what Memorial Day means to me

when i was a kid, yeah, all i knew about Memorial Day was my mother made me where red, white, and blue, and we cooked out.

then i turned 10 and my best friend's brother came home from Vietnam in a box that had a flag draped over it and everything changed for me.

i went to so many military funerals during my junior high through college years, and after.  Memorial Day was always a pensive day for me; friends i'd lost.  beloved brothers of friends who would never come home and the permanent sadness that haunted their eyes.  when anyone received a letter from a loved one, it was torn open and searched for the signature, for any other handwriting that might let the family know something bad had happened, because, not often, but every once in a while, a letter was sent by his men and it reached home before the official visit.  MIA.  POW.  KIA.  initials that made everyone shudder.  each bore it's own horror.

my Dragon told me stories.  i've related some here in past blog postings.  Memorial Day weekend was his time of flashbacks.  i would sit with him while he wouldn't/couldn't/didn't talk to me.  i don't know what he was "seeing" but it was harrowing for him.

my father-in-law served aboard subs.  he used to say that when he died he knew he'd see his mates again.  i wonder if my Dragon has?  what i wouldn't give to be a fly on that wall.

i worked yesterday all day.  a man came in who worked for the VA.  he and his wife had me teary inside of 5 minutes.  he said he will try and get me a whole bouquet of Buddy Poppies.  i want them so bad.  i have tried to collect them over these 3 years and i cannot find them anywhere.  the ones i do have people have sent me.  i am so looking forward to a whole bouquet.  i hope he doesn't forget me.

i miss my Dragon.  it's been horrible hard of late.  i have no reason for it.  i just feel vulnerable.  i think i miss him more on Memorial Day than say, on his birthday, because i know what he did as a Marine.  i know what he sacrificed.  in my heart, he is a hero.  i wish i could tell you more, but i promised him.

i feel on the edge of control of my life and yet tiny things keep cropping up, like my broken knee, my cracked foot, all things i need to take care of.  long hours with difficult people.  worries of doing my job correctly.  worries over the numbers of my store.  my daughter wants to leave her job.  she has an interview with my district manager on Tuesday.  i hope they give her a job.  the job.  the one she wants.

i have today off.  i am embroidering.  i'm thinking of my Dragon.  i can see his flag, his medals, and his urn.  people are shopping and cooking out.  but some are going to the cemeteries and planting flags.  some are eating and smiling and all the while, they are remembering.  i'll be sitting with my two dogs.  they are glad i have a day off.  i am glad, too.  i will have time to gather myself for work tomorrow.  i'll have to be ready.  i'll be out in public.

i love you, my lovely Dragon.  you are the best.

is that all there is?

it came. the letter. i get something each month, at the end of the month for the month before. it is far, far less than what i had hoped for. it is far less than what i had even expected. no wonder the man on the phone had said, "it is less than what he deserves for what he did."

did i tell you that he had been captured once? he was. they only had him for 3 weeks because he got away, but they did things to him. they hurt him. after that, and for the rest of his life, it was difficult for him to find shoes that were comfortable for longer than 3 or 4 hours.

he deserved more recognition from his government, but i believe every widow of a veteran can say that. in that one thing i am not alone.

my ex got pissed at me this weekend for what i think of as a small infraction. i have no control over life or him. i just have to run the gauntlet. or maybe i should twirl and dance. harder to hit someone who dances to the song playing in their head, a music no one else can hear. but he is a pressure on my lungs that is like a giant rock. heavy. huge. he held off on my food money and my rent money transfer until this morning. yesterday was purgatory waiting him out. i did not write. i did not call. when he called, i endured the lecture pretty much how i always have, silently. and when i spoke, i chose my words carefully.

he huffed and puffed and all it got was windy. there is nothing he can do to hurt me more than the death of my Dragon hurt. i am so tired of being scared. i think i am just going to bury scared in the sand and walk away. i have too many other fears cropping up now and for the rest of my life to be afraid of someone who isn't really in my life anymore. not too too much anyway.

