I had followed and supported the "issue" of gay marriage like most other good Unitarians, but I didn't really think this niche of civil rights was all that big a deal (most of my gay friends seemed pretty lukewarm on it) until I became widowed. Well... a little sooner... I "got it" when I became the caregiver for a dying man. Then, I KNEW how serious it was if your partner would not be allowed to visit you in an ICU or other secure hospital situation.
After I was widowed, and coped with the bureaucracies from insurance companies to my own and my child's health insurance, to the MVA and how my home was titled, I realized how many essential privileges I'd had by virtue of marriage -- and how I'd taken them for granted. How their denial would make life so, so much more difficult at the worst time in my life already.
I speculate all the damn time about what I imagine Gavin was thinking as the end approached.
And I am selling the old house, clearing out the non-art stuff from his studio, as well as unpacking boxes at the new house and unpacking my own experiences and percetions at the same time. My new life doesn't stop moving just because my old life is leaving -- or rather, my old life keeps evolving while I'm building my new life. (As if they are even two separate things).
Last night, in a box of his notes, this scrap of his handwriting, clearly original (he was fastidious about attribution) popped out at me as a challenge to my perceptions about what he was thinking in his last few months:
Fear accentuates the sense of self -- thus brings into play another "existential" fear, namely non-existence.
Are the two connected?
Can there be a veiled "existential fear pre-existing -- as a condition -- of existence which aggravates all fears and specifically heightens a fearing Self
Must one lost both fear and self -- simultaneously
(Yes, he was too intellectual. We fit together well as navel-gazers.)
In one sense, I can barely figure out what he meant. The words make sense, but I'm straining to remember my orthodox Sartre from years ago, and I'd do anything to add a few punctuation marks.
In another sense, I am reminded that as much as he denied that death was on the way, he was also afraid. This wipes away some of my anger at him, and also makes me feel compassion -- my least comfortable emotional companion, the one that hides from my other selves -- for where he was, what he was feeling during those dark last months, and helps me understand why he wished to hide the worst of his fear from me. It reminds me that my memory of that time is distorted -- as was my perception of what was going on at all levels for that long important period of downsliding that we went through together and (mostly) apart.
Five years after my loss, I continue to process, and change, and I am still putting things away in boxes.
THIS POST IS UPDATED with all the posts from entrants. The contest is CLOSED! Thanks to all who participated or helped spread the word!
In August, Camp Widow, the premier event for connecting widows and widowers, will held for the THIRD YEAR. Please visit the website for location, list of speakers and workshops, registration, and (my favorite) Frequently Asked Questions. This is the only event run by a non profit organization BY widowed people and it's an exception weekend of support, new friends, and the freedom to "come as you are" -- where EVERYONE "gets it." The event is inclusive (men, women, LGBT, all ages, all parenting statuses) with content and social events to meet all needs and interests.
I strongly encourage widowed folks to attend. To make it easier, I am helping to run this blogging contest, funded by a group of friends.
Widowed Bloggers -- win a ticket to Camp Widow! Write a post sharing WHY you want to attend Camp Widow 2011. Notify us that you posted by leaving a comment on this post (below) to make sure we see it (you can also send us a note.)
Camp Widow is a exceptional weekend for widowed people of all ages. We will choose one (possibly two) bloggers to receive a PARTIAL scholarship that covers Camp registration and some incidental expenses. NO ACTUAL CAMPING IS INVOLVED. Learn more about this event, which is in its third year, at campwidow.org.
How do I enter?
Please write and publish a blog post
telling the world WHY you wish to attend. You can include topics such as
how you expect to benefit, or share about some of the widowed people
you've already met. You do not need to demonstrate financial need though
if you wish to write a separate note discussing your financial
circumstances, you may do so.
Who is eligible to compete?
Widows and widowers of all
ages who started blogging before 4/1/11 and who are interested in
attending Camp Widow 2011. Please note: you should be prepared to pay
for and arrange your travel to and from, and your lodging in San Diego.
(We can help you find a roommate to reduce costs). If our generous
donors can pay more, they will, but please don't apply unless you are
prepared to make the trip (including arranging child care, taking time
off work, etc.).
Summary and dates
You must publish your blog post AND notify us by midnight EST, * * * Tuesday, June 14. * * *
We will notify the winner(s) within 2 weeks.
Camp Widow will be held August 12 to 14. Details are at campwidow.org.
Winner(s) MUST arrange and purchase their own travel and hotel reservations.
Scholarship covers Camp Widow registration fee plus some incidentals.
(Disclosure: This competition is hosted, managed, and funded by an independent group of widowed
bloggers. We're not being compensated for creating this competition and
those judging entries are not eligible to win.)
Here are the folks who've entered our competition so far!:
I speculate all the damn time about what I imagine Gavin was thinking as the end approached.
As part of selling the old house, I spend my days clearing out the non-art stuff from his studio, unpacking boxes from OUR move here to the new house. This work unpacks my own experiences and perceptions at the same time. Memories I've taken for granted give way, shifting closer, probably, to the way things were. Bit by bit, my lens clears. As those memories change, so does my view of today, not of objects, but of actions: if I didn't DO this because of that, then I must take responsibility for THAT. My new life doesn't stop moving just because my old life is leaving -- or rather, my old life keeps evolving while I'm building my new life. (As if they are even two separate things).
