And Now She is Gone

Tag: love

  • Too many empty rooms

    Too many empty rooms

    Something has changed and he can’t understand it.

    The silence is new. It is a silence he has never heard before. It is loud, and intense as it rings in his ears.

    He tries to fight it by opening the windows to let the world in, but even the world can’t penetrate the walls.

    Occasionally he hears her laughter, but even that is only a whisper that floats just out of his reach.

    Each step he takes on the stairs is loud and violent, and they stretch and twist making the climb more uncertain.

    The doors are cold to his touch, a block of ice behind each one.

    He tries to adapt. He tries to get used to it. But understanding evades him.

     And then he sees it. It stares him in the face and mocks his recognition.

    All the rooms are empty.

  • Its a Mess

    Its a Mess

    He stands in the doorway looking over the mess. It’s her mess. Not as in she is responsible for it, but it is her stuff.
    In one corner he stares at a pile of pens. It is a hulking mass of writing tools including highlighters, dry erase markers, crayons and even a few pencils. He sees one with “Akeela and the Bee” stamped across it and he thinks about when they saw the movie. It was one of those special pre-screenings where they asked your opinion after the show. When they were done the young lady gave her the pencil and she loved it.
    He looks over the many notebooks and folders she collected over their 20 years together. She always asked him to stop off at many an office supply store, “Let’s see if there are any new releases” she would say as they entered. He would say the same thing whenever he entered a record store, and she would mimic his delivery perfectly every time. When the back-to-school sales started she would get excited, Saturday would become a loot day for her. Some days she would buy nothing; on other days she should fill the cart. He would watch her in those moments. She would meticulously examine each notebook, taking in the aroma of fresh paper and cardboard. As she ran her fingers along the binding, she would smile at him and relay the many ways she will use the notebook. He knew that most of them would go unused, but it didn’t matter to him. This was as close to a religious experience she would get so he let her have it.
    Now he sees another stack of notebooks. These are worn and used, and they scare him. He can see short phrases or solitary words written across the front to remind her of what is in them. Sometimes, during her down time, she would just write. Even in the worst parts of her treatment she would write. He would watch her writing in that chair, an IV pumping poison into her. She did not write for any purpose on those days. She wrote to forget why she was there. She wrote just to write. These scare him because he knows what they will bring. Emotion. Those are her words in there, her thoughts and he cannot handle those yet. Someday. Not yet.
    He sees a jar filled with small slips of paper. This was a gift for her. Each slip of paper has compliments and short phrases of endearment. “This is for those day you are feeling beaten and alone.” He says as he gives it to her. He never asked her if she read any of the slips. Now he decides to take a look and discover not only had she looked at them, but she also wrote her own notes on them. This one says, “never let him go” on the other side of “You are beautiful” and this one has “how lucky I am” on the back of a slip with “Kiss me, just because” on it. He puts the lid back and sets it down. He will keep this as well.
    Looking at the room one might think it is a mess. He sees it differently. Each of the pens she left behind brought her some happiness. Every notebook was a comfortable place for her to escape. He knows that he should get rid of this stuff, but it is hard to do when each one comes with emotion. He can still smell her in each notebook and feel her when he grips one of her pens. He cannot throw this stuff away, not now.
    So, every day he stands in the doorway looking at her mess and thinking about her.

  • The Hoodie

    The Hoodie

    He is standing in line at the grocery store. There is woman and her daughter behind him. He can hear them giggling and then the mother taps him on the shoulder.

    “My daughter and I think your hoodie is very funny, can I ask where you got it?”

    He looks down and recognizes the hoodie. He is wearing one of her hoodies. This was the first hoodie he bought her. On the back there is a picture of a penguin and beneath the penguin is written

    I AM F*#&!@^ FREEZING!

    He was so excited when he purchased it. He knew she would love it. He became a little child again, waiting for the special toy he saved 50 box tops for. He just could not wait to see her face. On the day it arrived she was not home. So he sat at the kitchen table and waited. When she arrived, he went to her, he couldn’t wait for her to see it. She looks at him surprised at the package. She opens it and gets excited because it is a new hoodie. She had not even seen the design on the back. “Look at the back” he says, and she does. Her face lights up and she laughs. He always loved that sound, her laughter. Especially when it came as a surprise to her.

    She loved it. And she wore it. Everywhere. She wore it when they went to see Patton Oswald at the Kennedy center. She was wearing it the day they picked up Baxter, and the day they he died. She was wearing it when he drove her to the first surgery to remove the cancer. And now he wore it.

    “It is my wife’s.” He doesn’t know why he refers to her in present tense, He knows it allows the conversation to continue. The daughter sighs and says “aww, how sweet, you share hoodies!?” The mother laughs and says, “I can’t get my husband to let my borrow his tools, much less wear his clothes.”