and come Jan. 1, he will only have one leash on me. the other lines will be severed. financially speaking, i am in the middle of a constant panic attack until i figure out if i have the job or not. wednesday. i need Wednesday's job interview to be perfect, and i am so far from perfect; i have never seen perfect. no one would call me even "right," but he did. my Dragon thought i was perfect. and he was flawed perfectly, the perfect fit for me.

i am ready for this to be over or i am ready for him to come back. one of the two. okay? ah, well, c'est la vie. it is what it is and it will be what it will be. i guess that's really Que Sara Sara. but that song did not fit my mood with the "Is That All There Is" letter from the VA. and i have always liked Peggy Lee's voice. kind of a smokey, torch singer in a basement jazz and blues bar voice.

i miss him. i am scared. sometimes i think i feel so much and so deeply that i am incapable of feeling much at all. i did panic my son yesterday. he called and i had been crying. i sounded like i had a terrible cold. he again reassured me that we will work this out. i will not be homeless or without food. hearing my son say that, the little boy i protected all his life, it feels surreal.

a woman from the old group left a note on my Facebook page last week, the personal one. i have not heard from her in 6 months, i think it is. 5 or 6. i have sent a couple of emails. left some comments to her postings on FB, but heard nothing back. and then she leaves a comment that we should re-connect. i sent her a private message that i would love to do that. i gave her my phone number again in case she had lost it. and i have heard nothing back. if a widow does not understand loneliness and financial hard times, or have time for another widow, then there is nothing i can do. my door is open. the phone lines are open. i will not stand on a porch waiting for someone who cannot find their own front door.

i have my daughter and son. i have my two little dogs. i have my Dragon, sort of. my memories anyway. i have the knowledge that i was good enough for him. he loved me. there i said it. past tense. you have no idea how big a step that is for me. but he is gone and whether he loves me now is beyond my knowing. i like to believe he does. but i know for fact that he did love me once. and i love him. if i am only good enough for one person during my life, then so be it. life has not been easy. i have weird things i have to deal with through no choice of my own. i can only do what i can do. and i am who i am. my Dragon loved me and i do find solace in that.

now i am lonely Beach Bunny alone. {i think there is a poem in that title.} i am struggling to get a handle on, not who i am, i know who i am; but on what the hell will happen to me. i just want to have a roof and food. roof and food. that's my mantra. screw health care. next up is applying for food stamps. i work non-stop on getting by every day all day. embroidering, quilting, sewing, and now waiting on that job interview and prostituting myself to others with a vibrancy and love of life i no longer have. but for a roof and food, i will smile and shine.

maybe one day it will all come together. maybe one day i will be able to relax for one day. one moment. maybe one day something will happen and i will not be panicked any longer. until then, i will keep working, searching for work, and taking it up the fluffy white tail from those odd people who race to the gauntlet line and reach out for a quick slap to make themselves feel good.

{Bunny does have a sense of humor.}

all i can do is keep hopping, twirling, maybe dancing a little, and cry a little. tears cleanse the eyes and the peanut gallery on the sidelines of my gauntlet will get their jollies from seeing me cry while i just keep going. and one day, they will all get bored with their cruel game. it is really win-win if you think about it. and if i get the Build-A-Bear job, i will be busy being like Mr. Magorium's assistant, not really, but sort of. you have to be inside my head.

for now, the Bun is alone. her Dragon has died. all she can do is hop along, twirl and dance when she can. she will just keep jumping through everyone's hoops. too bad some of those hoops are on fire.

but Bunny was made at Build-A-Bear and her fur is more or less flame retardant. until they hold her down and really work to destroy her, she will keep going. and, as the song says, if that's all there is, then she will keep dancing, but only under the light of the full moon.

epiphany

last night was a bad night for sleeping for some reason. maybe because rent is due tomorrow and i am waiting on the transfer. maybe because it feels like Fall outside right now. it rained yesterday and all last night. there is a cool wind. leaves doing their fluttering leaf thing ~ dancing and playing with the breeze while hanging onto their tree, in total control, until fate decides for them to let go.

