How do I give a fuck?

Buy him flowers!

That's really going to shock.

A bloody big bunch of roses turn right up
on the doorstep.

I did not see this thread until today, and I just read through from the first post.
Pucket - I am so very sorry for your losses and your grief.

thank you for sharing and for telling your story here.

I am glad others were paying more attention earlier and offered their condolences in a more timely manner.

May you find your way through all of this roller coaster as you now mark time past 2 months...
every holiday and every marker of time will difficult.. but little by little it will get less hard. At least I pray, for your sake, that it will.

I really am a fucking dick.

Something that has been bothering me is just how fucking sparse her obituary was.

I mean, yeah. I get it. Newspapers gotta pay the overhead. And it just makes sense to charge by the line for someone to put out a blurb about someone that was dear to them but the overwhelming majority of readers wouldn't know jack-shit about.

And yeah, money is an issue. When isn't it? So, it wasn't like we could afford to take out two full pages or anything. But, fuck! What a rinky dink shit stain of an encapsulation of the life of one of the most courageous and strongest women it was ever my honor to know!

I've got a copy trimmed out of the newspaper in a frame. I've got a copy the funeral home made into a bookmark. And, I've got the link to Legacy.com set as my homepage. And every time I look at one of them, I just get more and more frustrated.

So, I says to myself, I says; "Precious, you have aspirations of being a writer. Surely you can do better than that piddly little two paragraph blurb. I mean, you made up Becki and Kelly and people seemed to give a shit about them (and to a lesser extent John and Nick). So, give it a fucking try, man. Tell the real true, no fucking holds barred story of the woman who really existed and meant more than the world or Heaven and Hell to you."

So, I tried.

Pretty easy at first. Start with a scene sitting at my computer, looking over at her spot on the bed. Fill in the mental image, almost a hallucination, of her lying there looking back at me. Why the fuck not? It's right there in front of me to make sure I get the details right and it makes it clear from the get go this isn't going to be an HEA tale for those that don't like sad shit mixing in with their porn fix.

Jump back in time to our first meeting. Personally, I hate fucking flashbacks. Don't like reading them. Don't like writing them. But, it's the only way this will work, I think. And if it doesn't, then I just trim the beginning and pick up in 1992 instead of today. Why the fuck not?

Well, shit. Except I really need to go back further and talk about what went on in 1974. If flashbacks suck, nested flashbacks are raw sewage.

But, I don't really see any other way to make this work. This shit has stopped being fun and turned into work. But, she's worth it. Damn fucking straight she is.

And it's not like our story wouldn't be perfect for Lit. It started out as a sex story that was only different from the most ridiculous porn plot ever written in that it was real, happening with real people, and the camera angles didn't always catch our best side. Of course, some people... most people really, would most likely have a problem with us fucking like minks for seven, eight, and ten hour stretches every day. Much less the "fuck off" where we got a hotel room for three days for a laughing bet to see which one of us gave up first. And three days later, we limped out with me the victor, both of us sore, but both of us smiling.

But, then shit started running off the rails. Because, it wasn't really a porn plot. It was life. And life isn't about keeping a running tally of orgasms given and received or being able to fuck for hours without stopping. And it wasn't just us, the two protagonists. There was a full cast of secondary and tertiary characters.

The more I wrote, the more I realized something I didn't really care for. While she was every bit as strong, courageous, smart, funny, sexy, beautiful, caring, and just all around wonderful as I always knew she was, I was a bit of a dick.

No. I was a fucking asshole shit-stain splatter on the underwear of life.

Just the fact that she put up with me for all that time should have warranted sainthood for the woman not counting everything else she did and was.

The thing, I think, that hurts the most right now is that I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she loved me. I know, as sure as I know I'm sitting here that she loved me when she closed her eyes that last time and drifted away.

I don't know that she understood that I loved her at all, much less how very much. I didn't tell her as often as I should have. I didn't show it as I should have. How could she have known?

I don't know that I will ever go back and pick up that tale. As much as she deserves it, I just don't know if I'm strong enough or ever will be.

I don't know. I guess what I'm trying to say is; if you read this senseless babble and you have someone in your life you love, learn from my fucking mistake. Tell them No. SHOW them. Today. Right now.

Tomorrow may be too late.

A motto I sometimes find useful: "You don't have to be perfect to be worthy of love."

Just saying. Don't beat yourself up, Puck.

Bramblethorn said:

A motto I sometimes find useful: "You don't have to be perfect to be worthy of love."

Just saying. Don't beat yourself up, Puck.

Click to expand...

Thank you, Bramblethorn. Intellectually, I know you are right. Hell, intellectually, I know if she loved me that much, just as much on the day she closed her eyes for the last time, if not more than the day we walked out of that hotel limping, I must have done something right.

It was just a really bad time. I'd been working away on the story about us instead of sleeping (or eating) and I'd hit a part in the story where I'm ashamed of just how I acted or the things I did. Of how much loving me cost her. God knows I wouldn't have put up with me. But, I forced myself to be brutally honest, no matter the picture it painted of myself. After all, the goal was to show how wonderful she was, not to paint myself as some sort of live action hero.

