And Now She is Gone

Tag: greif

  • What the Music Carries Now

    What the Music Carries Now

    I love how music grows with us. It held our hands through high school, helped us find our voice as young adults, and now, as Gen X begins to enter “old age,” music becomes a connection to our past.

    We find ourselves returning to specific songs or albums in times of stress or trauma. We find comfort or strength in them; they help us remember better times.

    I have a few songs and albums that are forever altered by my experience over the almost six years watching cancer destroy my wife. Each one touched by Katy, but with cancer lingering close behind.

    Listening to this album is tricky now that I’ve lost her. It takes me back to a sunny weekend morning a fresh pot of coffee, Katy working a crossword on the couch with two puppies at her sides. I put on Indigo Girls, and at first she just hums along. By the second verse, she puts her lungs behind it, and the house fills with her beautiful voice.

    But these memories always come with the pain. It gets easier, little by little, to hold the pain back and sit with the peace a while longer. Still, sometimes the pain comes on too fast, and it’s hard to fight back the tears.

    It’s not all bad, though. Those memories bring her back to me for a time.

    Brief as it may be, it’s precious.

    So the music in my life continues to grow with me. And like so much else in my life, it too has to adjust to the trauma of Katy’s death. Yes, there is sadness in the songs, but there is also happiness. They carry Katy with them now. I can hear her, singing. Pitch perfect.

    —

    *Record scratch. Freeze frame.*

    Nearly seven years into our marriage, pre-cancer, we were in the car headed to visit family. “Another Brick in the Wall” came on the playlist, and I started singing along, quietly. She hummed along too. Suddenly she stopped and turned to me.

    “What are the lyrics there?”

    “Uh… we don’t need no… “

    “No! What does he say before the ‘leave those kids alone’ part?”

    “Oh, you mean ‘hey, teacher’?”

    She started laughing, hysterically. I couldn’t help but join in. After a few minutes, she caught her breath and said, “I thought they were screaming ‘hey, preacher, leave those kids alone.’”

    The laughter started again, and it lasted until we arrived at her sister’s house. And then again when she told the story over dinner.

    So now, every time “Another Brick in the Wall” comes on, I don’t hear Pink Floyd. I hear Katy, gasping for air, laughing at herself. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.
     

  • The Catharsis of Noise: Finding Peace in Punk After Loss

    The Catharsis of Noise: Finding Peace in Punk After Loss

    As I was processing my wife’s death, I listed to a lot of music. TOOL helped me process the anger and guilt, Pink Floyd made me look inward,and RUSH connected me to better times of my youth. John Denver and the singer-song writers of the 70’s connected me to Katy; she loved Jim Croce. I would mix in various playlists along the way; Apple is a good source of music – 80s Movie Soundtracks and Classic Punk Essentials have become regular plays.


    Classic Punk, the 70’s and 80’s era, is a genre I’ve hovered around for some time. Every heavy metal fan dips their toes into the Punk pool at some point. As a teen groups like Black Flag,The Dead Kennedy’s and the Ramones were known to me. Husker Du and The Melvins I was aware of, and I did not even consider Elvis Costello or the Police as early Punk examples! The longer I hung around the genre, the more I recognized that it is the perfect soundtrack for grief. I understand the hesitancy to accept this one, but hear me out. It’s a record I’ve been playing for the past few years; I think I can make a good argument.


    The first side of this record is about anger and aggression. I was on the edge in those early months after she died. I couldn’t tell you why I was angry, At GOD maybe, Katy for hiding her scans from me. I was a boiling kettle of emotions. Anger is embedded in the fabric of punk. Political and Socio-Economic rage, anger at the mainstream, alienation. These were constant themes in the music. Watching Darby Crash writhing on the stage while singing (Or mumbling, if I am being honest) Manimal was kind of cathartic. Rollins screaming in my ear “Drinking black coffee, staring at the wall / Anger and coffee feeding me” as I would do that very thing was a special moment in my mornings.