then they seem like a kite with a broken string, going where the wind takes them, however far. but then i thought, maybe they were not in control while tethered to the tree, but only after they were free. maybe life really starts for them after they let go. maybe they aerodynamically control where they want to land. it is not for us to really know. a mystery of life. but it gave me an idea that my Dragon was let go so he could be free to fly in a different albeit more beautiful place.

i had an epiphany late last night, or early this morning, whatever your frame of reference.
it was like Dandy up there. the light shone in my brain and it felt like all the clutter of my sorrow and grief were stripped away. like Dandy, i saw the sky clearly. i think i know why my Dragon died first.

i have lived a loner life. i stayed out of range of my parents. i skipped ahead in school and therefore was not a peer of the people in class. i kept my back to the wall and strategically planned each day during my first marriage. when i met my Dragon, it took a moment, but i ultimately gave in body and soul. he is so strong. he is so resilient. he had survived so many things. he was a loner like me. and we had found each other. we did not have to be alone anymore.

we took so many walks. everyday we ventured to a new area to see what beauty was hidden up in somewhere. and we talked.
he told me his stories. he told me of his life. he told me his dreams, his hopes, and his wishes. he told me he loved me and that he knew he could not face a life without me. i thought he was being cute and romantic. never dreamed he was speaking seriously because, well, look at him. he is a Marine. he has been everywhere and done so many things in life and death situations. he is invincible.
he was my scavenger. he found shells and stones for my sculptures. he kept me safe while i looked through the camera lens. he kept me warm when it was cold. he swam with me in the ocean and taught me how to be free no matter where i am or how locked down i was. he taught me how to be wild and free in my mind.
he died so suddenly. one minute he was with me, beside me. his arm was behind me and his fingers were stroking my arm. then his fingers were digging into my arm and he was gasping for a breath.

i do not know this for fact because no one with medical training was there, but i believe he was gone before the EMT's got there. there was no light in his eyes. there was nothing in his eyes. he left me to be alone in this world that is, quite often, cold and cruel.

i have been cleaning out things. i have been tossing things i do not need to keep just because he touched it once. i found a letter written on the back of a hand-drawn map. i had never seen this before but it was in his "go bag" so i never had reason to go through it. but he has died and i have finally had the courage to go through it. these are the things he used when he would go "out of town." on the back of the map he wrote, "I need to go first. I can't live without you. You think I'm strong but I'm not. It's bull-headedness. I'm only strong enough so I can get back to you. But if something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to take it. All the light would be gone and I can't live in the dark after I've been given the light of your love. You're aren't living in the shadows. You're only the silhouette that stands behind the light you shine on me. Don't ever leave me. Don't die before me. I'm not strong enough. Only God knows how much I love you."

so you see. it had to be me here alone. he thought i was strong enough to be alone in this life without him. he is wrong but i am going to let it slide. it is the first time he has been wrong.

i always did what he asked of me because he asked so little and he always asked with a kiss. well, i will try to do this. he said he had to go first. he knew the ending of "Bicentennial Man" would not happen for us. so did i really, but i am an artist so i am always dreaming, conjuring up something magical and beautiful in my mind so i do not have to face reality.

i will do this for him. i will live as best as i can. he thinks i am strong enough so i will not give up. i will hold my head up to keep an eye out for danger, and to take my pictures of the full moon. but i will mostly keep my head down and sew and sketch and write. i will continue on in the shadows because the light he believed i possessed is shining forward, looking for him.

