind.  Letting my heart know it is okay that you are gone is a tougher sell.   I know in my head that anything less than what you were on the morning of April 13^th would have been a challenge that both of us would learn to hate.  It will take time.  Time to let you go and time to be glad we were as lucky with our life together as any couple would wish to be.  We both had several near death experiences that reminded us to be grateful each day we had together.  But when you get lucky as often as we did I think you believe your luck will never run out and you are shocked when it finally does!

Letters to Michael: On the Road Again: April 28, 2012

Dearest Michael, I just want you to know that you don’t travel much lighter or pass through the TSA screening any easier than you did when you were alive.  Who knew Ashes could be so heavy.  You used to complain that you hated airport screenings.  You had to be patted down every time because of your pacemaker, metal knee, and hip.  In your new form, there are no pat downs, no pacemaker, or metal.   Instead of going around the x-ray devices, I just put you on the belt, safe inside my carry-on, and you ride through just like all my other precious cargo.  Taking you from Guatemala to Los Angeles was relatively easy.  They x-rayed you twice just to make sure there were no explosives, and then let us pass.  No need to ruffle the feathers of a new widow I guessed.  Even passing you through screening in Los Angeles, on the way to Mexico City, wasn’t too difficult except for the long lines.  But getting you through from Mexico City to Huatulco, well that took a lot of time and hassle. 

By now I have cut the weight of you down somewhat by parceling you out to various places.  As you might imagine, your sisters wanted some of your ashes to put with your mother.  I left some behind to put in the garden on Ninth Street when “we” move back into the house in a year or two.  So now I am carrying about half of you in a small mailing box and you are still quite heavy!  This new box may have thrown the Mexican TSA screeners off a bit.  Although your paper work was in order, and the box, per regulation, was tightly sealed, they seemed a lot more concerned about letting you pass than the rest of the screeners we’ve encountered.  It took about thirty minutes of waiting and re-screening, and waiting some more for them to let us pass.  You would think by now with all the waiting I did with you, at TSA screenings, while you were alive, that this would be easy. 

But it wasn’t.  It took one guy, on a walkie-talkie, checking through the whole chain of command at least a half an hour for someone to give him the okay to let us pass and go to the gate.  As stoic as I have been so far, I didn’t handle this delay well.  I wanted to tell them the story about how I promised to bring you to the places we planned to go together.  I wanted them to know how much you liked Mexico hoping that might help explain why I needed to bring you along.  But my Spanish is just horrible.   All I could get out, before I started to cry, was to point to your box and say, “Mi Esposo.”   Just the thought of having to beg for us to be on our way and I dissolved into a sopping wet puddle. 

When they finally let us pass Page and I were the last passengers to board the flight to Huatulco.  It is warm and beautiful here at Lori and Mark’s home.  I know you would have loved this place.  The home is like something out of Architectural Digest with a stunning view of the ocean and an infinity pool that appears to drop right into the sea.  Often the roar of the waves can get so loud it is hard to sleep at night.  As planned, my children and their partners, Page and Chandy, and Peter and Kristen, are here to share this experience with me.  I know that I couldn’t do this without them.   Yet, there isn’t a moment that I don’t think of you and wish you were here.  I can only imagine the fun you would have speaking Spanish with Chandy and Page, and catching up with Pete and Kristen regarding their latest business successes.  Watching both couples together, so much in love, reminds me that I am now the single one in the group again and going off to bed without you by my side.  I try hard to put on a happy face with them around.  I figure why ruin their vacation or my precious time with them.  With your persistent absence I realize the importance of being present each minute of every day.  I don’t want to have any regrets when they all leave and wish that we had done more together or wish that I had been more present and a better listener.

Typical of our other travels, we have struck up a nice new friendship with another couple who live in Huatulco nearly full time.  Lori referred them our way and it is nice to have local recommendations on things to do for fun.  One day they stuffed all of us into their seven passenger van and we took off along the very windy, hilly mountain roads to a coffee festival.  The little town was just one long street with a tiny central square and a very gaudy aqua marine blue church resting, of course, on the highest point in town.  There were only a few local people from surrounding villages enjoying the day.  And we seemed to be the only gringos in town.  It was just like any other local town fair with small booths set up around the square and vendors selling various coffee products that they had brought from their farms.  Each vendor claimed to have the best coffee in all of Mexico.   Not being a coffee drinker you would have lost interest in what the vendors were selling.   But there were plenty of beautiful kids, with dark hair and big brown eyes running around to have kept you amused.  And the food, you would have loved the wonderful food!  Our new friends were familiar with the local food in this town and took us to a restaurant that made the best tortillas and a baked lamb dish that I had ever had.  The meat just melted in our mouths.  Page, ever ravenous these days with a six month pregnancy, demands food every two hours.  Before we were even served our meal, she devoured most of a delicious barbequed chicken.  I could picture you there with us, laughing at Page, stealing tastes of her chicken, and speaking Spanish to the proprietor.  The kids and I made a toast to you and our new found friends.

Just like three years ago when we visited Baja for a month, I have invented some decent Mexican meals.  Only in Mexico do I seem to relocate my ability to produce some local dishes.  The first thing I put on the stove was a pot of homemade beans to cook for a whole day.  They turned out better than ever and complimented the other dishes.  There was an ample amount of beans left over to sustain us through several meals.  Also, with some leftover chicken, I made your favorite chicken tortilla soup.  Wishing you were here, I indulged my sweet tooth by concocting a mango-banana upside down cake. 