    “She’s dead. Last year.” And he turns to pay for his groceries. The mother and daughter are shocked. He sees the mother say something to him, but he doesn’t hear anything. He thoughtlessly turns and says thank you and walks to his car.

    It is easier to announce her death bluntly, one might say impolitely to strangers.

    He doesn’t care if he offends them.

    It makes these little moments go by faster.

  • Our Story: The earworm.

    Our Story: The earworm.

    Buckle up folks, this is a long one.

    I know I said that I did not adhere to genre prejudice; but if there is one style of music that I would set as THE music that started it all for me, it would be hard Rock. Specifically, the dirty denim bands. These were the bands always looked like they needed a shower. They would stare at me from the phots on the album, I knew that they to show me all the horrible things I was warned about in Sunday School, and I was ready for it. Saxon, Fastway, Alice Cooper, these were the bands firmly imbedded into my musical foundation. And if there was one band that sat atop the heap, it was ACDC. As far as I am concerned, they were the kings of dirty denim. You can almost smell ACDC music, and it smells of alcohol, cigarettes and sweat. When I discovered them at the age of 10, it was quite a scene. But I’m not here to talk about that moment. Nor will I talk about the connection Highway to Hell gave Katy and I, that one is for me. I will tell you about one of my cherished memories of her. When she found herself with an ACDC song on repeat in her brain.   

    It was Saturday. One of those cold and damp days of fall. When we got out of bed that morning we went from the bed straight to the couch. I made breakfast while Katy swiped REELS on Facebook in the other room. As I cooked bacon, I asked her if she wanted to do anything that day. She yelled back to me “I would like to look at paint colors for the bathroom, Home Depot.”  She loved DIY projects. She would watch all of the fixer upper shows and come away from them with ideas for improving the house in one way or another. The problem was that Katy did not really have a lot of commitment to these projects. It was inevitable that she would reach a point where it was no longer fun, or it would get too complicated, and she would slowly abandon the project. Her master bathroom remodel, initially envisioned as a quick refresh, ballooned into a six-year odyssey of delays and unfinished work, ultimately requiring outside help. I hated it when she would drag me along with her. This was in the days before I  was medicated. I would turn into a sulking  six-year-old. I could be an asshole about things in those days. Katy was very patient in those early years. She was looking out the window and I could see her changing her mind. “Actually, that’s too far to drive today. Whatever we do I want it to be close to home” Oh thank God, I whispered to myself. We bounced a few more ideas between us, but in the end, we landed on ordering Chinese and watching a movie. Couch Potatoes is it.  

    We spent the rest of the morning in that same spot. Playing games on our phones and creating various lists of pop culture stuff: what are you top ten noir detective movies?-that kind of list. When lunch rolled around, we ordered too much food and settled in to decide on a movie. Katty was in the mood for something funny, but not silly, smart funny. High humor if you will. For me that was Monty Python or any of the films from the Mel Brooks catalogue. I proposed watching Something About Mary, we both loved that one. But Katy said she wasn’t in the mood for Ben Stiller. Then I suggested watching School of Rock, that was one of my comfort movies. She looked at me. “You know, and you’re not gonna like this, I did not like that one.” She mimicked a shy school girl pretending to feel guilty. I frowned a bit and said, “Well I think you should give it another chance. Besides, you’ve not watched it me. Might be a different experience.”  

    Katy was not a huge Jack Black fan at this point. She had enjoyed his dramatic roles, but in her opinion everything else he did was just erratic and he felt out of control. So, I was not surprised when I learned this information. She would eventually grow to at least tolerate him as I forced his various projects into our entertainment bubble. She sat with that for a few seconds and then she smiled and said “Fuck it, let’s watch it.” She was sweet like that. We got ourselves into movie mode and clicked play. Movie mode for us was a serious thing. Especially when it was just the two of us. We would discuss the movie, often pausing to dig deep on scene. These discussions would range from a serious debate about character development  or choices that actors make over to picking out the flaws or mocking the horrible acting. We spanned the entire range of film commentary, from the insightful reviews of Siskel and Ebert to the comedic riffs of Mystery Science Theater 3000.

    As the opening scene plays out and the camera floats into the bar we see Mr. Black twisting and flopping his way across the stage. She turns to me and says “See, frantic.” Once the story started to play out Katy became more interested. She started asking me questions about the bands Mr. Sneebly would introduce to the kids. We talked about Zeppelin, and how they changed modern rock. We talked about RUSH and their dedicated fan base. She wanted to know more about The Ramones, were they really brothers, did they ever change melodies?  She picked my brain for every bit of information she could get from me about this music that drove me.  As the credits roll, we are treated to the kids performing their rendition of A Long Way to the Top, by ACDC. Katy really perked up during this, “well this is adorable.” She bounced on the couch, gave me jazz hands a couple times and hummed along until the song faded out. She enjoyed the movie, she could not deny that. I must have been projecting these thoughts onto my face because when she turned in my direction she laughed “Okay, smart ass, Don’t get cocky. Yes, I liked the movie much more this time and yes, I DO think that watching it with you made a difference.” I was cleaning up our Chinese food pile and looked at her,. “You know why?” “If I say yes, will you skip whatever BS you were gonna feed me and move along?” I looked up at her, smiled and, in my best shy country boy imitation is said “BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME!!”