Dragon in War and Peace ~ Memorial Day 2010

"Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background, the countless minor scenes and interiors of the secession war; and it is best they should not. The real war will never get in the books." ~ Walk Whitman

my Dragon knew war. he is a United States Marine, Force Recon. he is a Marine Scout Sniper and did what his country asked of him. he is not a tall man but then tall men are sometimes handicapped by their height. my Dragon was his team's tunnel rat in Vietnam. armed with a knife and a pistol, he crawled into tunnels underground, into the blackest darkness to face whatever booby traps had been set. he was his team's strategist. he did get most of his men home.

there were a few who did not come home. i have written of them before. my Veteran's Day posting has it, i believe. but then there was his last tour.
of the eight men in the photo above, only one is still alive. my Dragon is fourth from the left. he is gone. the man fifth from the left is still alive. he has become my constant friend, the giver of the stories now.

on his last tour, my Dragon and his fire team were ambushed. they were involved in a terrible firefight. my Dragon carried one of his men across his back to the chopper. he was already dead but my Dragon was not going to leave him behind. the machine gunner on the chopper was killed in front of them. my Dragon got the rest of his badly injured men, the other 4, inside the chopper. he stood on the runner of the chopper laying down 700 rounds a minute with his M-16 to provide cover for them to take off. the NVC were laying down their own rounds that ate up the chopper enough that metal pulled away. my Dragon was impaled on the side and could not get inside the chopper. as it took off, he finished the last of his rounds, and had to stand on the runner outside the chopper all the way to base, over an hour. the scar was one he never spoke of. he sketched out the story of it for me but then his voice would drift off into silence.

it was his friend, my constant friend, who filled in the blank spots.
my Dragon served his country and now he is a name to be remembered in and around the car sales and Macy's Patriot sales on dresses and shoes. along with all the others who have served their country and are now only names on the lips of their grieving loved ones, he is now one of the flags that hopefully jog something in the minds of those hosting barbeques. maybe, when grandpa falls silent, lost in his memories of Vietnam, Korea, or WWII, the children will be told of the respect they should show him and why he is quiet. maybe over their hamburgers and hotdogs and steaks, heads will be bowed for a moment of silence to those who fought for the freedoms they enjoy.

i sound hostile and i do not mean to. i simply see that so many do not know what war costs in terms of the human soul.
my Dragon knew and he honored Veteran's every Memorial Day, really every day. in the mornings of Memorial Day, we would visit the cemetery. afternoons were spent walking the beach and paths all over Cape Ann. sometimes he talked. sometimes he did not talk. when he would fall silent he would just reach for my hand and squeeze it. and i knew. the memories were too much to speak of and i squeezed his hand back to let him know i accepted his silence. i was there for him, with him, always for him.

i love my Dragon and i am proud of who he is and his service to his country. he is my forever love. i will protect his memory as a Marine, as my husband, my friend, my lover, and simply as a man. i will know none better than he.

it has been a very rough few days for me financially and emotionally, but it is sometimes in the darkest most harrowing of times when we get an epiphany. he loves me. if he were here now, he would viciously defend me and protect me. i am his wife and he loved me. he loves me. i was loved. i am loved. however it can be said of someone who has died, i belonged to my Dragon and he belonged to me. i belong to him and he belongs to me.

"Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus." ~ Song of Solomon 6:3. (i am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.)

i will survive and one day, God willing that i deserve the honor, we will be reunited in Heaven.

~

for all those who died for our country, and for the loved ones who are in sorrow all through this weekend i leave you with this poem:

"Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,

Dream of battled fields no more.

Days of danger, mights of waking."

~ Sir Walter Scott

my Dragon ~ Chinese verses Revelations

i read at night when i cannot sleep. i have been doing some reading about Heaven and hell and, in due course, have gotten to Revelations. here is where the references of the dragon as symbolic of evil got to me. My Dragon is not that dragon and i wanted to write this out for my own sake, for the sake of communicating the kind of person he is.

he was born in 1952, which is the year of the Dragon on the Chinese calendar. he is half Russian, ¼ Sioux, and ¼ Inuit. his father was in the Air Force and so they lived all over the world. he is very self-confident, bordering on a little arrogant, but in a good way. the fun way. he loved my teasing him about his being so sure.

