mad, epic fail

a woman i never met but only knew of through someone else died this morning. she was in her late 70's. i saw what people, in the triple digits, had written on her CaringBridge page, all the plans for her funeral being presented. the family is renting a big hall to accommodate the expected crowds.

she was married to the same man for 55 years and they had started a theater group together. it has become a significant part of her area. lots of singing, barbershop quartet concerts, etc., perform there. her husband is already, i saw written, taking this terribly hard. he does not know what he will do without her.

her three children, all of her grandchildren dropped everything to be by her side as the cancer finally raged out of control a couple of weeks ago. there was round the clock sitting with her so that she was never alone. her hand was held. people came to tell her how she had impacted their lives with her singing, her theater, her outgoing ways. she was special and now that she had died, the world has lost someone so great that hundreds are already arriving to honor this woman.

it is impacting my son because he also knew this woman through his father's family. a family i used to belong to. i have sent my own private condolences.

surprise. i have been having a hard time with myself of late. well, i'm lying. i've been having a hard time with myself for the last 3 years. i lost my voice. well, that's a lie, too. i lost his voice, my Dragon's voice. i never found my voice; not in all these years. the only voice i had was the one that rose to protect my children. beyond that.....zip.

okay, that's a lie. i write. quite frankly i've written a great deal more than this tiny blogging community who finds me here knows about. i write under another name. another place. it gets positive attention. mostly. if anyone stops to read. i've also written 4 books that i have not gotten published. the handful of people who have read them are aghast. "my God, but these are incredible! you have to get these published!" that and $5 can get you a coffee at Starbucks.

what am i? what have i offered the world? is my life a mad, epic fail? who will come to my funeral? does the church still hold funerals if only 3 people come to mourn the deceased?

i am wallowing today. as you can see. please, don't find fault with me. it's a moment. only a moment in time. a lifetime. i'm struggling and sometimes struggling is ugly and dirty.

what have i accomplished? well, let's see.

i can make things. i can make beautiful, extraordinary things that no one else will take the time to, or knows how to.

a Dragon of a man once loved me. maybe he still does. i don't know about the things beyond the veil of death. i admit i am nervous to find out. what if he's moved on. what if he's found someone else, someone who's dead, and they've hit it off. hey, i'm wallowing here. it's my fear talking. no one said fear was always rational.

i have two great children, grown now and on their own. my son is doing very well. my daughter is, too. she is the one in my daily life and she puts up with me. i know she gets frustrated sometimes with my fumbling, but she is patient with me and fights hard for me. she is my pitbull and i love her.

i have two Scotties who love me. they follow me and lick my face when i cry. they annoy the hell out of me when they won't wait past 6 AM to go outside to pee. they stand over my face and lick me on the lips. can't ignore a dog licking your lips. can't try to roll over and sleep through that. nope. i've tried. and God bless'em, they always need to go. but then i work a lot of hours during the day and they wait for me. they wait and have never gone to the bathroom on the carpet. we've flown down the apartment stairs but they've never soiled the carpet.
i am well liked at work. both places. the sewing is always received with "oh, my God's," and "i am speechless," and a whole range of incredulity at my handwork. not bragging. just facts. i put my heart and soul into my sewing and it shows. at the Bear, i put my heart and soul into the guest service. i am remembered by our guests and i have return guests. i am the most requested Party Bear in our district; and pretty much overall as far as the country's stats go. got an indirect message from the CEO, you know, one of those she tells her secretary who passes to the secretary of the NorthEast Manager who passes it to the Regional Manager who passes it to the District Manager who passes to my manager. "Good job."

so what do i live for? where do i find enjoyment? i read of others who have found love again. i read of others who are buying new homes in places and starting over. i read of others who have started traveling more, to see the world for those stories they want to tell their husband or wife when they "met up again in the hereafter."