Any road, I'm some better after five hours of sleep, not to mention eating something a little more substantial than chicken flavored noodles after our friend came by and kidnapped me for supper and grocery shopping and just to get me out of my own head for a bit.

It helped that BOTH of our parents called within minutes of each other to see where we were and got both of us tickled and acting like a pair of high school aged teenagers. (But, Mooooooom! It's dark, but it's not after curfew!)

AND she made me promise I would not try to write anything, much less that story, for twenty-four hours.

But, thank you for caring enough to leave the sound advice you did. And I promise I will try to keep in mind tomorrow when I'm allowed to tinker with writing again.

However, I do stand by my final sentence in my post yesterday. Life is just too fucking short to assume you will do something or say something later to let those you love know you do and take for granted they will be there. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Love like there is no tomorrow, because when you get right down to it, there is only now.

PuckIt said:

Life is just too fucking short to assume you will do something or say something later to let those you love know you do and take for granted they will be there. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Love like there is no tomorrow, because when you get right down to it, there is only now.

Click to expand...

This is truth

As I said in my earlier post today, the friend who has continued to check up on me at least once a week came by yesterday after getting worried that she hadn't heard from me for a couple of days since I was zoned out writing instead of eating or sleeping (although I did pause to deal with Daisy Mae when she came in and poked me with her cold nose), when I typically fire off an email each day when I wake up to let her, my sister, and my stepson and his wife know I'm still a going concern.

Anyway, despite my prohibition against writing for a day (since Christie was worried about the state I was in when she found me not long after I posted what I did on here yesterday), I took the time to write up an email to her, my stepson and his wife, and my sister. It may not be quite as funny as it struck me at the time, but I needed some cheering up.

So, here's a copy of the email I sent complete with the embedded links to youtube videos of some of the music Christie and I'd heard while we were out and about. Hopefully it at least makes you smile if you've put up with my rants the last few times and are still coming back.

*** copy of email ***


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6Q3mHyzn78😎

So, Christie came by and kidnapped me... I mean took me to the store so I could pick up food for me and the four foots. Except she didn't take me to the Family Dollar just a mile from me here. Nope, she took me all the way out to Dollar Tree in Wolfforth. Which, yeah, I'm glad she did. Because there was a lot of food there not available at the Family Dollar by me. And, everything in the store actually IS a dollar. (As opposed to Family Dollar where it might be 4.25)

The problem was that I didn't think about it, but I hadn't called Dad yet and he hadn't called me. And it was like a good twenty minutes or so just to get to that store. So, yeah. It took a lot longer.

Anyway, we're there for a bit, basket is about half full. When her phone rings. It's Dad calling to check up on me.

I guess when he couldn't get me at home, he started worrying or something. Anyway, both Christie and I assured him I was fine. That she had brought me out and about to pick up food for me and the four foots.

But, just hang on. It gets better.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCi-shPKKeY😎

Less than two minutes after I hung up with Dad, Christie's Mom called wanting to know where she was.

I swear, it was like being back in high school for a minute there. I couldn't help it. I cracked up.

But, Moooooooom. I know it's after dark, but it's not after curfew!

Oh, but, I'm not done.

Yes, I was cackling a bit about it. I mean, it was funny. Maybe not as funny as it struck me, but it was funny.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjyZKfdwlng😎

So, Christie spots the kind of chocolate covered cherries that she likes, not being a fan of the Queen Anne ones.

We've been all over the store, and I'm halfway between tired from walking around and still half slap happy and giggling about BOTH of our parents calling to check where we were.

While Christie is unloading the cart, with me trapped on the other side of it, she is saying something about wanting cream in her cherries and I was fighting to keep from busting up. She looks up and sees my face and gets the giggles herself.

She decides to get a Slim Jim jerky stick which just makes things worse. And I'm about to have an aneurysm trying to keep from laughing.

The thing is, Christie can see the lady standing behind me. I didn't know she was there.

Anyway, somehow Christie's chocolate covered cherries get knocked off the conveyor. I can't see what it is, but I hear something hit. So, I'm bending down, rummaging around under the cart and come up with it.

"Oh," I say. "You almost lost your cherry."

I hear a sound behind me and turn around to see this lady standing there, bright red, and laughing so hard tears are streaming down her face. Thank goodness her little girl was more interested in the glow sticks she was wanting to buy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eln48BCELk😎

I blame it all on our parents calling and giving me flashbacks. But, wait. It wasn't done.

(Unrelated to the whole flashback to youth thing, I almost got in the wrong car. But, lets get on with the flashbacks.)

So, Christie and I are sharing a chuckle about our parents calling us as we drive back over to Family Dollar to pick up the stuff for the animals. And, also about the whole cherry debacle. On the way we completely forget about stopping for supper. We just hit Family Dollar and head back to the ranch where, of course, we get mugged at the door. We'd been gone for two hours after all, which is like 14 hours in dog time.

That or she wanted her chew bone she knew damn well Christie got for her.

So, I'm sweating because I was wearing a quilted hoodie. And I'm working around a dog wanting her special treat from Aunt Christie trying to put the groceries up. Christie was helping, but with Daisy and I already tripping over each other, there wasn't really any room. So, she gives up and goes to sit down at the table.