my Dragon was drafted in 1969. back then when you were drafted you had a choice of which branch you could enter. if you did not choose you went into the Army. my Dragon chose the Marine Corps because the Marines signed you up for 4 years rather than the Army’s 6 and my Dragon wanted to get back to college. he had only just completed his freshman year. his first tour in Vietnam was in 1970. it was still a bad time in that particular “conflict” and he had become part of an experimental unit. he went on two more tours in Vietnam, his second being when he earned the nickname Dragon. in the jargon of the military, it had been a “bad day” but my Dragon had stayed on his feet, fought fiercely, and gotten all four of his men back, shot up some but none of them died out there that time. there’s more to the story so accept that he earned his name. Dragon.

it was Vietnam and therefore under the influence of Oriental philosophy, mostly Chinese. the men chose that influence for my husband’s nickname; not Bible scripture, nothing Satanic was intended. his nickname comes from the Celestial Chinese Dragon, which is referred to as the mythical creature that brings prosperity, good fortune and abundance to the Chinese people.

the Chinese Dragon is benevolent and signifies greatness, goodness, and blessings. it also represents power, boldness, heroism, perseverance, nobility and divinity. it is Western Dragons that have the negative connotations. Eastern Dragons are beautiful, friendly, and wise. they are sometimes called the angels of the Orient. many Chinese cities have pagodas where people burn incense and pray to dragons with special services taking place there on the 1^st and 15^th of every month. the thing that made me smile when i looked all this up is that most of the Dragon shrines and altars are usually along the seashore and riverbanks because it is believed that Eastern Dragons live in water.

the Chinese Dragon is seen as the symbol of divine protection and vigilance and regarded as the Supreme Being amongst all creatures. it has the ability to live in the sea, fly up to the heavens and coil up on the land in the form of mountains. it wards off evil spirits and protects the innocent.

there was a lot more in the books i checked out of the library but i wanted to clarify who my Dragon is. in my reading of the Bible, i was getting tense when reading Revelations. that is not the reference that should be linked to my Dragon.

my husband is honest, good, kind, and did his duty to his country. he risked his life over and over to protect innocence. it is true that he killed men but it was war; every time it was because of war, conflict, enforcement of the law, etc. however i can describe it.

my Dragon is a rescuer of puppies who get caught around trees and rocks.

he has a great sense of fun and adventure.

i love his legs, his hands, his shoulders, his beard, his expressions, his lips, did i mention that i think he is so very handsome?

he put up with me and that is asking a lot of a man.

he is fearless, always was.

i simply wanted to clarify who my Dragon is for anyone who may correlate the nickname Dragon with something evil. my husband is not evil. he is the best man i will ever know. i love him so very much, more than i could ever help anyone understand or believe.

my Dragon is not perfect but he is mine. i would marry him all over again and forever link my soul with his. he is strong and right now, here in this world by myself, i really need to draw on the strength that he had. i need to hold his smile close in my mind and put the love we had in that hole where my heart used to be.

of note, when i type my thoughts out, i do type of him in the past tense, and then i proofread and stop at each verb and change them all to present tense. because i hold the belief that we do not change simply because we die. we are the same there as we are/were here.

i love my Dragon. i love him for all the goodness that he is (was) (had) inside him. i love his handsomeness on the outside. i love his intelligence that was inspiring and challenging. i love his sense of humor. i love who he is, was, and would have been as we got old and decrepit.

he promised me he would chase me down the hall to our bedroom via the help of his walker. i look at my photos of him and wish we had been given the chance. i thank God i had what i had with him. i pray about when we are reunited, womanNshadows and her Dragon ~ the good Dragon.

Marine Corps ~ Force Recon

yesterday was my Monday with my daughter. i took my poor tired camera with me because the clouds were so interesting. i saw an E cloud and i took this photograph. E is the first letter in my daughter's name. i told her God made the cloud for her. she rolled her eyes. but she did laugh. and that's all i wanted.

so day became night and it was okay. i was okay. i had gotten up and worked until she was ready to come get me. we took me to get quilt batting and then on to Wal-Mart for groceries. i was going fine. we talked about my Dragon and it was good. i got home and put the groceries away then got back to work.

and i was fine. until a show came on at 10 pm and i was riveted. "The Marines." it was an hour and a half long show of the making of a Marine. from boot camp, through officers training, some sniper training though they did not show a lot of it, and speciality combat training.

my Dragon was a Marine Force Recon. he was part of the 1st Force Recon in Vietnam doing 3 tours. after that he did so much more for his country. he did HALO dives in the dead of night. he taught hand-to-hand combat. he was sent out on missions, decades of service to this country. he led sort of a secret life, one i would love to speak to. but promises are promises. i will keep mine to him and let his secrets die with me.

