One Last Love Letter - Third Way of Looking At Me

 Today would have been Colleen's birthday.  Today is also the start of my time at the summer institute for GMWP.  So, it seemed fitting to have the third way of looking at me be about Colleen.
----------

July 8, 2013

My Love,

Today you would have turned 54, and you have been gone for over three years. You will never read this. You will never know these words just as you will never know so much about my life. There is so much I would tell you, so many experiences I have wished to share with you, and so many times I have longed for your trusted guidance and loving arms.

I know this is supposed to be a “love letter” but I need to first air some of my regrets. Perhaps on the screen, on paper, or simply out of my head they will not seem so bad. I wish I had convinced you to get medical attention earlier. I'm sorry you never got “Up North” for one more trip, though some of your ashes are in Lac du Flambeau and Lake Superior. I regret not taking more time away from work while you were in the hospital. I wish I had been more honest with you about how ill equipped I was to manage your home care; I didn't know myself until I saw how the nurses cared for you. I'll never forget how heart broken you were when I told you that you could not come home from the hospital; though I know it isn’t true, I feel like that disappointment helped to spread the infection already lurking in your system. I’m sorry your father wasn’t with you when you passed; I should have made them stay. I'm sorry I didn't hire professional mourners to stand in the back of the church to wail, rip their clothes, and pull out their hair.

Colleen, you need to know – I think you knew – I was ready to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. That was my plan. And I haven't exactly formulated a new one yet. In the weeks after your death I asked your friend, Betsy, about how she had moved on after the death of her Noah. She laughed at the potentially demeaning nature of her own comment, “You've had dogs die and yet you've been able to love a new dog right? Well, every person I've loved has been different in a similar way.” I laughed too because I know she wasn't comparing our lovers to dogs; she truly sees her animals as people, members of her family. And the people in our lives enter and exit at unpredictable times.

In the three years and two months since you died, I took a quick trip around the state and into South Dakota to visit places you loved and leave some of your ashes (sorry, I haven't gotten to Hawaii yet), my father died, your father died, your mother sold their house, she moved to Portage, your aunt Lorraine died, I bought a house, I self-published a book of poetry, I started a writing club at school, I've lost about 150 pounds (with about 40 or so to go), Mom has had the farmhouse repainted – blue, I've started to take my photography more seriously, Joe has been a good friend – you were right about him, I've went every year to see Marge Gibson release the eagles in Sauk Prairie, Dalton graduated from college, eventually so did Bug, Mikal started college working toward a nursing degree, Mikal is still driving your old car – she is taking good care of it, and so much more.

This verse from “Lost” by Amanda Palmer has been going through my mind a lot lately:

No one's ever lost forever.

When they die they go away,

But they will visit you occasionally.

Do not be afraid.

No one's ever lost forever.

They are caught inside your heart.

If you garden them and water them,

They make you what you are.

This is a song that you never heard by a singer you never heard. I think you would have liked it and liked her. And it is true. And all the sappy songs about loss are true. You are gone, but the love remains.

In my garden you are the oak tree with tiger lilies around its trunk. Tall, strong, and enduring with flashes of color in spring and fall. In my garden you provide shade to all and a place to live for all the little birds. I suspect there might be a cat in your branches as well – not the Cheshire cat Alice encountered but your cranky Punkin cat. In my garden you are one of the anchor points around which everything else must make sense.

Thank you for being. Thank you for being my love. Thank you for sharing your time.

Carney

New Poem - Forgotten Poem

Together
on the cheaply upholstered hotel couch
the long day reaches it whispering end with us
hand in hand.

My feet
ache; so, I kick off the black, leather extra-wides. 
This is the first time you have seen me
sock footed.

I have
a notion that coolly sharing gross physiology is intimacy. 
So I fight shyness and keep my feet
exposed.

You
watch me with a devilish grin as I yank off my socks;
it is time we become more than
lovers.

Poem - Who Will Tell Our Story

Friday was the two year anniversary of Colleen's death.  I cannot believe that it has already been two years.  So much in my life has changed and yet the old feelings are still right below the surface.