    The early stages of grief can be filled with a lot of anger, a volatile, aggressive anger that burns hot and doesn’t know where to go. Listening to punk gave that fury a home; it channeled those ugly, overwhelming emotions into something constructive. But things shifted completely when I sat behind a drum kit. Learning to play those songs was a whole different level of relief. Hitting the drums became a physical manifestation of my pain. Every snare hit was a scream, and every kick drum was a way to smash through the wall of numbness, exhausting the anger until there was finally room to breathe.


    Let’s look at the second side of this record: chaos. Punk is chaotic, and so is grief. When you lose a life partner, your world rips in half. You are forced to navigate a terrifying new space without the one person you trusted implicitly. Early punk bands mirrored this exact shift. They lacked talent but possessed an abundance of passion and raw emotion. Those kids didn’t know what they were doing, yet they played anyway. This DIY ethos was famously summarized in a 1977 zine cartoon: “This is a chord. This is another. Now form a band.” The priority was raw, unpolished survival over formal ability.


    When you first arrive in Griefville, everything is raw fury. Like those early punks, you have no idea what you are doing. It’s like waking up, swinging your feet out of bed, and stepping directly into ice-cold water when you only know how to doggie paddle. For me, punk music was the life preserver. Those kids just wanted to make noise and share it with friends. They surely questioned if it was worth it, breaking through walls of self-doubt to realize the music was saving them. That is the heart of punk—it isn’t about perfection, it’s about survival. I am channeling that exact, unpolished chaos to fight my way through the suffocating chaos of grief.


    I never thought I’d rely on punk music for my mental stability. But then again, most of my fellow Gen-Xers are finding that everything in our 50s falls into the “I never thought I’d experience this” category.


    Punk is the perfect companion to grief. Everyone’s soundtrack looks different. Some choose to cry alone in a dark room; others want to smash things. Mine is built on raw screams, out-of-tune guitars, and a blood-soaked Darby Crash reminding me I’m not alone.

  • Sit With It, Matthew!!

    Sit With It, Matthew!!

    “You need to sit with those emotions”-My therapist tells me this at least every third session. Supposedly, facing the myriad of emotions left behind by the death of my wife is necessary. And while I understand the purpose behind the words, I don’t like them. The experience makes me feel uncomfortable, sometimes forcing me to pay attention to that part of me that needs it.


    I am very good at avoiding.


    Wait—I should be honest. I have been IGNORING a lot of what has been tumbling around my brain for the past year. If you avoid something, there is some presumption of tackling the issue later, maybe at a better time. To ignore the issue means, well, out of mind, out of sight.


    I spent the past year wandering in a cloud of THC. I turned away whenever the pain pounded. If it is an action that causes the pain, I stop. If the destination was a trigger, I do not go.
    The memory ambush is the hardest. When I see a coffee mug she favored, or hear her voice in a recording from the past, these are the moments that hit hard, and they hit low. How can I be expected to sit and hold hands with dark and uncomfortable things?


    It’s easy to just get high and zone out on X-Files, but eventually it catches up. And when this type of clog breaks, it’s often messy. Like congealed grease in a clogged drain.


    It’s taken some time, but I see that the emotions I’ve been ignoring are a part of me now; they are a part of the experience that was my life with Katy. I don’t want to forget any part of it, even the bad.
    One of the last things Katy said to me was- “You have more story to tell”. It was the inspiration for my tattoo, and what I am hoping will drive me to better days.


    So, I am going to sit with the emotion when it hits. I’m gonna see where it came from, and I’m gonna look at it until it’s not as intimidating anymore. It will shrink to a more manageable size, and then I’ll tuck it away, someplace neat and out of the way. It will still be there, and maybe one day I’ll need (Or maybe WANT) to look at it again, and I’ll know where it is.


    And eventually I’ll have more room for my new story.