i am stuck here. i will never be able to ask for a day off work. i need the money. i will never have a home beyond this apartment, i don't think. not unless my son can help me, unless we can figure something out with a little condo/townhouse. right now, that is as lavish a dream as my Dragon coming back to me with $350 million dollars in the bank. dead dreams. all dead.

so what do i live for? what keeps me going? my children. my dogs. Bunny. i love to sew. i do like a good heart ceremony and a successful party at the Bear.

i like big storms. i like to watch them build. i like to take pictures and with the grace of two wonderful friends out there, i have two wonderful cameras. S and D, if you're still reading my blog you know who you are. huge embrace and the dream of someday coming to visit you in your respective states.
i love Christmas Mass. i love plants. i love listening to music. i love kisses from my dogs.

i love to fantasize. i don't dream anymore, but i do fantasize. the difference? a dream might come true and i am not self-abusive. i do not ever kid myself. but a fantasy? ah, a fantasy can take you anywhere. it can give you a beautiful, small, old brick and stone home over a bit of water where the dogs can lay out over the windowsill in the sunshine.
a fantasy can give you a garden, a beach to walk on,

a chance to be with my beloved again ~ for just a night,

an escape from the reality that i live every time i bring myself back from those fantasies.

i never let myself believe for one minute that i will ever have .........ever have things again. i am too blessed with what i have been allowed to have right now. it is not negative to think that way. it is self-preservation. too many things have bent the wrong way for me to ever believe i live anywhere close to a "lucky star."

and when i die? will anyone "cut {me} out in little stars and make the face of Heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun?" no. i will only be missed two people, my son and my daughter. the only one who would truly grieve over me has already died, and i have touched no one's life to the point where they would drop everything to fly in to my funeral. i simply have not made that much of an impact.

well, maybe a few children who come into the Bear to hug me on a regular basis will miss me. there will be the fallen faces, the possible lack of understanding of death, and then they will see a new furry friend on the wall and i will be forgotten.

to what or whom

do i owe this pleasure

of a long and lonely night?

ah, death, 'tis death

that took away

all the love and light.

where is he, or is he out there

is he waiting for me?

again, it's death, only death

that can show my love to me.

is my life one long, lonely event where i have touched no one's life, impacted no one enough to have earned them caring about me? and how arrogant does this sound? it sounds so much like whining to want to be a little bit important to the world at large, or to a small bit of the local community where i am. see? struggling to come to grips with the life i have been handed is very ugly. embarrassing. but, if anything, i've never not been brutally honest in writing about how i feel. grief sucks. losing him was one of the most terrible things that has ever happened to me, along with the death of my son, etc.

so is my life a mad, epic fail? when compared with the woman i wrote about at the start of this missive, yes, it is. i am a failure. no one will come to stand in the church and mourn my passing. i have touched no one like that. but as is written in the Desiderata, "do not compare yourself with others. you may become vain or bitter." so i guess in the end, 30 yeas from now, even tomorrow, it doesn't matter how popular you were, how important you were, as long as you did something with what you were given. i've sewn for people. i've comforted people. i've been nice to people. i'm a fairly decent person. i am afraid of God. i have, and do, love one man deeply. i am here for my children and my dogs. in the face of some pretty tough emotional and financial odds, i have not given up. there are things i love like books and music and memories. and i can still fantasize. i don't torture myself with dreams that can never come true.

what else do i love? i love a really good starry, starry night. and yes, the night of a full moon.