 Above is a photo I took on 05/18/12 on the beach at Buckhorn State Park, one of Colleen's favorite places and one of the places I spread some of her ashes.  Below is a poem that I've been cobbling together for several months.  Though words have been my life; it is times like these when I realize just how inadequate they are.

*     *     *     *     *  

Who Will Tell Our Story

Two years
since you left me
and I realize that
someone meeting
me today might
never
know of
your existence.

Except
there is the ring
that no longer fits
that I wear
on a necklace
where it chimes
against yours
("C + C 10-30-03"
 engraved inside both).
 
Also, in my house
(a place you never got to see)
your name is on a box
that I will never
unpack. 
And the mail is
only rarely addressed
to you.

What about
the questions:
How am I
to feel that there are strangers
living in all
our
former homes?

Are my stories
of deepest
and truest
meaning diminished
because they have
become dated?

Is it okay that some of
"our" friends
have become
"my" friends
and others
I have not
spoken to?

My dreams
about you are
now more precious,
bizarre,
and unreal. 

Worse,
however,
is that
I still 
nervously
fidget without
a hand
to hold.

Poem - When I Tell You

Introductory Note:

Today, Colleen would have turned 52.  I have been searching for words to put down on this day; nothing profound or even pedestrian came to me.

So I started looking through my poetry scrap heap and I found this poem.  Colleen and I had a very good relationship, better than most.  That doesn't mean that we didn't have our rough spots.  I have long since forgotten the specific circumstances that led me to write this poem but I remember the feelings that inspired it.
 
No relationship is flawless, and the flaws that any couple must deal with are particular to that couple.  It would be a disservice to not remember the hardships that Colleen and I did overcome.  Rose colored glasses make everything look fake and unreal.   They cheapen a life's actual value by making everything less satisfying and rewarding.  Colleen was no saint and neither am I; we were two equally flawed people who happened to find a little bit of happiness in our time together.  Learning to cope with or forgive each others' flaws made us better people.
-----

When I tell you the

small details of my day

I am looking for validation;

I am looking for someone

to say that I’m not crazy for feeling

the things that I feel.

You get angry,

you get overwhelmed by my over analysis

(is that like saying that you

don’t care?);

it is saying that I am

wrong.

I touch you with love

and the hurt and pain

come from somewhere,

somewhere other than me

and yet the anger

and fear are

aimed at me.

I get angry,

I get confused,

it is like saying that you

don’t love me;

it is saying that I am

wrong.

Can what we will never

have be replaced by

what we do have?

The ongoing discussion

leads me to believe;

it all leads me to believe…

We get angry,

we get confused,

it is like saying we

don’t matter;

it is saying that I am

wrong.

Photo & Poem - Speak, Girl, Speak

I hold my brindle
best friend in my arms
as you did so often.

I ask her if she
remembers any secrets
you told her.

I know you had
conversations
with the animals.

I loved that
about you;

I try to talk to them
too, but
they don't speak to me.

When I call,
"Hi there little birds,"
the flock flies away.

I also still
tend to hug
the cats till
they cry.

Our dog
is always by my side.
The cats
rush to climb
on me when
I come home.

Am I sad for them,
or me,
or you
that I am only
a suitable substitute
for you
in their minds?

They are full of life
and love,

but I must
prepare for
the day
I have to hold them
in my arms and

lie

to them

the way

I lied

to you.

Poem - Four Views of Your Hands

I
Woven between my fingers,
your essence and
your power. You are
the warp; I am the weft.
When our hands move
we make a pattern
that rivals the rarest
Persian rug.

II
I hear your music and
soul in the clicking keys;
your fingers make deep,
moving currents of your
love on the page.
I am amazed at the
way pain and love can
be conveyed by such a
singular, monotone that
only changes in frequency,
not in quality.

III
With one hand you are
able to control the car;
I hold the other so
that I can distract you
from your driving.
We roll along in ecstasy.

IV
There is wisdom and experience
in your perpetually cold hand;
Rubbing, and kissing only warms
it for a moment. As I trace the
contours and lines around the
nails, I see a flush come to your
face; I know your hand will be
warm for some time now.

Note: This is an old poem. I'm not certain when I wrote it; I do
know it had to be early in my relationship with Colleen. I don't
remember if I shared it with her either. I hope I did.