Memorial Day is coming. to him and i it was more than lawn day, or having a cook-out, or even a parade that meant nothing more than parents' had to get their children dropped off by their band or their scout troop. it meant so much more.

my Dragon is a realist but he also embodies the idealism that i have seen in every Marine i have ever had the honor to meet. he believes in God, Country, Corps. he knew the history of the Corps, the battles fought, the strategies used, and never wanted to let that legacy down. he did not let his beloved Corps down. nor his country.
i talk about his stories. i wrote that they are being continued and fleshed out by my constant friend. i never thought i would get to have more of his stories when he died. i cannot thank you, my constant friend, enough for the lift to my spirits. i do need it. it is a crutch i know but without him, i feel like i am spiritually crippled. he is everything to me.

i watched the Marine program. i thought to myself, he stood on those yellow footsteps. he went through the Crucible. he spent 3 tours in Vietnam. he is a sniper. he excelled at all the training he received and kept true to the warrior ethos of the Marine Corps.

i miss him so much. i cried until i feel asleep. it got to the point where i ran out of tears but my body kept heaving with these deep sobs. i miss him. after being with him, everything is pale in comparison. he is my husband. he is my Dragon. he is my Marine and i am so proud of him. i dread another Memorial Day without him. i dread today without him.

i have no idea how to be happy yet. i am only happy thinking of and talking about him and even in that it is bittersweet because he is no longer here.

the 31st is Memorial Day. the full moon will be 3 days passed. it's fitting.

hard dreaming, mortality, Split-Second Single Father, and Widower Howe

the first photo is because of something Split-Second Single Father wrote and my story of the photo I'll get to in a minute.

my sleeping habits have gone to H-E double L since my Dragon died. i am in physical pain from arthritis and from stress. i ache more now for reasons i will only tell you are this: he's gone and everything is magnified.

i have been working myself so very hard on the Memory Quilts and the sewing for my daughter's wedding. i told myself that on his birthday, back on August 5th, and on our wedding anniversary, back on August 11th, that i would take a break and work on my own Husband Quilt, try to get it finished for myself through both those days, but i didn't touch it. the top is done and i showed it to chillingwithlemonade when she stopped by for her pillow and grey sock dog but, well, i haven't finished it yet. it's become more wall art that a true wrap-around me quilt. i'll take all his t-shirts and make me one of those later on. but back to the reason for taking a break to write.

i was exhausted and took a short nap, a "snap" if you will, after eating lunch while working with Photoshop on my daughter's wedding program. (see, i can multi-task with the youngest of them.) now i've taken "snaps" before but this one is the first one where i woke myself up crying. i heard a sound and thought it was one of my Scotties but, it was me. crying. for the Dragon.

i was disoriented after i woke up but somehow through my dreams i'd figured out how to make my daughter's wedding gloves. on the aside, has anyone had to price lace wedding gloves yet? oh my stars above. they cost that much, all the stars above. (note to Split-Second Single Father - start saving.) i woke up with it all figured out - how to make them from my old wedding veil. "something old."

but in my disorientation i felt waves of panic. when i die, wait, what if i die very soon? before i get it all done? and then i thought, what if i can't find him? it was wave upon wave of panic and not the good waves of warm ocean water that can bring about bliss. these were frightening crashes over my fragile psyche and i cried so hard i gave myself a headache. stupid. so stupid to my rational mind and yet, when it comes to missing my Dragon, i'm emotional. all emotion. hence the second photo. i took it solely for this day's writing. as with the third photo.