    You ever get a song stuck in your head? One that digs in like a tick and pesters you for hours, maybe days. Sometimes it’s not that bad if it’s a song you like. Other times it can feel like you are being waterboarded. I was noticing that my wife had new earworm. She was humming it while doing a crossword one night, kicking her foot up and down the beat. One day she was humming it at her desk while she surfed YouTube. After a while it just became one of those songs for her.

    Now we come to cherished part. Fast forward a couple of years and we are in the back yard with the dogs. I am desperately trying to teach Baxter to fetch. Baxter was our basset hound; he was not an energetic dog, and he often tired out after one time across the yard to grab the tennis ball. This day he impressed me by fetch the ball twice. He was laying in the grass staring at me with those sad eyes.  Katy was sitting on the steps of the deck encouraging Baxter as our other dog, a chihuahua named Gromit, stood just next to her, wagging her tail and vibrating (As small dogs often do) staring at Katy hoping to be picked up. I had brought one of my Bluetooth speakers outside with us and had the local classic rock station on. We just finished listening to a Billy Joel tune when the iconic guitars and bagpipes that open A Long Way to the Top began to play. I should tell you guys that to this point I am not sure Katy had ever heard the original version of the song. Only the movie version and whatever version she was playing in her head when she hummed it. At first she didn’t react. When the first chorus kicked in she I could tell something was brewing in that wonderful brain of hers. She cocked her head a bit like a dog leaning toward a strange sound.

    “Who is this?” she asked. “ACDC” I responded. She sat up and looked at me, with slight confusion on her face. “That’s the band with the silly guy in the school uniform right?” This would be how she would verify ACDC’s identity for the remainder of our marriage, it’s also one of those things that I am missing real hard. “Yep. That’s the one.” I was still in the yard. Baxter had made his way over to me and flopped himself down in my lap, so I was going nowhere for bit. Katy remained in her spot on the steps, she had picked up Gromit by this point, and she continued to listen. Suddenly she perked up, “Hey, I know this song.” I loved these moments with her. She would often go into detective mode when something was challenging her. And she loved a good mystery. I could see her trying to pinpoint where she had heard the song.

    After a few more bars I saw her face light up, she found it. “Wait, is this the song the kids were singing at the end of School of Rock!?” I smiled and answered yes, I was massaging Baxter’s ears, another activity I miss. Then her face squinched into confusion again. “ACDC wrote it?” she questioned. I was impressed that she recognized them, she always struggled to keep up with my favorite vocalists. As I looked at her, I could tell she was not convinced I was telling her the truth. In her defense, I did have a tendency to exaggerate purposefully to confuse her or get her agitated. Nothing mean, just harmless playing. “Are you fucking with me?” I was starting to agitated now. “Yes hon, ACDC wrote the song.”  “That little guy in the uniform wrote this song?” she asked. “Well, I am not privy to the inner workings of ACDC’s song writing process. But I am sure that Angus had something to do with it.”  And then I said, “Why the surprise. You’ve heard ACDC before, you like a few of their songs.” She gave me the kind of look a parent gives their child when they discover (SPOILER ALERT!) Santa isn’t real. “Well, I don’t really ‘like’ any of their songs. A few are fun? But this one tells a story, and you know how this girl loves a good story song.” I could not argue that one. But now it was staring to bug me. Nightcrawler and Highway to Hell told stories! In my head I was preparing my counterpoint when she stood up and proclaimed “MATTHEW! I want Starbucks. Take me to Starbucks and you might get lucky tonight!” Again, I couldn’t argue against that.

    ACDC would pop up in our lives a few more times during our marriage, but this is the moment that sticks in my mind. Like a song. I can play it over in my head whenever I want.

  • A new kind of fear

    A new kind of fear

    




    This is a different kind of fear.

    Not like the fear I felt the night I asked her to marry me.

    Not like the fear I felt when we bought our first house.

    Not like the fear I felt when she looked at me and said “I have cancer.”

    Not like the fear I felt when she told me she wanted hospice.

    This is a different kind of fear.

    This kind sticks to me, like sap from a tree.

    This kind of fear stings my eyes like the sweat of a hot summer day.

    And I have to face it alone. 

