A few weeks ago I was listening to NPR in my car. I have been listening to NPR a lot these days which is kind of ironic because I never did that before I bought my new car. Guess I am seeking more culture in my life these days. In the past I mostly listened to AM sports talk radio which is pretty mindless, especially in the market I live in. There just isn’t enough interesting material to keep things interesting.
So recently I have been dialing up the local NPR affiliate, WBFO 88.7 FM. That’s where I heard an interview with Nicole Atkins. I had never heard of her but she sounded kind of intriguing in the interview. Confident, sassy, strong voice and strong opinions. I liked those things about her, She sounded like what I would want my next girlfriend to sound like. And if she had a tattoo somewhere, practiced yoga, meditated, and wore beads and a peace sign, all the better. Truth was though, I had no idea what Nicole Atkins looked liked or what she was wearing. I only had my senses of hearing and imagination to rely on.
The music interviews on NPR are as informative as you let them be. In this case, the listener was treated to a little question and answer with some song snippets thrown in along the way. Those musical interludes were little more than teases for the entire song and entire record. But they were enough for me to purchase Nicole’s new release, “Slow Phaser” from iTunes. I think she will get a royalty from my purchase but with the current state of affairs the music business is in, I can’t guarantee it.
I liked the 30 second song teases that were played during her interview. There seemed to be something about her message and delivery that appealed to me and left me wanting a little bit more. When I listened to the entire recording, I discovered a sequence of four songs that was outstanding and could have held their own compared to the best of the best. One of those songs, “Cool People,” sounded like a Beatles song fresh off the Abbey Road album. It is that good. And the closing number, “Above as Below.” not only brings to mind the John Lennon masterpiece, “Across the Universe,” but it also paints a wonderful metaphor of heaven and earth.
Nicole Atkins and her “Slow Phaser” is the first music I can identify as happening after Coleen’s death. I’m sure there was something else but this is the first set of songs with enough impact to make itself memorable to me. The song “Girl You Look Amazing” will always remind me of a somewhat tumultuous relationship between myself and a very beautiful woman who recently entered my life. Not sure how all that will eventually play out, but that song will forever remind me of these days and Barbara M and how amazing she can look and be.
I remain fascinated with the songs on this album and how they are the first new music I have embraced as a widower. I have ventured to a few music clubs and heard live, local bands and have enjoyed that. But it’s not new music when I have already heard the songs being played. Nicole Atkins gave me the gift of new music and without knowing it, also the gift of new discovery. This music is new, different, after Coleen, and during someone new. Who is also new, different and after Coleen.
I like to think that any new and positive discovery I make is a step further in my healing. It makes my journey more interesting and the letting go a little bit easier. Sometimes its new music, sometimes new people, or a new picture on my wall.
I’m not sure I ever knew Coleen and this song in the same breath. We listened to a lot of music together. For me, music should be playing in the background for most activities and in the foreground for all the others. But it should always be playing. Coleen and I had music playing most of the time whether we were cooking, dining, having cocktails or cleaning the house. Music was a big part of our lives together. We didn’t always like the same music but for the most part, we had a lot in common. We did rock, blues, jazz and classical and every once in a while, she would even let me slip in some Neil Young. If I was good.
In 1971, Cat Stevens released “Teaser and the Firecat” and the last song on side one of that album was called “How Can I Tell You.” It is a beautiful lament to lost love and a missing person. I was in my last year of high school when I first heard it and although I thought it was a nice song, it never had much impact on me. I always thought the song was about losing someone you loved. I never thought it was about death. But now when I hear it, I can’t imagine it being about anything but that. I don’t recall specifically hearing this song with Coleen but I’m sure we did. If not, we’re hearing it now and I’m the one singing.
I admit that I am plagiarizing myself here because I posted this song back in September just before Coleen died. But I played it again tonight when I was writing my last article and it is just so powerful and so sad. I just had to do it again.
Saturday, March 8th is Coleen’s birthday. She would have been 54 years old. But she’s not. Obviously, I think about that a lot. How can she not be here? How did she become one of the missing in my life? I was recently talking to a friend about another friend who I may never again here from because of a misunderstanding that had little to do with either of us. I said that I don’t want any other people leaving my life. I have already lost enough as far as I’m concerned and I don’t want anymore goodbyes.
Sometimes, even after almost six months, I still wonder what happened to Coleen. I wonder how that woman with all that life, enthusiasm and optimism got stolen out from under the rest of us. I think often of the photo I took of her when we were on the Spirit of Buffalo cruise on Labor Day weekend 2012. She already knew she had lesions on her liver and lungs and that they were undoubtedly cancerous. But she never said a word to any of us. Instead, she waved to me as I caught her with my iPhone standing barefoot on the deck of that boat, sunglasses on, Magic Hat #9 in her hand, smiling. And keeping her secret from me and everybody else. I will probably always wonder what happened to her. It all went so fast. Sometimes I don’t even remember what I did to help her. I know I did a lot but I wish I could turn back the clock and do more. I know I could have done more especially if I would have known the way I was going to end up feeling.