I am relatively happy as long as my mind is occupied and the kids are around.  When I am alone I realize how bonded we were as a couple, how much I depended upon you for companionship and how difficult it is to travel without you.  I am reminded daily that I am not going to bump into you in the kitchen, hear you sing in the shower, kid around with us in the pool.  I will never again hear you tell me how much you love what I’m cooking.  I realize that even though I have a big group to cook for right now, I am actually cooking this food for you.   Unfortunately, when we sit down to eat you are not here to enjoy it. 

It is amazing to me how much of a matched set we had become. Like a pair of geese, bonded for life, we flew off to various places and enjoyed the journey together.  While you never really liked to dance that much, for fear of looking stupid on the dance floor, you always honored my request to dance.  We danced well together, both on the dance floor, and throughout our marriage.  We moved in near perfect harmony most of the time and rarely stepped on one another’s toes.  I will miss the comfort of our movement through the days and nights to come.  I realize just how big a void your absence has made in my life.

Letters to Michael: Los Angeles, April 22, 2012

Dearest Michael, it has only been a week since your stroke took you away from me;  however, Page and I are home already.  We are staying at Jan’s house surrounded by family and friends.  My untrained brain expects you to come through the door and find out why we started the party without you.  Today we celebrated your life at the Kiwanis Club in Hermosa Beach.  You told me many times about the wonderful birthday celebrations you had for your sons at the park nearby; today we had a party for you.  I think you would have been overwhelmed by the turnout of at least 350-400 people who quickly filled the chairs, the adjacent rooms, and spilled out all the doors.  I knew we should have had the gathering in a larger venue, but to pull together this event, in such a short time, was was difficult enough.  Now that I think about it I guess I should have tried to pulled a few strings with the athletic director at Mira Costa or something.   A gymnasium would have been the best place to hold such a large number of people.   But I was just too upset to think that clearly from Guatemala City.   Fortunately we had some wonderful people working on my behalf to pull this shin-dig off and made it the best party event ever! 

My dear friend, Jan Davids worked tirelessly to coordinate the women on the street who stepped forward to offer their support and help.  Along with Shelley, Lisa, Liza and countless others this event was a success.  In your honor the Ninth Street neighbors made food in the tradition of a pot-luck similar to the ones you loved.  Page had her friend, Billy Graw, furnish a taco bar, and the volleyball group made sure that beer and sodas were over-flowing. 

Liza and Ed, Mary and Tom even paid for wonderful obits to be published.  I guess, as was typical of your age group, you often read that column in the paper.  Many times you would find notices of friends or your parent’s friends that you knew.  Quite often you would remark about what little information was written about the person you knew, and then you would tell me stories about them to fill in what was omitted.  With that in mind, I wrote something even you would have been proud to read.

I was surprisingly calm today.  I wanted this to be the best party I had ever thrown for you and I didn’t have the time, or the inclination to cry.  I wanted to be able to talk to the audience without a meltdown.  It was important that they knew you like I did.  Then there were several other participants who told flattering stories about you that would have made you smile.  Your brother, Tom talked about your relationship with him and your family.  Joyce Davis, who went to school with you from kindergarten through College, told a hilarious story about you initiating her into the neighborhood “Spy Club” that was only for boys. This brought tears of laughter to eveyone's eyes.   Next, Liane Sato, Marty Verdugo, Nick, your student, and the current Samho Athletic Director all told great stories about your impact on Samoh High School and the athletic program.  It was obvious to everyone how you affected their lives and those of your students.   Then Anthony Curran took the podium to complete the program.  He spoke about your importance to him and his family and all the other families on Ninth Street.  Everyone spoke of you in such loving and even humorous terms.  They made you come to life for me and everyone else. Quite a few of the stories I had never heard before.  I know you would have loved to have heard them all.   I am also sure that there were others in the audience that would have loved to come forward to add their recollections of their time with you.  But that might have taken until midnight and we only had the hall until 3 pm.   I am hoping that over the next few years these people will step forward and relate these stories to me so that I can keep that spark of you burning for a very long time.

Best of all though was the DVD.  I was determined to use those songs you sent me over the radio.  It was as if you said to me, “These fit in all the segments of my life.”  All I needed was to match the photos to the songs.  And that is where Page and Peter, Melaine, and Page’s friend Shanti stepped forward and worked tirelessly to make sure the DVD was perfect.  Now that I look back on that DVD I can’t believe that they made such a beautiful one in less than 24 hours. It looks very professional.  Most importantly, it represents your life quite well and it would have even brought tears to your eyes.  You were such a push over for smaltzy stuff anyway.  I remember it didn’t take much for you to cry over a TV show or touching movie.  Even the cute kids on the street could make you tear up when they did something particularly cute or funny. Liza tried to put the un-cut version of the DVD on You-Tube.  Overtly, I think you would have thought that was over the top, “Who would want to see that?” you might ask.   But secretly, I think you would have been flattered and asked me to watch, “Look I finally made it to You-Tube.”  

Unfortunately, with copy right infringement rules, the DVD had to be published without the music.  And without the music you clandestinely provided, it just isn’t quite the same.  But, just like our wedding video, which you would show to perfect strangers when you had the chance, I have a few copies of your DVD and plan to show it whenever anyone shows even the slightest interest.  Seeing you up on the big screen made me proud that I was involved in the story of your life.  It was a very quick twenty-one years, and the last twenty-one years.   But for me it was the best chapter of my life so far!  

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?”