And pulls out that Slim Jim to munch on.

I give Daisy her bone (finally!) and have to take off the quilted shirt that is seriously getting a little damp.

And walk around the corner, without a shirt on and glistening with sweat, to find Christie with that Slim Jim in her mouth.

And giggled hysterically. Which caused Christie to crack up.

And I made it worse when I asked if she might want something a little bigger and more filling.

I swear, by that point, I wasn't trying. It just ... We had regressed to a pair of teenagers. EVERYTHING was just hitting our funny bone.

And it was all the parents fault!

We finally settled back down enough for me to ask her seriously if she would like something to eat. She admitted she had been craving Jimmy John's sandwiches. So, away we went. Back out the door. Leaving Daisy to try to tunnel through the metal with us.

"You guys aren't funny! Only one trip allowed, damn it!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYXqb6x50lA😎

So, we're headed over to Jimmy Johns. And 'lo and behold Van Halen comes on. Which is like MAJOR flashback! (And it was 5150, Christie. And the same album as "Why Can't This Be Love")

Anyway, we're just jamming along, listening to tunes from our teenage years and talking about different bands. (I did NOT know that Axle Rose fronted for AC/DC! )

We get to Jimmy John's and it was seriously like I was a high school senior again. I ordered my sandwich and when the gal asked me what else I wanted, I said a cookie.

And went into my cookie monster routine. "Coo-kie!"

Now, Christie had meant to buy supper. But, I didn't know that. I just tossed out my card.

And got chewed out for it.

Naturally, I blamed it on our parents calling and giving me flashbacks. Which set us off again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlN3oEjMpUQ😎

So, we're laughing and jamming to hair bands from the 80s as we're driving when I hear something while we are stopped at a red light. Christie didn't, so I may have imagined it. But, I jumped a little and sat up and started looking around.

When Christie asked me what was the matter, I told her I'd heard something. When she asked me what, I told her it sounded an awful lot like a shotgun being racked.

"Should I be worried?" I asked. "What time is your curfew anyway? Does your daddy have a shotgun?"

And yeah, we cracked up again.

"I swear, I feel like I should have come to the house with a carnation in a box and let him show me his gun collection and read me the riot act."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fAi8Jc2hrw😎

Christie said, "You are not going to let that go are you?"

Hell, no! I'm going to be giggling about that for months!

Anyway, she got me back home safe and sound. We ate supper and hung out for a few minutes. Of course, when she went for her cherries for dessert, I lost it again and started cackling like a madman.

Afterwards, I walked her out to the car so she could head home (before curfew, I swear!).

But, I just had to share what all went on. It just struck me as far too funny to keep to myself.

Christie said she was going to share with her Mom just how tickled I got. Not sure if I'm going to tell Dad or not. Not sure he would see the humor.

Any road, have a good night! And as the man used to say at the end of the concert (or when the club closed down for the night), "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpXxnRT-vDA😎

(And thank you, Christie, both for taking me to get fud for me and the four foots and for sharing the laughs with me.)

***end email***

Something I guess I should make clear since all the recipients of the email know us, but you don't. Christie is in her 40s and paramenopausal and I'm a fair bit older (although young enough "Van Hagar" took me on a time trip). Dad is closing in on 80 and her Mom is somewhere in her 60s (only a few years older than Cheryl as, if she'd lived to 10/21, she would have been 61).

I'm very sorry for your lost, and am late to post a reply here.

My suggestion to you is to do something that helps others. Let it be a compulsion if it has to be.

Last year (a little over 12 months to the day), a colleague of mine announced on his way out the door of the office that he was going to kill himself. He went through a very bitter divorce a few years ago, and things he said during that event had left him estranged from his adult son, and the stress of it all left him in very poor physical health. He had decided he would never spend another Christmas alone.

I spent most of that night on the phone with the police, the suicide prevention hotline, and a few others. I was asked to stay in my office in case he returned to work. He eventually surrendered his guns to the police around midnight, and was checked in to psychiatric care.

I called my wife to tell her I would be home soon, went to my car, and began to cry. For the life of me, I can't say why. At my work, I have responsibilities on our fire brigade, where I have confronted and prevented loss and catastrophe. That night's story had a happy ending. So why was I, a 30-something father of 3, and no stranger to adrenaline, sobbing my heart out? Was I crying for me, for him, or something else?

I don't know. But my colleague put himself back together, bit by bit, with a lot of encouragement and help. He spent that Christmas in psychiatric care. This Christmas, he is pulling a double shift at the food pantry. SOMEBODY had suggested to him that volunteering there might help him pass the anniversary of his separation more easily, and the effort just stuck.

I've dealt with depression for most of my life, and have tried to deal a few different ways... doctors, drink, etc. I've found that the best way to deal is staying busy. And if you can use that time of keeping busy to make things better for others, in my experience, you start to feel better, too.