Colleen's Places - Wisconsin River

This is just off of County A by River's Edge. Colleen loved to come here and watch the eagles. There were no eagles there today.

Eight Years

Eight years ago today was the first "date" I went on with Colleen. We went to House on the Rock. I remember how great it felt to have Colleen take my arm for this photo.
I had also been to House on the Rock with Dad and Mom just a few years ago.

There were many of the old familiar things, like this angel which is one of my favorite sculptures in the collection.

There were also many new things like this Japanese garden.

Colleen and Dad would have loved a trip like this.

More Pictures

Colleen's Places - Lac Du Flambeau

Poem - Colleen

Colleen

Colleen was the most unanticipated person in
my life. With no regular job and
no savings I was economically desperate. Having
given up on love years before, I
had no hope of finding someone I
didn't want to live without.

When she trained me for a summer
job I had no idea that by
the end of the season we would
love each other. I often just wanted
to watch her because she was so
graceful and deliberate. I came to love
her when I realized that she did
almost everything in her life with that
same deliberate style, dedication, and insight. We
promised each other at least 40 years;
today would have been seven.

It is easy to love a person
for her virtues; I can honestly say
I loved Colleen for her faults as
well. Our tv wasn't turned off for
years, she was so scared of the
dark. I felt like a failure when
I couldn't save her from the things
she feared; she was scared of bugs,
loud noises, fire, and old men. She
would get so anxious I just wanted
to comfort and hold her but that
only made her more upset.

Colleen never gave up on people. She
was friendly in the most stubborn way
possible. She greeted every person, every day.
If someone snubbed her, she made a
point of being friendly to them until
they cracked and opened up to her.
People I wouldn't have given a second
thought to, she saw the value in
being kind to. It wasn't a game
or a matter of pride; she knew
that everyone was worthy of a kind
word and a smile; those who can't
reciprocate need it even more.

I learned to appreciate travel because Colleen
loved to travel. She loved to drive,
to have that control. She loved to
speed with Mellencamp or The Stones at
full volume. We would both sing (scream)
along. The beat of the music encouraging
her to go faster. I always felt
safe with her at the wheel. After
an insignificant tiff, she almost left me
at a gas station in South Dakota.
Because she believed I would have been
better off without her; I am glad
she always waited for me.

Another virtue (or curse) was that Colleen
didn't mind hurting, suffering, and sacrificing. At
times holding her hands hurt her. My
love was honest unless it would hurt
someone else; I never knew how much
she hurt or for how long.

On a Saturday afternoon in May, the
doctors explained the situation: An infection (and
Colleen was always afraid of dying from
an infection) they couldn't adequately treat had
developed. Aren't I too young to make
this decision? Aren't I too young to
have to make it? Isn't the doctor
too young too know for sure? Well,
at least this one speaks English. "Will
treatment cause her more pain?"

"Yes, it will cause her more pain;
though it might prolong her life slightly.
She is too weak to respond well.
Colleen likely has brain damage."

Yes, you will have to push a
button every 15 minutes to help ease
her pain, you will have to tell
her it is okay "to go" then
lie to her and tell her you
will be okay, the last thing you
hear her say will be "oh, god
make it stop!", in a few days
you will have to hold her close
as her last breath is taken, you
will have to sit with her dead
body to wait for her lifelong friend
to come and say goodbye, you will
be haunted by all you have seen
here, you will often be alone now,
you will have to endure the "knowing"
glances of everyone who knows and the
"ignorant" remarks of those who don't, you
will sometimes find yourself wandering around your
900 square foot apartment looking for something
you can never find, you will die
some day too but you will be
far less afraid of death.

I still get up very early in
the morning; but, I don't have Colleen
to fret over so I nervously check
the windows "just one more time" before
I leave as if the cats or
dog might have opened them. I get
halfway to the car and rush back
to make sure I really did lock
the front door. At least, that is
the reason I tell myself.