  • What’s In The BOX!?!?!

    What’s In The BOX!?!?!

    I’ve been struggling lately, especially with letting go. For three months, four boxes of chinaware for Goodwill and one box of Katy’s things for a friend have sat untouched—I keep making excuses instead of dealing with them. Usually, I’m good at procrastinating, but this feels different.

    How might you ask? I was scared; these boxes held items important to my wife. The chinaware was among our first purchases after moving in together. Katy loved hosting and always had creative party ideas. One Halloween at work, she made “Texas-Chainsaw mac and cheese” for the potluck. COME ON!!!

    Unfortunately, she never got to use her chinaware, and I am NOT the hosting type, so I took it to Goodwill. The box going to a friend contains the dessert cups Katy used when she made the Guinness Pub Pudding for one of our gatherings along with some shirts I didn’t want to share with just anyone and some Tomte related items, Katy and I both had a love of Scandinavian lore and history. 

    I dropped off the items at Goodwill and mailed off the package this morning. 

    Whew.

    And now I’m sitting here feeling good. The empty spaces the boxes once occupied make the room seem larger, not empty. It’s a satisfying sense of accomplishment.

    With the support of my therapist, I recognized that it is a normal response to feel apprehensive about this process. Each item had significance from my time with Katy, and parting with them at Goodwill raised concerns about relinquishing connections to those memories. There were a couple of ways in which I approached the process. 

    First: What am I afraid of? If others can enjoy owning a nice set of china even a little as much as Katy did, that’s positive. I imagine a young couple finding it at Goodwill, feeling proud to afford a nice set. She would appreciate that.

    Second: The material is not the memory. Yes, a material item can trigger the memory; but the memory, the images, smells, and sounds of the moment tied to the item will always be within you. She is not IN them. If I am honest with myself, she is in the urn on the bookshelf, surrounded by her Stephen King Books. Just the way she wanted it. All the memories I have of her are tucked safely away in my mind. 

    Have I lost a part of me? Yes, but what I am missing now is not in any of Katy’s former belongings. I’ve lost a part of me. I recall something my mother frequently said when Dad was deployed while we were children. “It is not easy being a mom without your father here with me, try playing baseball with only one arm.” I did not get it then, now I do. When Katy Died, a part of me died as well. It’s that simple. I feel like I’ve lost one leg and I am learning to walk again. 

    This morning was a step in the right direction. A small step, but an important one. Next up…her books.

  • Got Kind of Dark Last Night.

    Got Kind of Dark Last Night.

    I was on the fence about sharing this. It’s heavy and I don’t want to scare any of you. Also, because it contains some triggers regarding suicide, so this is your warning.

    Still with me….are you sure?

    Last chance to turn back.

    Okay then. First, please know that I am okay. I am working through a lot these days and I just got overwhelmed last night.


    Here is what happened…


    Remember that game as a kid where someone would yell “DOG-PILE!!” and everyone would pile on top of some random kid?-Boys are dumb-Were you ever the unfortunate soul that was at the bottom of that pile of adolescent BO and arbitrary boners?


    Currently, I feel like the kid at the bottom of the pile.


    Last night I sat down to watch a movie, The Electric State on Netflix (not bad), it has an emotional ending, and I lost it. I can’t tell you what happened during the last 10 minutes of the film because I was watching it through a curtain of tears.


    And I couldn’t stop. For the next 20 minutes I was a slobbering mess. As I sat there trying to pull myself together, my angst driven mind decided this was a good time to bring up the fact that I am currently jobless, and that I am responsible for two cats and my 73-year-old father. Oh yeah, and your wife died…let’s not forget that.


    I ended up in the ER. I did not know what else to do.


    It felt like everything was closing in. I was having trouble breathing through the seemingly unstoppable crying, and I was shaking so badly I think the cats could feel it through the floor as both came into the room and were staring at me with concern.