If Coleen was still wih us, she would have declared by now that this was going to be her birthday weekend. She always claimed the whole weekend as hers whenever her birthday was within a day or two of it. By now she would have decided where she wanted to go for her birthday and who was going to come with us. She wouldn’t have cared how much it was going to cost, only that she was surrounded by the people she loved and that we had a good time on her day/weekend. I would have probably said something about the money part and her reply would have been, “Who cares, we’ll make more.” I heard that answer more than once.
Many times, especially if she had a new recipe she wanted to try out on a crowd, Coleen would decide to host our family for her birthday. She loved to entertain and to cook for people. That was one of her true joys in life. If she could make someone happy by feeding them, it was a successful day. There was a bumper sticker on her car that said “Love People, Cook them tasty food,” and that was certainly one of her mantras. I salvaged that bumper sticker from her car before I traded it in and it now hangs in my kitchen.
Last month Lindsay brought up her Mom’s birthday and said “What do you want to do, Dad? I think we should do something for Mom’s birthday.” I agreed. We should do something to celebrate that day. How could we possibly ignore it? How could I be alone on March 8 and expect Coleen’s children and family be alone? Especially since this is the first March 8th since her death. I may always raise a glass on her birthday and sometimes maybe more that that, but this will be the first one. They say you never forget your first one.
We thought about going out to dinner at one of Coleen’s favorite restaurants but as the guest list grew larger, we decided instead to celebrate Coleen right in her own house. So on Saturday, I will make lasagna and Coleen’s parents, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, children, grandchildren will gather and we will remember her and celebrate her life. I can’t help but think she would like that. Especially the lasagna part. That was one of the few dishes I was allowed to make. She assigned that recipe to me long ago and said I made it so good that I should always be the one to make it. I think she would have made it just as good, but it was a little too busy for her so she delegated that one to me.
I don’t know if its right or wrong to celebrate the birthday of someone who has died. I also don’t know who has the qualifications to decide. I only know how I feel and what I think is right to me. So this weekend is Coleen’s birthday and I will celebrate her life with my daughter, granddaughters and her family. It is an important day for all of us. I may never understand what happened to her, why she’s not with me anymore, where she has gone. I do understand though, how to remember her. I know what she would have liked and how to make her happy.
It’s funny how life finds a way of settling in around us. Most of us are in the day-to-day. We plan ahead a little, think about what we are going to do this weekend or next month. We make arrangements for vacations or dinner with friends. And sometimes, we look back and do a little reminiscing and remembering. It’s funny though how life always seems to get its way with us and lures us into a zone of contentment and present where we seem to feel most safe. It is there where we settle into our routines and do most of our living. We are most comfortable when we are not challenged by the things outside of our control.
I have tried to settle into a comfort zone recently thinking that it could be a place where I would know what to expect. I sometimes feel like I am getting closer to whatever normal is supposed to feel like, then I run into an unexpected obstacle that throws me a bit off course. Every year at this time I, like all of America, file my income taxes. No big deal, just a regularly scheduled activity that I have been doing for the past forty years or so. I always did our taxes by myself or with the assistance of an on-line service like Turbo Tax This year is obviously a little different though, due to the circumstances of Coleen’s death. I had too many questions about disability, insurance, and death benefits and so I sought out professional help. Today I gathered up all of the pertinent paperwork and met with a CPA to prepare my return. It never dawned on me that in meeting with the CPA and discussing my tax return, I would also be talking about Coleen and revisiting some of the circumstances of her death. I wouldn’t be discussing her health issues or treatments with him, but the timing of certain incidents, the various disability payments, medical expenses, date of death and my filing status of “surviving spouse” all became uncomfortable for me. I took a deep breath on a few occasions just to get past some of those thoughts. And I realized that this would be the last time it would say “ROBERT E. AND COLEEN M. JONES” on a tax return. Under “occupation,” mine said “retired’ and Coleen’s said “deceased.” There was nothing new to any of this. I know she’s deceased. It just sounds and looks different when I see it like that. When the tax guy mentioned that Coleen’s sister and her husband would be having their taxes done by him in a few days, I felt jealous that my wife wasn’t with me too for that.
I never know what will remind me that my wife is no longer living. I never know when to expect the reminders. And I’m never sure how I will react to them. I don’t think I am ready yet for the reminders to stop. I could be in my kitchen, taking a shower, talking to my granddaughters, at a yoga class, or apparently, getting my taxes done. There’s always something there to remind me. The good news though, is that I am not freaking out every time I get one of those reminders. I hate to say I’m getting used to the idea of living after Coleen because I don’t think I will ever be entirely comfortable with that. I can observe that the hurt isn’t as painful as before. It is still there, and so is the missing her. Just not as bad.