I'm glad you have people checking in on you, Puck. Hope this Christmas isn't too rough on you. Let us know if you get any good swag

Christmas Day

To be honest, I didn't really expect this holiday to be rough. I guess I should probably explain a little bit. First off, when Cheryl and I first got together, I was working a detention unit. Which are, of course, 24/7 including holidays. Someone had to work. And, since I'd pissed off the wrong people (the Chief and Assistant Chief), I was pretty much stuck. (Yeah, I had a tendency to treat people under me with more than due respect and consideration, but would shoot off at the mouth with supervisors in a heart beat. I never claimed to be all that smart outside of making good guesses on tests.)

Meanwhile, Cheryl's kids by her first marriage had, understandable, problems with me and their mother. I won't bore with the whole story, but it hurt Cheryl, obviously, that they weren't around on Christmas, choosing instead to spend it with their father and his family. Last, but not least, my own family had issues with Cheryl at first. Issues that I probably didn't help when I told them if they were so enamored of my ex-fiancée they could have her and it had been nice knowing them. We eventually reconciled with both my family and her kids (as well as my getting fed up and moving on to another career), but by then everybody had reformed their own traditions that didn't really leave a whole lot of room for each other.

So, while we did Christmas, it was usually a small affair where she made enchiladas (one of two things she cooked really well. I usually did the cooking) and we would exchange gifts we'd gotten for each other and that was it. I was generally in bed by lunch time and she might lay beside me watching television for awhile while I slept.

No, the BIG day for us was New Years Eve, as silly as that sounds. I pretty much took a stand with my erstwhile employers that IF I was going to work Thanksgiving for people who had to travel and Christmas for those with small kids, I would be damned if I was going to work New Years for the drunks to go act stupid. And was lucky enough (and good enough) they didn't like me but didn't want me to leave either. Cheryl and I didn't go anywhere or see anyone. We hopped in bed around ten o'clock and "rang in the New Year" with much more than a kiss every single year we were together. The last couple of years, sex was completely off the table as everywhere she wasn't numb was painful, but we still cuddled together and held each other and, as gently as we could, reaffirmed our love and commitment for the next year.

So, yeah. THAT has been the day (and night) I've been quietly dreading. HOWEVER, no one else seems to be fully aware of that.

That same friend of ours, Christie, came by around two yesterday (Christmas Eve) and stayed with me until midnight. For Christmas, she had gotten me a gift card for the game Cheryl and I played together and with Christie and with Cheryl's son and new daughter-in-law; World of Warcraft. Goofy as it sounds, it was actually a little rough playing that stupid game without Cheryl. Frankly, I hadn't really played much over the last few years (probably since Cataclysm expansion) except when Cheryl begged me to spend a little time playing with her (and Christie and the kids). Rough enough that I couldn't play the characters I'd built to run with Cheryl at all. But, Christie got me to make a new one and we spent time running around playing with those. And, perhaps naturally, remembering Cheryl. Both of us.

Um, and okay. Well, I might have sort of gotten Cheryl "a gift" of sorts. I've built sort of... I hesitate to use the term "shrine". But, I pushed Cheryl's hospital style lap tray she used mostly to get on the computer once she became virtually bedridden up against the wall with the photo album from our wedding, our wedding announcement, her death certificate and obituary, as well as the few pictures of us that exist (and can be left out where someone might see them )Anyway, I bought a box of mints, a package of cocoa flavored Oreos, and a scented candle and placed them on that table. And I bought myself a box of Queen Anne Cherry Cordials that Cheryl bought me every year. (And yes, Christie and I went round and round about that as you might guess if you read my post from a few days ago).

Any road, your guess is as good as mine whether Christie was here because she wanted to keep an eye on me, or because she has her own grief she is working through, or a little of both. But, Christmas Eve was both harder and easier than I was anticipating for her being here.

Today, Christmas Day, my 79 (and 9mos) year old father made the drive into the big city from the small town where he lives so he could terrorize me, and anybody else on the road. (Apparently road signs, lights, painted stripes, and such are mere suggestions and everyone should know where he's trying to get to and get the hell out of the way.) We hit Furr's Cafeteria (almost literally) to meet one of my step-sisters I think I've only spoken to about four times before today including Cheryl's memorial and my step-mother's viewing and then funeral back in October. (For reasons I never understood, my father and step-mother did not want myself or my sister and her kids to visit at the same time as one of my two step-sisters and their kids.)

Now, for all that I've not had the chance to get to know her, I've always sort of liked Susan and thought we would have gotten along really well. And we did, despite the fact she's legally deaf and relies on reading lips in addition to hearing aids cranked all the way up and I've had all but one tooth pulled (and that one is an impacted wisdom tooth growing into my ear canal) so my lips don't form the correct shapes when I'm talking since I haven't bothered with my false teeth in too long. AND despite the fact thanks to my Parkinson's I have to be REALLY conscious and careful when I'm eating so I don't choke. Although, that may have helped since I spent much more time listening than I did talking as I carefully gummed my food and swallowed it.

Mostly, I admit, we told stories about our respective sisters that weren't there to defend themselves from Christmas when we were kids growing up. (I think I won that round when I told about the year Mom hid my sister's gifts in my sister's closet... and that was the only year she didn't find them early and know everything she got before Christmas morning.)