Colleen's Places - Little Girl's Point

Poem - The Last Time

I felt your heart so close to mine.
And I know our joy would fill the earth,
And last till the end of time, my love.
      -Ewan MacColl

Today was the first day in months I sought
out our song and the memories it brings.
I first sang this song eight years ago as
a living room duet with Johnny Cash
and my arms wrapped around you. Now I add:

    The last time ever I saw your face,
    I thought the world would come to an end.
    And the days and nights that have come since then
    are unfair without you here, my love.

MacColl did not tell the whole story of
a romance. Death is, however, part of
love. Yes, it is implied and too morbid
for a love song. You are too important
to ignore any part of your story.

    The last time ever I spoke to you,
    I thought you told me, "It'll be okay,"
    with only your eyes since you could not speak.
    How cruel can life be, my love?

Poem - Maudlin Meditations

I don't have
"happy" days anymore,
only days in
which I make
it back to
bed after sixteen
waking hours without
an emotional trauma.

Do the cats
remember
you when I
give them the treats you used to give them? How would I know?

A sleepless, feverish
night allows the
sorrow of five
months to escape
in an oozing
eruption of sobbing,
weeping, and whimpering.

What do I
do
to make you
stay real and complete in my mind? Does the pain come from
remembering more or less?

The world continues,
so I have to
change, and you
remain the same;
I have lost
my co-pilot and
the world has
lost a friend.

Will I ever
find
a reason to
be grateful to be alive? If I do, does it really count since I can't
share it with you?

Colleen's Place - Milwaukee Lakefront

Poem - How Do I Look?

Will I make it
through the day
without you there
in the morning
to tell me
I look handsome?
I never thought I was handsome
but I believed; all that mattered
was what you thought.

Where will my strength and confidence come from?

Can I make it
through the day
knowing you are
not waiting for
me to come
home at lunch time?
You shaped my days in so many
ways; I needed that. Without my
love I wonder

where my sense of urgency will come from?

Do I make it
through the day
without reward,
returning home
for your love?
I "muddle through somehow" as the
lyric goes. All the songs connect to
you now, I think.

Why did you leave me alone with so many sad songs?

Poem - Worse Than I've Dreamed

I have a list of things I dread;
I keep it tucked in folds of grey,
fear and chaos in my poor brain.

In the darkest moments of life
my list gives me a kind of peace,
no harm is worse than that I've dreamed.

For years my list remained unchanged.
I fear the dark of night, dislike
blinding sun, and hate our mean fate.

The day you died I lined out one
and then added two things to fear
I had no way to know before.

The Inception of Guilt

SPOILER ALERT - If you haven't seen Inception, this will give away some of the plot.  However, I doubt it will ruin either your surprise as the plot unfolds in its entirety or your enjoyment of the movie.

Inception is a movie for the thinking man who also likes explosions, gun fights, and random destruction.  Those elements would be enough for most movies but this one also includes stunning visuals and a man's poignant struggle with loss and grief.

Cobb (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) is the leader of a group that specializes in entering other people's dreams, similar to The Cell.  Rather than trying to treat psychological problems of the subjects, Cobb's group attempts to extract information for purposes of corporate espionage.  There is a predictable military connection to the technology that allows this ability.  When Cobb is propositioned to implant an idea in a subject's mind it leads to planning, rehearsal, and revelation worthy of any caper movie.  This is also the source for the title of the movie.

The recent death of my own wife has made me more likely to latch onto stories like Inception.  However, this movie presents the impact of grief and the struggle back to normalcy as a central theme.  I would argue that it becomes the focus of the question(s) an audience member is left with at the end of the movie.  It is Cobb's inability to let go of his own feelings of guilt that cause him to keep his wife "alive" in his own dreams in a way that is unhealthy psychology and detrimental to his business.

C. S. Lewis, in A Grief Observed, describes his own grieving process after the loss of his wife.  Lewis talks about the dangers of keeping and using our own memories and images of the dead:  "But the image has the added disadvantage that it will do whatever you want.  It will smile or frown, be tender, gay, ribald, or argumentative just as your mood demands.  It is a puppet of which you hold the strings."  Cobb sees his dream visits with the specter of his wife as his only moments of happiness.