    It’s that kind of fear. 
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
    Here She Comes Again
    
			
    Here She Comes Again
    
			
    

    




    Here she comes again

    She sits next to me on the couch, and we watch a movie. Then I go to bed, and she says “good night, I’ll see you tomorrow”

    The next time I see her, she is standing behind me in the kitchen as I load the dishwasher. She says nothing. Just watches me with that smirk on her face. You know the one, it says “oh yeah. he’s mine” proudly and boldly.

    And then. In the middle of the night, when I’m lying there staring at the ceiling praying for sleep, she comes. She lies next to me, drapes her arm across my chest, and we both drift off to sleep. She has this quiet little snore, but I never tell her. I keep it for me.

    Sometimes, when it’s quiet in the house, I will hear her laughing at something she is watching in her office. She is going to share it with me, and I will have to feign that I enjoyed it as much as she did. And I do.

    And now I am driving to anywhere and she is in the passenger seat yelling at the car in front us, “THE LINES ARE THERE FOR A REASON JACK ASS!!” and I laugh and watch as she turns to me and says “Hey, let go get pancakes”, And we do. At midnight.

    These little moments make up the day. They haunt me when I’m awake and tease me in my sleep.

    It is vicious, insidious, and painful.

    But it is necessary. Because these images must stay with me. No matter how cruel it may be I can not, will not let go.

    I know someday they will lessen, and it won’t hurt so much to see her.

    Right…?
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
    Our Story: Sing like no one is watching.
    
			
    Our Story: Sing like no one is watching.
    
			
    

    Katy and I both enjoyed the classics. We would listen to new artists when they came into our bubble. She discovered Brandi Carlise when she saw the Indigo Girls, and she became one of those artists we would enjoy together. Most of the time, we relied on the music we both grew up with. A lot of 80s one-hit wonders, and classic stadium anthems. And then there was Dusty Springfield. I knew the name but had never really listened to her music. She was a new artist in my world. One song became a mutual favorite between Katy and me, and it would insert itself into our lives. 

    Son of a Preacher Man, by Dusty Springfield. 

    The first time I heard the song was as part of the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. It was playing as Vincent Vega enters the home of Mia Wallace for their “not a date” date. I remember hearing the lyrics and thinking that it was a somewhat ominous song to play during the initial meeting between the characters. The song is, after all, about doing something you should not be doing, with a person you shouldn’t be doing it with. In my opinion, it was one of those moments when the music was forecasting the plot. Kind of neat when directors can pull that off. 

    There were four songs that Katy would sing on the spot. These were her four inner songs. Songs that she held a personal connection to. We all have them, songs That are tied to you, they are part of you and the connection is so strong the song will never leave you. Think of these songs as part of your own personal soundtrack. You can sing them from start to finish. You know where every signature vocal tick is placed in the song. You can air guitar the solo with pinpoint accuracy. You never Sound as good as the original, but it doesn’t matter. You still sing. 

    With Katy, it did not matter where or when these songs came on, Katy would start singing them. Even if it was a muzak version, she would sing along. Her four inner songs were, 

    Fancy, the Bobbie Gentry version, 

    The Power of Two (you know all about that one.)

    Father Figure by George Michael 

    and Son of a Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield. 

    One beautiful spring Saturday, Katy was on the back deck reading. This was something she enjoyed immensely. Once the warm weather arrived she would spend as much time on the deck as she could. I sometimes called her my favorite lizard. The sun warming her body and a good book in her hands was a perfect Saturday afternoon. This particular Saturday I was in the kitchen preparing burgers for grilling , there was music playing (as I always did), that sexy guitar riff opens the song, and I heard Katy yell out "Turn that up!" I complied and looked out the window just in time to see Katy close her book, close her eyes and enjoy the song. The sun had been re-charging her batteries, and she was ready to sing. And she did.

    From the beginning she was in the song, in the moment if you will. And I loved these moments. Katy was never shy about singing in public, but unless she was performing in a play, she hold back. But when it was just the two of us she would let go.  It was these moments all fear of judgment left her, she was comfortable with me, and she would give it her all. 

    She had pulled one of the other deck chairs over so that it would form a footrest for her, and she stretched out and leaned back into the chair. She kept her eyes closed as she sang. The words flowing out of her in perfect time, she was keeping time with one finger tapping the arm of her chair. I started to wonder just how long she would keep going. Most of the time would only go a few bars in, but for one of her inner songs it she would complete the some. I could tell in her mind she was on stage, an audience before her, on their feet cheering her on. Loud and clear. I suddenly noticed our neighbors behind us standing in their yard watching her. They were smiling as they watched Katy perform. She might’ve stopped if she knew they were watching, But she never opened her eyes. She was in the "sweet spot" and nothing was going to Interfere. As she poured her heart into the song i could see her being transported to to a small that small town church. She was stealing glances from the the preacher’s son. from across the room. She was giving him flirty looks, a shy smile on her face. 