Dad, of course, had to hit the bathroom before we left. When he did, Susan was a bit nervous she might have bothered him talking about her mom from when they were kids. I didn't cite where I'd heard it, of course (Hey! I got this from a porn board I hang out on!), but I did share some of the wisdom many have shared here. Among other things that it was probably healthy for the three of us to talk about her, even if it was a bit painful. That it would probably be more painful to have our first meal together, our first holiday, without talking about her.

I will admit that through most of the meal, I did keep looking for Cheryl. And it was difficult when I realized what I was doing. And, yes, it was painful the few times (much fewer than Dad's wife and Susan's mother) Cheryl was brought up in the conversation. But, it was also bittersweet.

Dad dropped me back off a couple of hours ago and went on home.

I don't know. I don't know if it would have been more difficult than I anticipated or not if I'd been left alone with my dog and three cats for Christmas Day or not. But, I think my Christmas was maybe both more difficult and easier for having them there.

As far as gifts, yeah there was the gift card to WoW from Christie and the Cherries I bought for myself from Cheryl which I mentioned. And some cash from Dad. Other than that, the only other (and my favorite) are a pair of the absolutely ugliest (and warmest!) garish socks I've ever seen in my life (also from Christie). (Daisy Mae, the spoiled bitch, cleaned up with not one but TWO triple flavored big rawhide bones and two more bacon and rawhide twists. NOT looking forward to cleaning up the common yard after her tomorrow.)

Still somewhat dreading New Years... but Cheryl's son and daughter-in-law are going to come stay with me next weekend. (I'm starting to smell a conspiracy.) My sister WAS planning on coming sometime this week, but her son kissed one too many strange college girls and came home with mono and her high school daughter somehow got the flu that put her in the hospital on IV for the better part of twenty-four hours. So, dunno if I'll see them outside of email or not. My other step-sis is, I think, going to see Dad tomorrow, but I haven't heard just how or if that will concern me. Haven't heard from Cheryl's daughter in a decade, not even when she passed, and don't really expect to.

But, THANK YOU for checking in on me and being concerned enough to ask after my holidays. That means as much, odd as it sounds, as the friend and family who have checked in RL.

PuckIt said:

That same friend of ours, Christie, came by around two yesterday (Christmas Eve) and stayed with me until midnight. For Christmas, she had gotten me a gift card for the game Cheryl and I played together and with Christie and with Cheryl's son and new daughter-in-law; World of Warcraft. Goofy as it sounds, it was actually a little rough playing that stupid game without Cheryl. Frankly, I hadn't really played much over the last few years (probably since Cataclysm expansion) except when Cheryl begged me to spend a little time playing with her (and Christie and the kids).

Click to expand...

Cataclysm is about when I stopped playing WoW. I'm no good at casual gaming - if I start playing something like that I end up spending hours a day on it, and it was eating my life, so I had to go cold turkey. Fond memories of that game but I have to know my limits.

We did a "Christmas orphans" thing this year - invited friends over who don't have family in town this year, then went to visit a friend who's laid up in hospital for a few weeks. It was pretty good but we ended up eating way too much and I was awake at 3 am with heartburn - need to cut down on the fruitcake.

Cain't help none Dude. I dun plum gave up givin' a fuck about 20 years ago. I won't go into how I get through the days.

Fer me, there ain't no future, ain't no past, ain't no now neither.

3 Months

I still look for her until I realize what I'm doing.

Having the kids here helped for New Years. We poked around on WoW and it was almost as if she were there with us.

Sadly, I did somehow get the flu the day before they came and wasn't just a barrel of fun. (Which doesn't make a lot of sense since I literally don't see anyone for days at a time. But, whatever.)

After they left, I've spent the last three days in bed. Daisy Mae (aka Dogzilla) absolutely destroyed the front room. Going to have to clean that up.

But, pretty much hanging in and doing what reaches up and smacks me in the face that it needs to be done. Like cleaning up the disaster area where she went looking in the trash for something tastier than what was in her bowl.

NOT, definitely not, going to write any more on that idea I had for a Valentine's competition entry around Cheryl and I. It's far too soon and I am not ready for it.

But, I have been scribbling away trying to find an idea that sticks. Not easy, but it gives me something to do until the dog and cats ring for service.

Thanks once again to all who have consistently reached out to me here and through PMs and emails. It does help.

From the bottom of my heart my condolences to you
May I say not much helps a broken heart
But don't forget the love and friendships of so many people on here are here for you and to support you

Bought a box of candy for her yesterday.

It was probably stupid. But, I was at the store and they had these little heart shaped boxes of candy for a dollar. So, I bought one and brought it home and put it on her nightstand.

Those were the days of our lives.
The bad things in life were so few.
Those days are all gone now but one thing is true -
When I look and I find I still love you.

Some days I'm fine. Or, if not "fine" exactly, at least I am aware and somewhat coping. Others, I wake up confused and go looking for her in the kitchen before I remember she wouldn't be in there looking for her coffee.

I miss you "Sharley".

PuckIt said:

It was probably stupid. But, I was at the store and they had these little heart shaped boxes of candy for a dollar. So, I bought one and brought it home and put it on her nightstand.

Those were the days of our lives.
The bad things in life were so few.
Those days are all gone now but one thing is true -
When I look and I find I still love you.