Does that mean some of the therapies and healings are kicking in? They actually have been all along, a little at a time. Suffering from DOS (Death of Spouse) is not a condition that goes away quickly all by itself. It takes a lot of work, patience, guidance, counseling and love to get to a place where the sorrow is manageable. Funny, I am reminded of that word, manageable, being used when Coleen’s oncologist described how they would care for her metastatic breast cancer. They couldn’t cure it but they would try their best to “manage” it to keep her as comfortable as possible for as long as they could. It’s the opposite with managing DOS sorrow because you know as bad as it is now, it will eventually get better. I know I have taken bold steps in dealing with my grief and I have made significant progress. Everything I have done has helped and has prepared me for more of the journey. And yes, there is more of that to come. Always will be I think.
I have a few difficult days ahead of me that will be much more challenging than meeting with a CPA to do the taxes. I can think of five of them right off the top of my head. Then after those comes the rest of my life. My vision is that each day will be progressively easier. I don’t know if a DOS victim can be compared to an alcoholic. Maybe that’s unfair. But then I think about someone craving a drink every day and somehow finding the strength to deprive himself of that desire, hoping that the next day will be easier than the last. It is not so different from me desiring something I can no longer have and waiting for the next day and the day after that to make things better. The true similarity is the concept of each day being it’s very own challenge and never knowing where the next temptation or reminder might come from.
I am trying to embrace some form of what life has left in store for me. I will never be the one to just sit back and surrender to the tide. I will always take things head on and try to make a difference when I can. I know I have made some degree of progress otherwise I would have cracked up when I was working with my tax guy.
The more I am around other people who have lost their spouse, the more I understand how unbearable it is. I always think it’s unbearable to me because it is. But sometimes I tell myself to get over it, that it happens all the time and people move on to different parts of their lives. Jackie got over JFK and married that old Greek guy and reinvented herself as Jackie Onassis. Why not the rest of us? Then I realize just exactly what it is that we are up against and it becomes so obvious why everything after loss is so difficult.
The word “loss” is used so much I wonder if we sometimes need to be reminded of its meaning. It is a little word with devastating significance. “Loss” can be defined as “the state of being deprived of or of being without something that one has had” or “deprivation from failure to keep.” Or, there’s this, “the experience of having something taken from you or destroyed.” Those are very dark, sad and foreboding descriptions of the word we have experienced. No wonder we feel like shit so much of the time.
In my opinion, and I have stated it before, there is no greater loss than the that of a spouse. Period. I should qualify that by adding “assuming you are still in love with your spouse when he/she dies.” Under the circumstances of losing while loving, there is no greater pain in the world. Nothing more unbearable. How can anyone be expected to lose the one person they trust with their entire being, their whole existence? To have them taken from us, to be deprived of something we once had. It is so hard to explain the emptiness created, the vacancy in our hearts that aches with each breath we take. I can’t speak for everyone, but I sometimes get an almost claustrophobic feeling, a sense of panic, when I face the reality that I will never see my wife again. I have to sit up or somehow change my position, take a few deep breaths and maybe drink some water to get past those momentary fits of anxiety. When my mother died, my daughter explained her death to her 4-year-old daughter partly by saying, “We’re not going to see Grandma Jean anymore.” I’m not going to see my wife anymore and neither are all the other people who lost their wife or husband. We’re not going to see them anymore yet we are in love with them still. Very cruel, very harsh and very painful realities to face. So difficult, it sometimes seems an impossible task.
How do we deal with this? Where do we take our relief? Some of us have tremendous support systems surrounding us with life lines and compassion in every direction. Some of us have very little of that. But even with the most supportive of support systems, unless a person has experienced the exact tragedy of losing a spouse while still in love, they will not completely understand the cavity we have in our heart. They will never quite get why we feel the way we feel and why we cry the way we cry.
I am one of the lucky survivors with one of those tremendous support systems. My children are wonderful as are some very special new friends I have made. Some of the people I thought would have been more supportive have kept their distance and I understand that. Some of them are dealing with their own loss of the same person, some of them aren’t comfortable talking to me about my situation and feel better staying away. Others probably figure I should be over my loss by now and everything should be returning to normal. But the ones who know me best are the ones who share my loss. The men and women who are “without something they once had” are the people who understand me best. They know what I’m talking about when I talk about missing intimacy and I know exactly how they feel when they talk about being suddenly alone. There is a unique bond between people who otherwise might have nothing else in common. And that bond is all about understanding, listening, hearing, sharing, and healing together.
I am in a spouses support group and have heard stories and felt the emotions of others like me. We are from different areas and generations but we are all in the same boat going upstream without any paddles. We are all in the fight of our lives and we have all lost while being in love. Of all the places I have been and all the people I have talked to since I have become a surviving spouse, that group might be the most healing. I did not know any of these people before but after only a few weeks of meeting for 90 minutes, I feel like we are kind of family. It’s funny how these people know me better in this role than some of my friends and family do. I say things to them i don’t say to other people. They never knew my wife, never saw our love for each other, but they didn’t have to. They had the same thing I had just by a different name. And now they are searching for ways to get relief from “the experience of having something taken from you or destroyed.” The experience of losing while loving.