    With everything that was running through my head at that moment, there was one thing that hit me like a brick-it is the reason I asked my dad to take me to the ER. Out of nowhere, the following idea formed.


    If I was to find myself in a life-or-death situation, I would choose death.


    This thought ran through my head in NEON like some kind of news warning flashing across the TV screen. It was a form of thought that I have never experienced. Not out-right self-harm, but the willingness to just…give up. It scared me. I have NEVER thought of harming myself in any way. Has this always been here? If so, when did it start to root itself into my mind. Was it just waiting for the right time to make itself known? It suddenly felt like the words of that statement were alive and they were trying to push their way to that part of my brain that would make it all real. These words were strong, and in my current state I was not sure how long I could fight them. So, I asked my dad to take me to the ER.


    Again, I’m okay. I promise. They would not have let me come home if i was a danger.


    All of this from a 4-minute scene in a movie.


    The point of me sharing this is to remind everyone that grief will always be with those of us that have lost a loved one. That grief will affect us differently, but we all feel it. I know it will get better, easier to think about her. But the pain of losing her will always be there-that is something I will live with. There is no preparation for this. There is no map to help navigate grief. That is why it is important to have a support network. A group of people you can trust that can make sure you are okay, stay healthy and in some cases help with bills or cleaning the house.


    If my father had not been a shout away, I am honestly not sure how the night would have ended. I do not believe I would have harmed myself, but I probably would have worked my way into some level of cardiac event. Having him take me to the ER last night was a good decision.


    I miss my wife. So far, the pain has not lessened. There is a part of me that is missing now that she is gone. And that is okay, I gave here that piece. I wanted to her to have some of me with her during her next chapter.


    Again. I am okay. I promise.

  • Boobs and Blood as Therapy.

    Boobs and Blood as Therapy.

    This blog post is gonna be a little bit different than what you are all used to.


    As I navigate this scary new world I now inhabit, I take pleasure wherever I can find it. Most of the time that pleasure comes in the form of music. New albums and concerts have been a big part of my therapy. Films have been a nice distraction as well. This year marks the 45th anniversary of my favorite horror franchise, Friday the 13th. These films have been a part of my life since I saw Part 2 at the age of 9 and I have been hooked ever since. If Halloween opened the door for the “unstoppable” slasher genre film, Friday the 13th used the heads of horny teens to prop it open. My wife Katy HATED these movies, but she would sit and watch them with me from time to time and the couch would quickly become The Satellite of Love from MS3TK. I have always been aware of how ridiculous these films can get, that is part of the attraction for me; I believe that if I had had more time Katy might’ve grown to appreciate their entertainment value.


    The franchise has had some classics-The first film and FT13: New Beginning are often recognized as modern horror landmarks-and there have been a few forgettable entries-Jason Takes NY is kind of lame-but even the worst of these films entertain on some level, if you can’t enjoy the sleeping bag kill in New Blood, I can’t help you friend.


    Friday the 13th also introduced me to the concept of “less is more”. My introduction to the franchise was in the form of made for TV cuts. All the boobs and blood were removed. There is something more intense about these films when they were cut properly, they are more effective without the gore and jump scares. To this day, I prefer NOT to see the monster until the last possible moment, and I like my kills in the form of some well mixed sound from off screen. As I got older and was able to watch the films in their original cuts my love of them grew. As the kills became sillier, the “jump scares” became more obvious and the plots just disappeared each of the movies became more comforting to me. Now they often play in the background as I’m building a LEGO set or doing a crossword. I still line up for theatrical re-releases; and yes, one is playing as I type this. And every Friday the 13th weekend I randomly choose two to binge.


    Find what makes you happy and embrace it. Comfort yourself in your own way, particularly when grieving. And my thanks to Jason for offering a distraction as I navigate life without Katy. Your support is appreciated.