Some days I'm fine. Or, if not "fine" exactly, at least I am aware and somewhat coping. Others, I wake up confused and go looking for her in the kitchen before I remember she wouldn't be in there looking for her coffee.

I miss you "Sharley".

Click to expand...

Hi Puckit,

Lovely song and very touching video. I love how you tell the story of how the game brought you close together, and how emotional it was. It again, made me tear up.

I think buying the candy was a lovely thing to do, it is your way of remembering her and how you love her still. I think those kinds of things are lovely to do.

I look forward to your posts, to see how you're doing and to know that you have a place to write down and get support, even if it is just listening, or having someone read it.

I think your posts remind others not to take anyone for granted, also, how much someone can love another person.

PuckIt said:

Some days I'm fine. Or, if not "fine" exactly, at least I am aware and somewhat coping. Others, I wake up confused and go looking for her in the kitchen before I remember she wouldn't be in there looking for her coffee.

Click to expand...

Those unexpected moments sneak up on you. My mother's been dead more than ten years and I still get moments of "I should tell her about this, she'd love it".

LanguageOfLove said:

Hi Puckit,

Lovely song and very touching video. I love how you tell the story of how the game brought you close together, and how emotional it was. It again, made me tear up.

I think buying the candy was a lovely thing to do, it is your way of remembering her and how you love her still. I think those kinds of things are lovely to do.

I look forward to your posts, to see how you're doing and to know that you have a place to write down and get support, even if it is just listening, or having someone read it.

I think your posts remind others not to take anyone for granted, also, how much someone can love another person.

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Thank you. While I did type that up for the WoW forums (10/9 I think it was), the recording was someone else who found it there and decided to do a vid reading it.

While I did eat the candy and cookies I got her for Christmas (eventually), I doubt I'll touch this box. She used to offer me pieces (out of much bigger boxes I got for her). But, they were always the ones she didn't care so much for. Consequently, I'm not sure there are any in there I might actually want.

Bramblethorn said:

Those unexpected moments sneak up on you. My mother's been dead more than ten years and I still get moments of "I should tell her about this, she'd love it".

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Slightly off topic other than you brought up Mom...

Mom passed away early in 2010 from lymphatic cancer. About four years later, my wife and I were whiling away the time (probably playing WoW) when we both heard Mom's voice and freaked for a second. Until we realized the cancer center where she had been getting treatment had apparently used her in a commercial we hadn't known anything about. And hadn't aired until that long after her passing.

It was a bittersweet thing. It was a little freaky hearing her voice after so long, but nice too.

Sadly, I don't have any recordings of my wife's voice (and very few pictures) since she was camera and recording shy. (90% of the pictures I have of her caught the back of her head or her butt up in the air as she tried to duck.) On the other hand, I would most likely be one of those who sat around watching home movies instead of... well, anyway.

Her tattoo

Not completely sure just what made me think of it. I'd been hiding out in my "VD Cheer" thread, and mostly been successful at dodging impending pain by eeking out attempts at being humorous about the whole impending Valentine-ocalypse. (And, maybe prodding gingerly at my wounds a little with reminiscence.) (No. Not much luck with doing a story for the contest I keep after a few paragraphs. Not yet anyway.)

Anyway, a long, long time ago, before I even knew her to speak to, I got tagged with the nickname "Teddy Bear." Just how is actually a pretty long involved story with lots of humor and sadness I might share sometime. But, it sort of stuck. And somehow she got wind of it and loved it. Although, she may have just enjoyed how it made me squirm.

Several years later, a guy named Trent Tomlinson came out with this song, which she decided suited me perfectly. (Personally, I always thought I was more of a Megadeath guy, but whatever. )

For whatever reason, Cheryl and the wife of a couple we hung out with got a wild hair one day and decided to go get a tattoo while the husband and I were off getting into trouble together elsewhere and giving them time to have their girl talk.

Now, I'd never so much as heard her mention she wanted a tattoo. So, I was surprised to say the least when she pulled aside her blouse to show the upper curve of her left breast and peeled away a big bandage to show a damn teddy bear with a halo tipped rakishly over one ear and a pair of angel's wings with the left looking singed on the tips.

Not really sure just what made me think about that damn tattoo or the song that inspired it.

Thinking about it now, though, I wonder if she might not have been disappointed I never got one symbolizing her.

Lovely story! I love that she did that for you.. She did it for you!

I love to hear your stories, I feel each time you do, those stories give you strength, building a foundation...

I was talking to my (almost 80) father last night and he was telling me about a conversation he had with his old school friend, Bill, who'd lost his wife a decade or more ago. According to Dad, Bill told Dad that he might as well resign himself to the fact that he will see and even hear his wife sometime soon if he hasn't already. Apparently Bill had just (the day before?) heard his wife call his name and turned to find her standing there in her wedding dress before she faded from sight.

Now, Dad found this strange since Bill had moved after his wife passed. She had never even been in the house where he lived now.

As usual with Dad it took about ten minutes for me to be able to circle back around to the topic because he'll have a tendency to ramble and take off on tangent after tangent it's difficult to get a word in edgewise without being rude. (See? I come by this shit honestly!)