my Dragon, had be been here, would have comforted me. he would have catered to my iced tea-aholicism and then finger-combed my hair. he would have sat with me and held my hand and talked to me. he always knew i suffered from an overly creative mind. a curse and a blessing. it helps me create things but it also takes me down very dark roads. "she's insane? she's an artist? ahhhh. therein lies the answer."

now for the first photo. this one is for all of us and the catalyst comes from Split-Sec. Single Father and also from criticism i've received for "not getting over it" as fast as some think i should. i should be "further along." well, since i cannot curse here, then i say "go away. i don't need you and here's the story of Widower Howe."

the Widower Howe lived in the town where i lived during the majority of my 20 years with my first husband. it is a rural little town in southern New Hampshire with lots of cows, horses, apple orchards, and a feed store. the center of town had the general store called the "Common Cracker," the library, the Feed Store, the church where 3 faiths alternated services every weekend, and then the fancy, rich people's houses. around the center of town no building is younger than 75 years old.

Widower Howe and his wife Esther were born in the same month in the same hospital in the neighboring larger city. they grew up 1/2 a mile apart and married when they were both 21, her father's request. she gave him 5 children, 3 boys and 2 girls and died in 1947 from a sudden and unknown heart condition. Widower Howe was understandably bereft. seventeen years of marriage and at the age of 38, he was alone to finish raising their children.

by that time, though he was a prosperous man having bought into the only feed store in town called, yes, you got it, The Feed Store. he owned it outright and was an expert on grasses, grains, and food for horses and cattle. you could get dog food and supplies there and on the side he had taught his sons carpentry and two of them went into business together starting with bird houses and eventually going into building homes for people. one of his sons was a United States Marine who was killed in Korea. his daughters married boys there in town and never lived far from him. basically he had all his children close and kept his Marine son's ashes on the mantle along with his flag and photograph all the time i knew of it. now his eldest daughter has carried on the tradition.

Widower Howe, for that's how he got to be called, never remarried. he never dated. he never tried. women tried, but his eyes were only on the horizon. that's what one of the old men who sat "cutting wood" on the porch of The Feed Store would say. ("i don't whittle, i cut wood with my pocket knife." though i did ask to buy a little bird he "cut." he gave it to me for simply noticing him in a kind way. sweet old man. - you can see why i loved this town.) "Widower Howe keeps his eyes on the horizon for that's where she is a'waitin'."

when he died in 2004, my Dragon and i went, along with the entire town, to Widower Howe's funeral. the pastor who spoke said, "Widower Howe is 95 years old and for each one of those years, he was a kind and gracious man who always took care of his family and friends. he extended credit when times were hard and he carried folks for longer than their own relatives would. Widower Howe never got over the untimely death of his beloved Esther, but we can all take comfort that he's joined her now. he was lonely for 57 years. Widower Howe is lonely no more."

i want to find my Dragon like i like to believe, along with everyone else, that Widower Howe found his Esther. i want to be back in his arms again. i want to rest and sleep safe with his great and strong wings surrounding me. i want his breath on my neck and his whispered words in my ear.

i want to quietly grieve for him and wait for him with the same courtesy that all of that tiny, rural town allowed Widower Howe to grieve and wait for his wife. we say very often that "no one gets it." they don't have to "get it." they just need to "leave it alone."

the rhythm and poetry of grief

i've settled into a very melancholy existence of late. Thursday my daughter and i went to the local mall to a store called Things Remembered to order two beautiful flutes to be engraved for her wedding. we had parked outside a large department store and as we walked back to the car, she wanted to stop to visit the restroom. it was in the men's department. she went in and i stood amongst jeans and shirts, ties and belts and i cried because i'll never have to buy him anything ever again. i don't have to wash his clothes anymore. nothing of his crosses my daily life that i don't deliberately go get to look at, to touch.

i tested the waters last night. i'd read several grief books in the beginning and all of them had said to go back after 4 to 6 months to re-read what you've written down to see your progress. i did and saw only the switch from deep shock to deep grief, but a week after the 6 month milestone, i'm settling in. i think 6 months after the death of a loved one is too soon to see any real progress but everyone has their own time table. everyone is different. every marriage is unique. every relationship has it's own particular rhythm.