    I never interrupted her, and the neighbors eventually went on with their day. But for a few moments we were given a show, and we enjoyed it. Later that night I asked her about the moment, I didn’t say anything about her audience, I just wanted to know what made her sing out like that on the deck. "I heard the song. I love the song. I sing the song." 

    I learned a few years later that the song was actually the catalyst behind one of her earliest moments of sexual awaking. She was around 14 years old, the song was playing on the radio. She was not unfamiliar with the song, However, this time she felt something.  As Dusty sang about sneaking around with the preacher’s son, stealing kisses when no one was looking, Katy suddenly felt flush. She thought about how exciting it might be to have a secret boyfriend. I had a similar reaction to Joan Jett's cover of Crimson and Clover. As I Listened to her story I thought about how lucky I was to have Experienced two moments of complete comfort and joy from my wife. 

    That is the sign of a good song. It will transport you a better time, or a cherished memory. That day it was a Privilege to see the power of music transport my wife to a place of joy. 

    Now, all I have is the music that filled my life with katy. 


    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
    Our Story: It all started with a CD
    
			
    Our Story: It all started with a CD
    
			
    

    




    The very first connection I had with Katy came when we discovered we were both Indigo Girls fans, and the song that inspired that revelation was The Power of 2. 

    Before we get too deep into my story, I wanted to share a little background info to set the scene. We had reached a point in the relationship where I didn’t really know what to do. Before Katy, most of the girls I had dated, not even dated honestly, they were more along the lines of a series of “hook-ups”. No connection. And then Katy came into the picture. Katy was different. And when I recognized this, to my surprise, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love. And that scared me, not because I didn’t think I could handle it. It was more because I did not want to fuck it up. I had to play this right way, not rush.

    So, I made her a Mix-CD.

    Music was the glue that held it all together for me in those days. I was wandering day by day in a fog. Drifting from one meaningless job to the next. When Katy and I met, I was working the night shift at the local ER. I would tell people I helped to verify insurance for admitted patients. In reality, I was a copy boy. Every night I spent 4 hours preparing medical files for copying and then I would spend 3 hours copying those files and putting them away. I still don’t know why I was doing it, but it was a job. I felt like I was one bad decision and away from living on the streets. But, through all this music kept me from doing something I would regret. I would like to say that it was one song that would inspire me to do great things. I kind of wish I had had some cathartic moment when the clouds opened wide and there was David Gilmour, surrounded by angels, singing “Learning to Fly”, and I was like “FUCK! I got it now. Thank you, David Gilmour,” but it was just music in general. No matter how shitty my day was, when it was over, my friends were waiting for me on stage to sing the fog away. And the genre didn’t matter. Once I hit 30, the line that separated genres disappeared. Good music is good music. 

    Therefore, the idea of a Mix-CD was perfect. It was the best way for me to express these new feelings fluttering inside me in ways that would allow me to get my message across to her. The Mix CD had done so for countless other’s right!? I mean, who didn’t have one of those CD carry cases with a collection of your personal mixes for every occasion? They all had titles like “GET PUMPED!” or “I’d Hit That!!” I always preferred more creative titles for my CDs. For example, “The music plays in R2D2’s head 24/7” which was a collection of my favorite Tangerine Dream tracks. So, now that I had decided on the CD, I began thinking about what songs I wanted on the CD. I had to be careful. I didn’t want to freak her out, so I stayed away from anything that could be interpreted as serial killer vibes. Every Breath You Take was off the list. I also wanted to avoid cliché songs. No Journey, (Look, I love Journey, but let’s be honest…) I also wanted to avoid sappy songs. You know, those songs that people dedicate to the person they saw standing at the other end of the subway car, “I hope you hear this, let’s connect!”. No Air Supply. Katy and I had discussed music. I knew she enjoyed Sarah McLaughlin and worshipped Dolly Parton and HATED cover songs. Except those sung by Phil Collins. That was the extent of my knowledge in this area. So, I spent the next 6 hours shifting through the catalogue of music in my brain for the perfect tracks. 

    I started out with The Violent Femmes cover of Epp App Ork Ah Ah. I added I Wanna be your Boyfriend by the Ramones, and Pride and Joy by Stevie Ray Vaughn. And then the Indigo Girls, Power of Two. I used a live version of the song from 1200 Curfews. This one was picked for a specific reason. I was falling in love with Katy. I accepted this about halfway through my makeshift recording session. As I listened to Amy and Emily sing, I heard the lyrics for the first time. Or maybe it was more like they were different to me now. They suddenly started to make sense to me. I understood what they were singing about. I felt what they were singing about. It was Katy. At that moment, I knew I was falling for her, hard. It was a whole new song to me, and it said everything I wanted to say. By the time I was finished, there were 11 songs on the CD. Each one meticulously curated from my own personal collection. I sat on my bed, my laptop still playing music, and I looked at the CD. This is it, Matt. You give her this CD and she is gonna know your fucking heart will be on display. This is either going to be the first step toward something great, or your first true heartbreak. 