365

tonight at 11:30 pm, the memory will become the most vivid. at 12:03 am, his death will become one year old and the second year of the nightmare begins. the anguish i feel over his death is as acute today, and all this past weekend, as it was on this day one year ago. i know it will continue unabated until after Valentine’s Day, the day his funeral was held. i usually have something in mind when i sit to write but what do i write about a milestone i never thought would happen, that i didn’t want to have come to pass, and one that i want to end as fast as it can? grief is a solitary journey. what we each feel is as individual as our relationships are and as we are. what i may come up with may or may not be familiar to those ahead of me. my writing is unique to me. so here is my attempt to honor a man none of you knew.

his death certificate says 9 February 2009. when the funeral home gave it to me and i saw the date, i thought, “no, that’s wrong. it was the 8th.” then i remembered. he started dying on the 8^th. it was over on the 9^th. 12:03 am. it’s a small thing that means nothing to anyone but me. on the 8^th and the 9^th of every month i feel hollow, as if there is nothing inside me. no stomach, no brain, no lungs, and no heart. i barely eat. i can’t think. breathing is hard at times. and i cannot feel my heart do anything but miss the heart it used to beat beside.

i am told this will get better with the passing of time. i leave this alone as i do accept that there may be improvement in my feelings, but i will need to see when and by how much for myself. today, these are my thoughts and i will say unequivocally that i will never get over losing him. he will always be in my heart, on my mind, and his name will forever be on my lips. because i adore him. the candles have already been lit.

how long is a year? “short if you sing, but long if you sigh.” all i’ve done this year is survive 365 days without the only man i’ll ever love. i’ve cried every one of those days in one form or another be it great, heaving sobs or blinking back silent tears.

three hundred, sixty-five days i’ve had to live without his winsome ways. for all his strength and fierceness, he was also very charming. it’s the truth that he kept his promise of a daisy a day. if he couldn’t pick them or buy them, he’d take his finger and draw one on my inner wrist. i always liked those. sitting side-by-side, leaning into one another with our heads touching. he’d take my hand and start to draw. if i’m really tired and hurting for him, i rotate my hand and look at my empty wrist. sometimes my mind lets me see one there. dream world.

he deserves so much better than he got in his life. he deserves to have the world know what he did for his country. he deserves a huge memorial. but his life cannot be talked about openly. his sacrifices have to be inferred. not every death gets a big candlelight vigil with mourners lining the walls of the church. a lot of us simply get a night full of stars and oceans of tears shed from only a handful of people who will grieve forever such a loss.

not many knew of my Dragon whose hidden life was given over to patriotism for so long and with a great deal of silent honor. he died unexpectedly on the night of the full moon. there were no orators at his funeral. all the words spoken were the ones i wrote. there were few flowers. his funeral had a scattering of people who had known him and were willing to relinquish the morning of Valentine's Day. all were in shock. all came to me and clung to my arm and asked me “how,” “why,” “i can’t believe it,” and “he can’t be gone. he’s so strong and alive.” i could not speak so my daughter responded for me, "heart attack," "only God knows," "neither can we," and for the last, even her strength broke and her voice fell silent.

he got a folded flag, a broken arrow (he is half Sioux, half Russian) and his destroyed wife and her two equally devastated children. a horrible little, plastic, black box held the ashes of the Dragon. i found an urn that spoke to the life we had and the life we wanted. i put that black box far back into the closet. i will, however, never get rid of it.

“my husband died.” that doesn’t sound real even though i know it to be true. my Dragon’s body was too powerful and his spirit too enduring for me to think he could ever be conquered. i know he wasn't bullet proof, but the scars from being shot and stabbed repeatedly, all his years of combat sketched out on his body like a wild tattoo, lead me to believe that i would die long before he would. i’m weak. he’s strong. he’s the Dragon. Dragon’s live forever.

“he’s in Heaven.” that haunts me because i’d like to know. i am so lost without him and i cry as i pray that he is there and well and at peace. but that’s faith for you. it’s not for us to know. i have to admit i've had the “my God, my God, why have You forsaken me” moments. i do this when i feel vulnerable, when i’m hungry, and when i worry that after i finish the commissions i have that i will not get another one, and when i have to roll over and beg my ex for my stipend. but then i have these moments when i’m outside walking the dogs and i feel a sudden breeze. the sky is beautiful and i see an early moonrise, one where the moon and the sun look across at each other and i feel strongly that he just has to be there, on the moon, flying through the universe, up in Heaven.