  • No gifts this year

    No gifts this year

    With my birthday coming up I’ve been thinking about Katy a lot. Birthdays were never a big thing for Katy and I; we did not throw parties or buy lavish gifts for each other. We preferred to play hooky from work and spend the day together; that was a gift. Sometimes we would catch a matinee and other times we would treat ourselves to a daylong session of retail therapy at IKEA and Potomac Mills. Each followed by dinner at Red Robin. We had joined the Red Robin club early in our relationship, she did love a good burger. One of the perks was a free burger for your birthday. She was always so excited for that burger. For number 43 we had to stay home because I was sick. She went out and bought a movie that I had been talking about, and she brought home Red Robin.


    She was a gift.


    Katy did have one tradition on my birthday; it is one of those small things I took for granted. And it is something that I will miss immensely. The first time I slept over on my birthday she performed a gesture of her connection to me, and she would continue this right up to the last one. Just in case we have any readers that lean to the pervy side (not saying there is anything wrong with that); it’s nothing X-Rated. PG-13 maybe. You be the judge.


    On the morning of my birthday, and every Christmas morning I should add, she would somehow wake up before me. Katy was not a morning person. So, the fact that she would make an effort to rise before me makes this all even more special. She would get up, walk over to my side of the bed, lean down and whisper in my ear “Happy birthday, my love”. The “my love” did not come until later; in the beginning she would say “you sexy ape”. Then she would gently kiss my ear and head downstairs to take care of the dogs, which was my typical morning duty. Some years she would make me breakfast. Other years she would order Bob Evans. That little gesture was a gift. Katy’s love language was affirmation and quality time. Mine are, if you’re interested, acts of service and physical touch. I miss my cuddle buddy. Katy would do things like this throughout the year, but her birthday kiss was the one I looked forward to the most, and it will be missed.


    If there is anything I regret, it’s that I never told her how much I looked forward. I never told her how that kiss would make my cheeks feel hot and wake the butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t thank her for getting out of bed much earlier than she is used to, to take care of the dogs so I could sleep in. I never told her how much I appreciated her sitting through some weird or gory or boring for her kind of movie because I just “had to see it in theaters”. I never told her how sorry I was for dragging to a different record store every year, sometimes several in one day, and make her wait as I flick my way through ever album in the store before deciding they have nothing I want and ask her to go to another one. I like to think that as I write this she is somehow watching, or listening, or picking up my mental waves in some Star Treky kind of empathy way, and knows how sorry I am.


    This year I will not be celebrating. At least not from my end. I will not shoo away anyone that comes to me with birthday greetings, or bring gifts (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). But from my end it’s just another day. I am even working this year, and will be driving into the office, and I will be blowing some money at Mobius Records in Fairfax. It’s gonna take some time for my birthday, any holiday for that matter, to feel special again.


    I will forever miss her gifts.

  • Do They Feel it Like I Do?

    Do They Feel it Like I Do?

    Last night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I could hear one of the cats in the hallway crying. This has been happening a lot. It is usually Mirren. She sits in the hallway, crying out. As I listened, I thought about what losing Katy must be like for the cats. Confusion, maybe? Do they feel her loss? I’m sure they do, not the same way I feel it, but they feel it.


    For the cats it was sudden. One morning Katy was not in her spot on the couch. For them she just left. They never did go into her room when the Hospice bed became her permanent place of rest. She was not there to greet them in the morning with those loving caresses and kind words she always shared first thing. For them I imagine it is an emptiness that they can’t explain. Her scent still lingers in the house, but they can’t find her.


    They may not have the emotional attachment to her memory that I do, or maybe they do. But I am sure they feel her loss. It would explain why they both, Mirren especially, have been clinging to me at every step. The minute I open the bedroom door in the morning, they are both sitting there, waiting for me to open the door. Or maybe they are waiting for her, hoping that she steps out again. When my work day is over and I sit on the couch in the evening, Mirren is immediately on my lap. I wish I could explain to them what happened, give them both some kind of closure.

    I just tell them she is on vacation.