Last night, in a box of his notes in my new, box-filled office, this scrap of his handwriting, clearly original (he was fastidious about attribution) popped out at me as a challenge to my perceptions about what he was thinking in his last few months:
Fear accentuates the sense of self -- thus brings into play another "existential" fear, namely non-existence.
Are the two connected?
Can there be a veiled "existential fear pre-existing -- as a condition -- of existence which aggravates all fears and specifically heightens a fearing Self
Must one lost both fear and self -- simultaneously
(Yes, he was too intellectual. We fit together well as navel-gazers.)
In one sense, I can barely figure out what he meant. The words make sense, but I'm straining to remember my orthodox Sartre from years ago, and I'd do anything to add a few punctuation marks.
In another sense, I am reminded that as much as he denied that death was on the way, he WAS afraid. This wipes away some of my anger at him, and also makes me feel compassion -- my least comfortable emotional companion, the one that hides from my other selves -- for where he was, what he was feeling during those dark last months, and helps me understand why he wished to hide the worst of his fear from me. It reminds me that my memory of that time is distorted -- as was my perception of what was going on at all levels for that long important period of downsliding that we went through together and (mostly) apart.
Five years after my loss, I continue to process, and change, and I am still putting things away in boxes for later, later when I have more room, around me and inside my head, for new ideas from old things.
Two Kisses for Maddy: A Memoir of Loss and Love, the new memoir by our friend, Matt
Logelin, stands out among the passel of recent books by widowed people
about their experiences. With a combination of grace and profanity,
Logelin shares his life and love leading up to the death of his
beautiful wife, just a day after delivering their daughter, Maddy, and
his path upwards as a father and as a man since then.
Readers of Logelin's blog are familiar with his "story" (uh, we used
to call it a "life?") but will be happy to find the book not only
original, but as heartfelt and black-humorous as his other writings.
It's meaty without being gloomy at all.
During my undergraduate class in Homer, I learned there are twotypesofpeople: Iliad people (emotion, war, death, loss) and Odyssey people
(exploration, magic, critters, homecoming). Our small department taught
just one of these each year, and I was thankful to have hit year two when the Iliad was "on" so I could enjoy the language without resisting my grain.
By senior year, after a few real-world jobs and other dabbling in
the adult world that "deals," I’d decided there were, instead, twotypesofpeople in this world: people who divide the world into twotypesofpeople, and everyone else. I was determined to join the latter group though I knew it would be a tough transition.
I could write scores of pages on why I hate the whole "fight cancer with hope" thing, but it's still a trigger for me, and I know the vitriol which calls those words from me isn't natural — or at least, I don't want to make it a permanent part of me. So I have avoided blogging about it, and for the most part, I've stopped baiting Lance Armstrong on Twitter.
Cancer burnt Gavin and me, but lying about it and pretending he wasn't mortal were what broke our marriage apart as I prepared to lose him, alone, while he dreamed of miracles.
Once again, today, I sat before a mental health professional as they marvelled at the fact that I was alive. I felt, again, like the subject in the Natalie Merchant song, Wonder (a song I've found puzzling enough to never own though it would be so glorious to fit into it...).
Maybe there was less gawking than just pure appreciation. The disbelief part comes from within me, because I can hardly remember how bad I've had it, how crazy my world has been, especially for the year plus after Gavin died. Things seem so easy now -- they're not -- but I don't take credit for making my way through the muck and bricks and hurt of that time. I think so often of the caregiving, I ponder who I was at various points, what did I know? What was he thinking? Death and life and the big stuff. I turn these images over and over like minerals shifting color with the light.
And also, I have this concentric circles idea, that hurt and healing have led me back to finding a truer self and a path that has been nearly forgotten. That the farther I get from loss, the larger my life looks, the wider a perspective I can take, and the more I can heal from other damages, earlier and really really old. Somehow at this long view reminds me I'm not so old, really.
I'm still changing, and maybe even faster now, and it's still a load of work. So I heard Man in the Mirror on the radio today with fresh ears, irritated by today's burst of sunlight. Spring is playing with us, but our bodies must respond. I am stimulated and remembering how dark it was, how strong I must be, and contemplating as I usually am, the "what's next."
Man in the Mirror! Of all the superficial crap. I remember how that song sounded when it came out: like a distraction. It seemed to wiseass me that America had asked, "Mr. Jackson, have you had extensive plastic surgery to make you look like Diana Ross?" and received the answer: "HEY LOOK AT AFRICA." The song was not a pinnacle of honest self-assessment, and coming after the joys of Thriller and (especially -- my bliss!) Off The Wall... the whole album, Bad, just looked like a post-Michael-Jackson album.
Then again, who's a harsher critic than a student at a liberal-arts college?
Maybe I can have some empathy for what poor Michael went through to get there. Maybe I can listen to what he's saying. Maybe he has a good point.
Maybe I can look in the mirror, take credit for where I've been, and just... start.
, the new memoir by our friend, Matt
Logelin, stands out among the passel of recent books by widowed people
about their experiences. With a combination of grace and profanity,
Logelin shares his life and love leading up to the death of his
beautiful wife, just a day after delivering their daughter, Maddy, and
his path upwards as a father and as a man since then.
and (especially -- my bliss!) Off The Wall
... the whole album, Bad
, just looked like a post-Michael-Jackson album.