    A few days later, I went to her place. We went out for dinner, but I had to head home that night due to an early morning the next day. I gave her the CD. “Here, I made this for you” we were standing on the steps leading to the front door of the townhouse she shared with her sister. She looked at me, a smile beginning to form, and she asked, “Did you make me a CD?”, My face suddenly felt puffy, and a sudden flush of embarrassment slammed into my cheeks and my stomach did a cartwheel. “I did. Is that okay?” She sprang towards me and I had to catch her. When she drooped to her feet she squealed, “No one has ever made me a CD!” and she kissed me deep and hugged me hard. She grabbed the CD and kissed me again. Then turned and skipped into her house.  

    About a week later, I was at her place again. We were discussing what we wanted to do for the evening. It was one of my overnight trips and we always tried to do something fun on those visits. I had not asked her about the CD yet. I didn’t want to come off as desperate. So, I kept my mouth shut. We finally landed on ordering Chinese and staying in. We got her sister’s order, and we sat down on the couch to watch something while we waited for our food. I decided this was a good time to ask her if she had listened to the CD. “Oh, right! I loved it!”. She was telling me about the songs she liked, but I didn’t hear any of it. All I could think about was that the fact that this woman that I was quickly falling in love with enjoyed the CD I made for her. 

    Nothing else mattered at that moment. 

    The next thing I realize, the food is there and all three of us are standing in the kitchen. She and her sister are talking about the CD. After Katy had listened to it, she had to have her sister hear it. She would admit to me later in our marriage that they had listened to the CD in her sister PT Cruiser. They would listen intently to each song and then discuss what it could’ve meant, what was he trying to say. Suddenly, Katy looked at me. “I want to listen to it again, but with you. I want you to tell me the story behind each song” This was new, “What do you mean, why I choose them?” She thought about that for a second. “If you are comfortable sharing that, yes. I want to know why you love these songs. I have a feeling that each of those songs was hand-picked, and I want to hear the story behind why you picked each one.” She looked with a stern pout, like she would throw a tantrum if she didn’t get her way.  So, we listened to the CD together.  

    We went to her room, which was in the basement, set up our dinner, put on the CD and settled in. As each song played, she would ask questions like “Where were you the first time you heard this?” or “What do the lyrics mean to you?” And with each song, I opened up a bit more.  

    I want to take a moment here to explain something. You are going to hear a lot through these stories. I believe that in every relationship there are little moments strewn throughout that will make up the fabric of that relationship. These moments weave together over time and create a blanket. And that blanket will warm you when you are cold. It will hide you when you are scared. And it will be a pillow when you’re too tired to hold your head up. This was a moment. In fact, this was one of the earliest moments between Katy and me; this is when we began to weave our blanket. 

    Okay, back to the story.

    The Power of Two started playing. Katy had stood up to stretch out and froze. She looked over at me, smiled and said, “I was surprised to hear this one on my CD.” She sat back down, but now she turned herself to face me. She suddenly had this serious look on her face. She was on to something. She leaned in close and said, “You don’t seem like an Indigo Girls kind of guy.” So, I told her about the time I was hanging out at a friend’s house and this friend was listening to the album Nomads, Indians and Saints. When I hear Chicken Man, I stopped what I was doing and listened. Amy Ray’s voice felt somehow off to me, like she shouldn’t be singing the song, but it still fit perfectly. And the harmonies were like nothing I had ever heard. I immediately asked to borrow the CD and listened to it 3 times that night. I was officially a fan. Katy listened to the entire story with interest and excitement. She giggled here and there. Would, as normal, ask me clarifying questions throughout? And then she told me about her love for the duo. Their music was a strong bond between her and her sister. They would sing the songs, harmonizing perfectly. They were both fantastic singers, and I was privileged to hear their rendition of a few songs. 

    We ended up talking about music until the wee hours of the night. After her CD was over, she put in Paul Simon, Graceland (more on this one later) and that led us to a discussion about our favorite 70s singer songwriters. And then I ran out to my truck and grabbed my CDs and we listened to Def Leppard, Pyromania. I explained to her how this was the last good Def Leppard album. All that over produced, MTV branded sugar on me bullshit was, well, shit. It was easy for me to nerd out when talking about music, and I was normally on guard against it. But with Katy, I wasn’t on guard anymore. The conversation flowed between us smoothly, intently listening to each other and learning how to navigate each other’s rhythms. It was really special. 
    The Power of Two would remain a part of our lives. It was our song. Our first dance. And music would continue to be our glue. It drew us closer to each other through the discovery of each artist. Every song she had never heard was another opportunity for me to settle her deeper into my world. And we would spend hours discussing the lyrics to various songs. Our favorite game was created that night. We called it The List. One of us would ask the other, “What are your top 5 Love songs?” or “Give me your top 10 songs used in car chase scenes” We would play that game until we couldn’t stay awake. 