To me, I didn't think it was at all strange. I couldn't even hazard a guess just how many times I've seen my wife in the last three and a half months. Usually just out of the corner of my eye and she fades when I turn to look at her.

The thing is, I was diagnosed with Parkinson's almost a decade ago. And some research indicates there will be pretty vivid visual and auditory hallucinations eventually. So, I pretty much just figured it was starting. And, hey. I'd a whole hell of a lot rather see her than some of the things in my past. Reliving any one of the three riots I was involved in putting down for example. Cutting down a suicide that hung himself and starting CPR. Well, you get the point.

Anyway, I was extremely interested in what Dad could remember that Bill had told him because it seemed to indicate what I've been experiencing is normal and not actually tied to my Parkinson's.

I don't know that it's related, but I don't know that it's not. However, I had a pretty vivid dream with my wife last night (after that conversation). And in it, she addressed what I'm about to share next.

*****

I actually managed to masturbate a few times a little while back. Which was a pretty big deal for me as I'd long ago been dual diagnosed as co-dependent with a sexual addiction. When my wife was still physically able, we'd been pretty well matched and had what I eventually figured out most people would think was a crazy amount of sex. After she was not longer comfortably able (spinal damage), I would "let off steam" by masturbating a few times per night. Sometimes in her arms. Sometimes in the bathroom so she didn't feel guilty about no longer being able to "keep up." (Her word choice.)

But, I hit a snag.

The gal I was watching a video of (Jenny Blighe) tilted her head with her fingers over her mouth and I freaked as I realized she was the spitting image of my wife back when we first got together.

Well, maybe not exactly. My wife had just let her boobs sag some after kids rather than get silicone to lift them back up. She had two moles under her chin she was semi-obsessed with in case they should happen to have sprouted a hair (oh, God! The horror!). And her left knee had been blown out by a shotgun blast and was a mass of skin grafts and scar tissue. (Hence the eventual spinal damage since that knee no longer could bend after the repairs.)

But, other than that, it was freaky as hell the similarities between my memories of my wife (as well as the few pictures that exist) from when we were younger and this gal.

I couldn't finish that session and haven't been able to attempt again since. Probably stupid, but it kind of feels... maybe like cheating, I guess. Once I stopped and thought about it. In that... I don't know. Dream? Hallucination? Whatever it was, my wife kept trying to tell me it was all right. That she understood. I don't know. I keep thinking it must have been just some wishful thinking since one of her major phobias for the bulk of our time together was that some gal was going to come along and steal me away.

(There really is just no accounting for taste. But, I've thanked God for decades that love really is blind, and maybe deaf and a tad stupid. Otherwise my bride might have figured out she was slumming it with all this fabulousness compared to her looks, intellect, wits, and grace.)

(As for a real partner, I just don't see it ever happening.)

*****

On the upside, I managed to get my Non-Erotic ("What's the point?") Valentine's Day entry up despite some remaining qualms that it's not really good enough to have been shared.

And I'm on to another story (which I'm shamelessly cribbing from responses in my Spreading the VD Cheer thread) that I'm sort of hoping I will get done before the closing date. (This one with some sex. Eventually.) So, I guess that's something.

And, as always, I do thank those of you who have continued to read over my occasional posts when I need to vent. And especially those who have reached out to me here in open forum or in private messages and emails. If I'm at all sane, I think you are probably more than just a small part of the reason.

PuckIt said:

And, as always, I do thank those of you who have continued to read over my occasional posts when I need to vent. And especially those who have reached out to me here in open forum or in private messages and emails. If I'm at all sane, I think you are probably more than just a small part of the reason.

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All of us from time to time have needed help, and I am happy to one of the many that have been there for you.

Sometimes a quilt isn't just a quilt.

Hopefully I'll be forgiven for resurrecting this once again. But, something has happened that I need to let off some steam at myself.

A long time ago, when she first followed me where we ended up, we didn't have television or much of anything really except two decks of cards we used to play Canasta. (And, of course, the bed we wore out.)

But, I was working and working on my Master's degree and she was sitting around bored since she didn't know anybody, hadn't found a job yet, and was waiting for the new semester to enroll and start her own classes.

So, she started making a quilt to fill in the time.

We got busy with life. You know how it is. Working and going to school. Then working our careers. And, just daily shit. And that quilt more or less got put on the back burner. She would still pull it out from time to time and work on it for a bit before she put it back up in the top of the closet. Usually in the winter months.

Now, when I was little more than knee-high on a grasshopper, my parents taught me to darn my socks and sew a button. But, piecing together and sewing a quilt by hand is pretty well beyond my ken. As was her ability to put together pieces of some of the ugliest fabric I'd ever seen in my life with a couple of others and make it work out.

Any road, she almost finished the quilt before she died. Almost. Not quite. All she had left was just one edge. Maybe a couple of inches of the connecting edge. IF she had done that, it would have been finished.

I don't know why she didn't. I can remember pressing her to work on it and finish it out last winter when it was so cold up in here we had to pile it on top of all of the comforters, blankets, sheets, and towels to huddle under together to keep warm. (At least until she could work up a good hot flash and then it all got shoved over on top of me.)

But, it sort of fits, I suppose. Because I wasn't done, damn it!