this brings me to the second test. all the authors in those books said that the bereaved tend to glorify their deceased loved ones seemingly forgetting their imperfections. i re-read all my writing with that in mind and there is nothing that i've written about him that i glorified. but i don't want anyone who stumbles across my writings to think that i have. i know exactly who and what my husband was. he was perfectly flawed.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder and what i beheld was nothing more than an extraordinary man. every word i've quoted of his, he spoke. every action he performed that i wrote about, he executed. i wish to give you a brief sketch of the man who loved me.

he was only 1/2 inch taller than i was. his muscles were not toned in a gym lifting weights, but rock hard from years spent as a United States Marine. he'd been called a killer in my presence and i would see his eyes go blank trying to dull the impact of that one word. killer. everything he did was sanctioned by the United States government. he is no killer. he was a soul in torment that protected himself with the distance of hollow laughter and few words. he was an enigma to those who thought they knew him but he allowed me inside his heart. he told me everything and cleansed his mind. i took it all and gave him back respect, awe, and love.

his eyes were warm brown with white squint lines from laughter, the sun, and looking down a scope. his hands were large and hard and criss-crossed with scars. his whole body was a timeline of his career, scars everywhere. he had the lasting marks of 3 bullet holes, 4 stab wounds, and long striations left over from Vietnam when he was walking point and fell into a trap and punji sticks pierced his armpits and popped out through his back. GQ would not want him, but i did. i didn't care about his scars. they caused him pain and i rubbed vitamin E oil on each one to help ease the underlying muscle pain.

the meds he took for arthritis upset his stomach so he belched after Mexican Food. it also put on a few extra pounds that he tried so hard to lose. i didn't care. two months before he died, his doctor had told him he was doing fine, the little bit of extra weight wasn't an issue since it was from the meds, and that his heart was fine. that haunts me to his day and always will.

his laugh was deep and loud and the sound embarrassed some but never me. i knew how little he'd honestly laughed so i deliberately set out to make him laugh several times a day, and yes, in public. his humor never bothered me. his public displays of affection - holding my hand, touching my butt, and whispered teasing innuendos in my ear brought me only joy. it was something i'd never had.

he wasn't a knight in shining armor. he could be cranky when in physical pain. he could be obstinate. but he was never cruel and always sat back with a knowing smile on his face when i would stand up for myself. he loved that he had set me free to do that, that i felt safe with him to argue with him. he never betrayed that trust. he chewed tobacco sometimes and i hated that so i when he put some in, i'd wait about 20 minutes then tell him to go spit it out and brush his teeth because i wanted to make out.

in summary, he was a diamond in the rough, my Dragon who loved me, who told me that i had set him free from his belief that he was a monster, and that i was his whole world. he was well read and capable of very intelligent conversations. he was verbal and spiritual and, with me, could be emotional. i wrote poems to him while he was alive and now more so since his death. he loved them all. he loved my writing and encouraged it every day.

we had a beautiful marriage amidst a terrible life of abject poverty because he was helping me clear the debt left behind by my ex plus we paid for so much while my two children went through college. but my Dragon always kept a roof over my head and we had enough to eat. he never let me fall. when i cried, he'd hold me and tell me he was there with me, and that we were going through it together. we had wonderful days of climbing rocks by the ocean and a great many peaceful walks along a long stretch of beach. he gave me shells and sand dollars and driftwood.

he gave me all of himself and more love than i'd ever known. i gave him awe and adoration and truth and all the love i was capable of. i still do. i saw him as he was. that he was everything i'd ever wanted is only truth. he saved me and i saved him. we were meant to be.

i went up to the throne of love

the king stooped down to me

he put a kiss on my lifted face

then they took him away from me.

i have traveled the whole world o'er

and i could have love if i would

but nevermore shall a beggar stand

in the place where the king has stood.