    This is our story through music that connected us.  
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
    Our Story: What’s on TV?
    
			
    Our Story: What’s on TV?
    
			
    

    Every relationship has a period where the two participants are trying to figure each other out. It typically begins when the couple decides to cohabitate, a significant step often filled with anticipation and the subtle scent of new beginnings. This can be a pivotal moment in any relationship. Moving in together will tell the two humans whether they are compatible 25/7. Seeing this person on a date night or a weekend stay over is one thing, but when these two individuals live their lives in close proximity to each other, sometimes right on top of each other, things get real. 

    For Katy and me, there was a period of fine tuning. We each had annoying habits that we either had to destroy -mine was smoking-or little quirks that no one else had ever seen. For example, Katy had this thing about her drinks. She almost never finished one. She would grab a bottle of Dr. Pepper, her favorite soda, and sip on it as she watched Grey’s Anatomy, or worked a crossword. Let me be clear, she would sip it. I’m not sure I ever saw Katy “gulp” down a drink. She wasn’t proper about it, she wasn’t trying to be prim or polite, she just never “gulped”. She would eat the same why, tiny bites, nice and slow, “I want to enjoy the taste” she would say whenever I would joke about her bird like picking at her food. Because of this slow and steady approach to her beverages, it was not uncommon for her to have a half bottle of Dr. Pepper sitting there when she was ready for bed. So, one of two things would happen. If it was a Dr. Pepper or one of her Starbucks concoctions, it would end up in the freezer. Katy loved the texture of slushy drinks; she would enjoy those days post-surgery when all she could “eat” was ice chips. At any time, I could open our freezer and see four or five cups, can or travel mugs filled with some drink in various stages of the freezing process. The other options, and this was the one that I had to work with for 19 years, was when she would leave the half empty bottle, can, cup, whatever she was drinking it from, right where it was. 

    She never did it consciously. It is important to mention this. She wasn’t a slob; she just had the kind of brain that would allow putting off work until late, or next week.. If, in her mind, the task before her was too much for her or it did not fit with whatever activity she was ready for, she wouldn’t do it. She was very good at procrastinating. In here mind, (and it would take me a few years to understand this) as she stood to go to bed, she would remember the half-drunk beverage sitting there, then she would look in the kitchen’s direction and think about how far it was from the couch to the kitchen, then she would think about how much easier it would be to just pick the container up as she passed it in the morning when she walked from the bedroom to the kitchen to get her morning before coffee. There, the problem is solved. 
    Katy was not a morning person, she would end up walking past the container from the previous night, as if it became invisible overnight. This is where our little game would begin; this is a game that would continue right up to play out right up to the day she was constrained to the Hospice bed. I would leave the container right where it was, and would wait to see how long before she would take to the sink for washing. Sometimes the container would sit there for days growing a carpet of mold, at which point I would break down, dump whatever was left and wash the container until the next round. 

    I was never angry about this, at first it was more confusion than anger. I grew up with a Marine. You did not leave your dirty dishes lying around the house, much less waste what you poured. That was just wasteful. I couldn’t understand how her parents had never taught her this simple act that holds the superstructure of our society together. You remember the movie Signs, with the daughter that kept glasses half full of water all over her room and the house. Eventually (spoiler alert) we learn that is what is saving the family from complete annihilation. Well, as we would get deeper into our marriage, the half empty container became a sign of endearment for me. As long as she continued to leave her half-finished beverages around the house, things were normal. After she was gone, I would continue to find these containers around the house. There was a half-finished glass of water in our bedroom, on her side of the bed. It sat for 3 months before I was able to take care of it. 

    Anyway, those little things that come up in this early phase can either make or break the couple. However, as you continue to navigate these twists and turns, you will also find things that you have in common. My favorite part of those early days of Katy and me living together was when we discovered something new that we both enjoyed. For Katy and me, these were a few television shows. This was before streaming when TV was still a destination. We quickly sank into the mysteries of LOST. We fell in love with Sheldon and the gang on Big Bang. But the one show that grabbed us both right away was, and I hate to admit this, was American Idol. 
    It became a weekly viewing for us. Tuesday nights, 8pm. Katy and I would prepare for viewing with a snack. We would have our favorites each season. During the auditions, we would pick our favorites and decide who should win it all. We would laugh at the bad auditions, marvel and hiding talent, and admonish Cowell when he was too harsh’ we also praise him when he was right. Each season would pick our favorites. We both enjoyed Clay, we were shocked about Hudson, and we both thought Kelli was adorable. 