I too have desperately tried to hold onto memories, mental images, and the sound of Colleen's voice.  At just under three months I find that those things are already hard to bring into focus.  Unlike Cobb however, it wasn't until about two weeks ago that I had the first dream (I remembered upon waking) with Colleen in it since her death.  I woke up crying; this is by far not the first time in the last three months that has happened though.  This experience of grief was different because it was inspired by the dream.  This dream was nothing that unusual; it drew mainly on the experience of being in the hospital with Colleen.  It is this very "real" element of the dream that was so disturbing.  Why would my mind want to go back to a time when Colleen was suffering so much?  Why didn't it focus on our first kiss, our wedding, or our trips together?  I don't know.

Cobb seems to have had the exact opposite problem; that might be a risk of a profession that puts you so intimately in touch with the inner workings of dreams.  Cobb's wife interrupts his work though.  The unconscious manifestation of his wife works actively to undermine his missions to extract information from various "subjects."  This leads to some of the most action packed and suspenseful sequences in the movie.  I believe it is also one of the reasons that the plot is both complicated and rich.  Since these projections of his wife are coming from Cobb himself, we are left to wonder what subconscious reason Cobb has to cause them to be working against him. 

There is a lot to be said for the motivations in creating such an elaborate memory.  In Cory Doctorow's recent short story, "Ghosts in My Head," the first person narrator explains that her mother died when she was 14, and from that point on her mother became a sort of Jiminy Cricket in her mind telling her when to be cautious and how to more accurately perceive the world.  The narrator proceeds to explain that her mother is only one of many "ghosts" she keeps in her head.  Many fictional characters are there too.  We learn that the narrator is the inventor of a technology that maximizes the ability of advertisers to implant such characters into the emotional centers of people's minds.

This is a frightening proposition.  Yet if you look at the entire history of religion, media, philosophy, mythology, and art you will find that this has been the goal all along.  While it would be more accurate to say that this is only one goal, there is no denying that Jesus, Walter Cronkite, Socrates, Zeus, and Salvador Dali have all entered people's minds and served as guides and mentors.  The narrator in Doctorow's story and many of the people who carry images in their minds of the men listed above have done so to help themselves try to be better people.  Cobb has kept his "ghostly" wife around simply because of guilt.

Guilt is the most complex and corrupting idea implanted in men's minds.  No one has to break into our minds to put it there; we create it ourselves.  No one else can convince us to let go of it; we hold it to be a badge of honor and a scarlet letter at the same time.  We want everyone to know how guilty we are as a confession of our love while at the same time we believe ourselves to be more capable than we really are.  We create guilt because we believe that not only could we have done more we should have done more.  There is a vast amount arrogance in such a belief; we who cherish our guilt overestimate both our ability to do and our ability to foresee the future.

The wife of Cobb's dreams becomes his refuge from what he perceives to be a much harsher reality.  C. S. Lewis cautions against not accepting the facts.  "Will nothing persuade us that they are gone?  What's left?  A corpse, a memory, and (in some versions) a ghost.  All mockeries or horrors.  Three more ways of spelling the word dead.  It was H. I loved.  As if I wanted to fall in love with my memory of her, an image in my own mind!  It would be a sort of incest."  It is Cobb's own mind recognizing this "incest" that causes his memories of his wife to turn on him.  He knows he has to let go of the guilt but this guilt is the strongest connection he has left with his wife.

I hadn't thought about the process of grief enough to have actively set out on a path different than Cobb's.  I have had my moments (hours, days, weeks) of reveling in grief, guilt, and pain.  However, I also believe that I am forming a healthier response to my loss than Cobb did.  I have confronted those negative emotions head on.  I have been trying to recognize the lessons that Colleen shared with me as I have been trying to honor her memory and the time we had together.  Hopefully I can be a better person with my own little Jiminy Cricket like version of Colleen in my head.  Thank you to everyone who has been there to help guide me, share with me, and tell me it is okay to "only be as strong as I have to be."

Colleen's Tree - Update

The kids surprised me again. They placed this custom made stepping
stone near the tree they planted before the end of the last school
year.