“my Dragon has gone ahead.” that one will have to be the one that stands because it sounds like its part of a story and i’ve always liked stories. i like the ones that start with “once upon a time.”

Once upon a time there was a handsome, fierce Dragon who was looking for someone to love and someone to love him. he found a woman who lived in the shadows. it was true love from the start, “true” as in the definition culled from Shakespearean times. she found in his arms and heart a paradise on Earth that only Heaven could outshine. he found in her arms and heart a love so deep that his nickname became, no longer a curse, but a term of endearment. they found common respect, admiration, and a blazing joy so white hot that they had started to believe in “happily ever after.”

it was the night of the full moon. their kisses were soft. their embrace was serene and intimate. their “i love you’s” exchanged before closing their eyes to sleep were tender. legs were entwined and fingers were laced together when the Dragon started gasping for breath. the woman from the shadows sensed it before she heard his difficulty because one of her hands was on her Dragon’s chest. she flipped on the light and saw her husband choking for air. gut wrenching terror filled her as she called 911 and started, then saw she was failing at, CPR. she cried his name. she talked to him praying he heard her, “love, can you hear me? you’re gonna be fine. okay? you’re going to be fine. don’t be scared. please don’t be scared. they’re coming. hear it? they’re almost here. you’ll be fine. please be fine.” she knew what was happening to him. she was a realist. she said to him, to God, “don’t leave me.” the last thing she whispered to him was, “i love you.”

they made her leave the room while they worked on him. then she saw them putting him in the ambulance. the police drove her to the hospital because they said she was in shock. she waited alone in the ER for someone to tell her what was going on. it was only 10 minutes. at four minutes after midnight, they came. two nurses and a doctor were walking towards her as the woman from the shadows tried to back away.

her heart started screaming. not her lips. not her mind. her heart. she heard it in her head. she knew what was coming. but why no one heard her heart flying to pieces was beyond her understanding. God probably heard, but He was busy with something else. maybe He was taking the Dragon to Heaven.

she watched these three people whose job it would be to tell her tragic news. they shouldn’t be coming towards her though, not like this, not with those looks on their faces. she and her Dragon loved each other and love conquers all. right? in their respective lives, they’d already been through so much. they were going to get a happily ever after, weren’t they? if you’ve done good things all your life some of that good is supposed to come back around. right? they had never asked for anything but each other. they had never expected anything grand. all they wanted was each other. to them, that was the grandest thing in the universe. surely God was going to at least let them be together. the nurses and that doctor weren’t there for her. but she knew there was no one else in the waiting room.

the nurses had her sit down so the doctor could tell her how hard he’d worked but that it had been a lost cause. her husband probably wasn’t his first lost cause that night because there was a kind of detached sadness in his eyes. the woman from the shadows must have looked pretty bad because the doctor suddenly frowned as he reached over and took her pulse. one of the nurses went and got her water while the other helped her on with her coat. it was then that the Dragon’s wife realized she was violently shivering.

the doctor asked her if she had any questions and she had only one.

“i failed to save him. you failed. we both failed him. what is it i’m supposed to ask?”

the color drained from the doctor’s face and the woman guessed no one had asked put it quite that way before. either way he said no more to her. he just squeezed her hand and bowed out to let the nurses take over. her heart was still screaming but neither nurse acknowledged it. they also didn’t seem to notice when it stopped screaming and start to splinter into a thousand pieces. the Dragon’s wife was helped up out of her chair at the same time that she felt all the pieces of her heart being swirled up by the wind from the Dragon’s wings as he flew away from her.

they lead her to a room where they had laid her Dragon out with a crisp white sheet tucked tight across his chest. this was the second to last time she saw her Dragon. his large shoulders spread across the small gurney. his white and silver hair glinted under the lights in the silent room. he looked so handsome, as if he was only sleeping, but his chest was not moving. it did not rise and fall with his great, deep breath like it had each night under the protection of her single hand. she stroked his beautiful soft beard and sighed his name on a shudder of sobs. his body was present but the Dragon was gone. something had made him do what he’d promised her he’d never do. he’d left her.