When the kids were helping me clear out her things for them to keep or donate, I considered giving the quilt to them. But, I couldn't. I wasn't ready to give up the memories of watching her work on it.

Now, I wish I had.

It does get cold up in here. And I'm not being metaphoric. The windows are cheap, any insulation is pretty well gone, and all we have is a gas wall furnace. A couple of weeks ago, there was a rime of ice on Daisy and the pussycats water dish when we got up.

I don't mind so much. I've always had more problem with the heat than the cold. Let's just say when John fell off some playground equipment and split his head open in "Heatstroked," that was based on a real incident. (Four stitches and all the way to expose the skull if you want to know.)

But, even I have my limits. As we had done, I piled every scrap of bed covering we had on the bed. Including that quilt. With the unfinished side on my side.

And it has been nice. Almost like having her arms wrapped around me as she snuggled up behind me.

But, when I got up yesterday or the day before, I was stepping around the end of the bed (I still can't sleep on her side and stick to my own) and heard a ripping sound.

I cut on the lights and came back to find I had stuck my heel right through one of the pieces and ripped it loose.

I pulled the bed apart and remade it with the unfinished side on her side to protect it. But, now I'm thinking even harder I should pass it along to her son and his wife. Before I fuck it up even more.

And yet...

And yet, I'm still not quite ready to let go of it. Even though it was never intended for me, but originally for her mother and after her passing the children or grandchildren (I think), still I just can't quite keep from flinching when I think of letting it go.

I don't know. I've thought about trying to learn how to repair it and finish it myself. Maybe hang it on the wall or ceiling to display if I did.

But, it just seems to belong on our bed we shared, wrapped around me.

As she left it.

Okay, wow.

Maybe I should have been just a little more careful writing "A Final Valentine." While it was inspired by my own love and grappling with my loss, I abandoned my more fact than fiction attempt and broke off into fiction.

However, I may have put just a little too much realism in. Just a day or two ago, I limped my ass down to the tobacco shop I use. As I was sitting on the curb at Nothing Butt Smokes to light my ritual smoke, someone across at Stripes pumping gas yelled "Hey Aaron!" and waved.

I didn't wave back since that isn't my name. Or think too much about until I was a block back up waiting to cross 50th to hit Family Dollar.

Oh, shit! Maybe I shouldn't have described my dazzling fashion sense, not to mention the neighborhood so accurately!

Any road, it was a little cathartic writing it since I did sink a lot of myself into it. (And, yeah. I wrote it mostly at night with the lights out so the lump on the bed looked like her watching me.)

But, it was also highly fictionalized. Specifically, the entire existence of the younger gal who pulls this morose dick out of his downward spiral.

Or, maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, all of you who have responded here or in private through PMs and Email have done for me what "Little Angela" did for "Aaron" and given me a small hope that tomorrow will be a little brighter.

I don't know. Like Aaron, I never was the brains of this outfit.

And, since the contest is closed except for the voting, I've tried taking a little bit of a break. I needed one since some of that brushed a little too much against real wounds. But, I'm back to writing. Mostly, I think, so I'm not sitting around counting out the days to Valentine's. And I'm sinking my efforts into an April Fools tale (the next contest) and trying my damndest to revert to my usual Puckish self.

Thank you, sincerely, for your continued caring and support.

PuckIt said:

Maybe I should have been just a little more careful writing "A Final Valentine." While it was inspired by my own love and grappling with my loss, I abandoned my more fact than fiction attempt and broke off into fiction.

However, I may have put just a little too much realism in. Just a day or two ago, I limped my ass down to the tobacco shop I use. As I was sitting on the curb at Nothing Butt Smokes to light my ritual smoke, someone across at Stripes pumping gas yelled "Hey Aaron!" and waved.

I didn't wave back since that isn't my name. Or think too much about until I was a block back up waiting to cross 50th to hit Family Dollar.

Oh, shit! Maybe I shouldn't have described my dazzling fashion sense, not to mention the neighborhood so accurately!

Any road, it was a little cathartic writing it since I did sink a lot of myself into it. (And, yeah. I wrote it mostly at night with the lights out so the lump on the bed looked like her watching me.)

But, it was also highly fictionalized. Specifically, the entire existence of the younger gal who pulls this morose dick out of his downward spiral.

Or, maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, all of you who have responded here or in private through PMs and Email have done for me what "Little Angela" did for "Aaron" and given me a small hope that tomorrow will be a little brighter.

I don't know. Like Aaron, I never was the brains of this outfit.

And, since the contest is closed except for the voting, I've tried taking a little bit of a break. I needed one since some of that brushed a little too much against real wounds. But, I'm back to writing. Mostly, I think, so I'm not sitting around counting out the days to Valentine's. And I'm sinking my efforts into an April Fools tale (the next contest) and trying my damndest to revert to my usual Puckish self.

Thank you, sincerely, for your continued caring and support.

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Big hugs to a man with a big heart. You’re in my thoughts. Guess I will have to dust off my reading skills and go vote since you’re in the contest.

I have half a Valentine’s story around here somewhere. Maybe you will inspire me to write again. It’s been a long hard road.