You Never Know

Since Colleen's death I have heard many worn out clichés from well
meaning people. Most of them are meaningless in the midst of loss. I
have found the honest sharing of similar experiences with grief and
loss to be far more comforting and helpful. One trite, cliché phrase
that has stuck in my mind is, "You never know what you have until it
is gone." In spite of its shallow sentiment, this phrase has focused
my thoughts and lead to significant revelations.

The first feeling that this phrase brings to the surface is guilt. Of
course guilt comes in many forms and with many related emotions:
doubt, blame, regret, and denial are just a few. I still doubt the
decision to end the medical battle. I blame myself for Colleen's
decline and not doing more to help her. I regret not having spent
every possible moment with her. I don't want to accept the reality of
the situation; my love, my wife is gone.

I have spent the better part of the past two months surrounding myself
with such feelings and thoughts. When I do experience a moment of
levity I feel guilty. When I accomplish something (no matter how
insignificant) I regret not having done it earlier so I could share it
with Colleen.

As painful as all of this is, it is important to get all of these
sources of guilt out in the open. Without focusing on and allowing
these feelings to come out I would languish in them forever. Don't
get me wrong, most of my days are still dominated by depression and
feelings of pointlessness and dread. I am, however, spending much
less time with guilt and regret.

The second reaction I have to this idea of "never knowing what you
have" is to ask myself, "Would I have lived differently if I had known
before?" Obviously I am ignoring the important second factor of the
saying; yet it is a rut my mind has been stuck in. The initial answer
is to say that I would have spent more time with Colleen. I mean, I
would have spent more time with her over all of the years we were
together not just over the last two months of her life (that she spent
in the hospital). Clearly there is a connection to the flood of guilt
discussed above.

Then of course I realize that it would have been difficult to spend
more time with her. Career, family, and other obligations did take me
away from Colleen at times. It is easy to look back and say that I
would have given up that pointless meeting at work for another hour
with her. What fuels this desire for more time is even more guilt. I
remember Colleen's disappointment when I would come home from work and
it was later than she expected me home. My apologies to her seem so
inadequate now; she always said, "If you were really sorry, you would
have been home sooner or called."

In addition to questioning my own choices, I have to fight a desire to
try to "warn" others about "knowing what you have." In 2004 my
college advisor lost his wife to cancer. After she died, he told me
to appreciate what I had (as I had only been married a year at that
point). I remember not knowing exactly what he meant by that; I did
appreciate having Colleen in my life. Now I know the nuance and depth
of what he meant. The human animal always desires more and we desire
more strongly what we can't have. My friend's warning to appreciate
what I had comes in part from a place of jealousy. Certainly there is
also the notion that he might have "saved me from some regret." It
doesn't work that way though. I might be worse than him because I
want to stop random strangers (especially couples) to tell them to
appreciate life and the time they have. I have to stop myself from
admonishing friends and colleagues for not "focusing on what is
important." I am simply jealous; I want my love back.

So, while I could have altered a few minor decisions there really
isn't a way that life could have been different. I would/will always
want more time and I would never have enough. I have always been
haunted by the idea that you never know when you are going to loose
someone. Because of that, I never left Colleen without saying "I love
you" and knowing that she loved me. Her death, however, left me with
a splinter in my mind; unlike all of the Hollywood death scenes, we
did not have a final "moment" together. Colleen never woke up after
the infection was discovered. She died in my arms and now that she is
gone I know how important her love was.

Poem - Surviving the Storms

Each flash
of lightning
at four
in the morning
tells the street lights
to
blink.
Early hours
are often the hardest;
this is the time I had
reserved for
your needs.

I walk around our place
and mutter,
or sob,
or demand,
"Oh honey."
One way I ask "why"
and plea for your return
and condemn
god
or god's
nonexistence.

I turn the lights out
to appreciate
nature's performance
and I instinctively mutter,
"it's okay honey; I'm right here."
I wonder if
you
are here
telling me the same?

I walk around our place
and pick up everything
you had once touched;
like our cat, Lucy,
rubbing scent
onto
and off
of random objects.
By now I have
rubbed
off any
trace
of your magic.

The clouds move on
and rumble
in the distance;
the sun is peeking
over the horizon.
Early hours
are often the hardest;
this is when
my want
of you
is resumed.
At five
in the morning
I am resigned
to loneliness
and longing.