    But there was only one signer that made Katy actually vote, Chris Daughtry. He had that gravel to his voice that made Katy swoon. She loved the clean vocals of a good singer/songwriter, and a slight southern twang was preferred in her country. However, when it came to rock and roll, she wanted some gravel in the voice. Nothing unintelligible, mind you. She was a stickler for clear pronunciation. But if the singer has a touch of scratch to their vocals, she was all in. Katy was not gender specific either. Male or female, it was all about the gravelly voice to her. Kim Karnes, Joplin and Sting all got her toes tapping equally. 

    He was smart to open with “Wanted Dead or Alive”, hands down Katy’s favorite Bon Jovi song. I thought his performance of Cash’s “Walk the Line” sealed the deal for him. For Katy, it was his rendition of “What a Wonderful World” that was the song that was going to win him the whole kit and Kaboodle. He was voted off during the Top 4 week. Katy was devastated. She was livid. At first, she sat there in shock. I followed along as she went through each stage of fandom grief. First there was a shock. This is not happening. Something is wrong. Maybe we missed something. Anger replaced the shock. The sound was bad, he couldn’t hear himself, that is why his voice didn’t sound right. Maybe it was the mic. After that comes disappointment. This journey we had been on together was over. The best singer on the show just got voted off. America is stupid. These thoughts would be applied to the 2016 election in the same attempt to make sense of it all. Welcome to fandom, my love. 

    She would go through the same rollercoaster of emotion watching Orange is the New Black at least twice and almost weekly watching Grey’s Anatomy. 

    Over the next few seasons, we gradually stopped watching. The fun wasn’t there anymore. None of the new contestants were as exciting. Katy said the show suddenly felt disingenuous. It became something different to us at that point. It wasn’t taking the music seriously anymore. They were just looking for the next face they could plaster on marketing materials. Because of this, people that hated the show would pick a contestant that either had no talent or was just an annoying person. She was exceptionally upset when that one kid kept getting voted to the next round when he was obviously not as talented as the other singers. I guess it was a way to mock the show. We both understood why they were doing it, but we felt that it removed the legitimacy of the contest. What was the point? 

    Daughtry became one of our musical bonds. I continued to listen to his music, and I would always share his singles with her when they were released. We would often listen to his music when goofing off around the house or yard. Daughtry and Lizzy Hale released a cover of Separate Ways by Journey in April 2023. Katy really enjoyed it, which was a shock. I’ve mentioned it was one of the few non-Phil Collins covers she would allow. When Katy went into hospice, she created a playlist on Spotify. It was full of the songs she loved, and several of Chris Daughtry’s songs were on the list. 

    Daughtry’s music takes me back to those early days when Katy and I were still navigating this unfamiliar territory we were in. There was a lot of confusion, embarrassment and awkwardness to overcome in those days; but the music kept us moving in the right direction. 
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
			
    Till Death Do Us Part
    
			
    

    




    Till death do us part. 
    I initially was not fond of these words in our vows. 

    They were a heavy thing to say on the day we got married. A day of celebration. I found the term to be depressing. They even felt threatening, as if the something or someone did not want us to get too comfortable in our new life together. 

    Little did I know the truth behind them.

    When we first heard the words “it’s cancer” our vows came rushing back to me, “till death do us part” smacked me across the face and then landed in my lap like a cold, wet blanket. 

    The words were suddenly very real. They went from being just out of my sight, like a shadow observed from the corner of my eye, to standing right in front of me. Laughing and pointing at my naivete. 

    No one expects “till death do us part” to turn out to be true. You imagine you will at least get a good 50 years with your person. My parents did, their parents did. Why not us?

    She and I would imagine ourselves as the old couple that all the teenage girls would observe and say, “I hope I find that kind of love someday.”  

    She and I would joke about being the funniest, most chaotic couple in the retirement home. I would flirt with the nurses and she would assure them I was harmless. “He’s always been the horny one,” she would say to them. 

    Our life together was cut short. We were not allowed to grow old together. Fate denied us that. And I was thrust into a dark and confusing room without her to guide me. 

    “Till death do us part” has meaning to me now. Weight. It is tangible and I understand their purpose.

    They are there to make us recognize that we are not in control. Death is out there, and we are powerless to stop it. 

    Those words are meant to ensure we do not take the time we have with them for granted. They remind us to focus on every minute. To make an etching of every hour. To record every second of your time together. 
    Do not dwell on the words. Do not let them interfere. But do not forget them. 

    I did. I let them fade into the background because I was convinced nothing could happen to me and her. We would have plenty of time. We would experience all of life together.

    Till Death Do Us Part.