the Dragon had gone ahead.

someone once said, “light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. no matter how fast light travels, if finds the darkness has gotten there first, and is waiting for it.” woman in shadows had lived in darkness for the whole of her life and had only just found the light. it had come from her Dragon. it had been in his eyes as he looked at her and in his heart, as he loved her. now that light was extinguished and she was thrust back into the dark, but it was unlike the one from before. this dark was going to be from a forever night where she had known the love of her Dragon, and had watched him be taken from her.

the last time she saw her Dragon, he was lying in state, as it were, in the funeral home awaiting her formal identification. her daughter and son were with her, but her son was having a hard time keeping his tears under control. he did not want to see a lifeless Dragon so it was her daughter that went with her down the stairs following the funeral home director to see him. woman in shadows was carefully watched as she made her way one step at a time. when he came into view she broke. there's no other word to explain what happened inside her. it wasn’t a nightmare. it was reality. her Dragon was gone. she kneeled on the floor beside him and sobbed into her hands. the overwhelming loss settled on her shoulders and prevented her from speaking for hours after that visit. her daughter cried. she talked to the Dragon, stroked his hand, and softly said goodbye. the funeral director quietly excused herself to give these two women their time alone. she had seen a lot of grief, all kinds, founded in all the variables of human emotion. this was genuine grief founded in a true and deep love that now must be transcended in the minds of the survivors. she could not help with that.

it has now been a year and in these intervening 365 days, the woman from the shadows has become odd. she was eccentric before but now, she has been called odd by a couple of people and she has acknowledged that it fits. she’s become a cloister. she has learned why some religious choose solitude for their life of prayers. she’s faithful in her daily devotions to God and in her talks to her Dragon. she’s learned that neither answer in a way she can understand. she’s also aware that her life has heartbreakingly played out exactly like it was predicted to her. “you’re worthless. you’ll end up as nothing. you’ll end up alone.”

mothers have a way of being irritatingly right sometimes.

all the woman from the shadows can do is accept. there is no negotiating a return from something like death. all she can do is close her eyes to the pain when it rises in intensity. all she can do is live the rest of her life and wait her turn. she sews all day every day except on the nights of the full moon. on those nights she is distracted. she knows what time moonrise is. she gets anxious until that shining orb touches her particular horizon, and then she sighs. sweet relief. he’s back, the Man in the Moon, her Dragon. she photographs him. she stares at him. she talks to him. he, too, doesn’t answer her.

her collection of full moon photographs is damning evidence of the time she’s spent pining for someone who is lost to her for the rest of her life. she looks at her photographs of her moon; she feels possessive of it, and feels like the night version of the water nymph, Clytie, who followed the sun across the sky and became the sunflower. the one photograph she stares at most is the one she calls “Dragon’s Moon.” it’s the moon of 8 February 2009.

she pines for him. she wishes she could hear his deep, rumbly voice again. she wishes that when she reaches out her arms to the darkness that his hands would grasp hers and he would pull her into his strong, warm embrace. she faces each day and tries to be “stronger.” she does exactly what she’s supposed to do. she’s very correct in all her ways. but remember, the woman from the shadows has become odd since the death of her Dragon. she’s very much alone and has gotten used to it. she’s been hurt along the way this year in part for not being good enough, for not “measuring up,” and for having become so odd.

days are hard for her as they are for most who grieve but it is also for one reason that others may not understand. the woman from the shadows, the Dragon’s wife, misses the darkness that reveals the Heavens to her. she misses the moon whatever it’s phase. see, the Dragon’s wife is in love with the night.

“When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of Heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”

it hasn’t been 365 days. it’s been 365 nights.