Thoughts on.....Me, Pt.1

Thoughts on.....You? That is rather a conceit, wouldn't you say? Yeah, Me. And why not? Sooner or later it had to be about.....me. My whole life revolves around .....me. And that is not a conceit. I learned many years ago I couldn't divorce myself from.....me. Everything that has ever happened in my life, has happened to.....me. The people I've met, the places I've been, the things I've done, the women I've loved- all of those things happened to.....me. And there were also those times that others didn't care for, didn't pay attention to, weren't interested in, couldn't find the time for.....me. Who I am-  is all about.....me. So yeah.....Me.

I imagine most of you reading this, have come here through Facebook, and so will already know a little bit about me. Some of you have known me for many years, and know a greater bit about me. But to whatever degree you do know me, I believe you have detected a recent change in me. I think to some, it is a startling change, to others a profound change, and to me it is both of those. However, I am writing this now, to let everyone know, it is a positive change. And to take this opportunity to thank those who were instrumental in that change.

So really, these are thoughts on.....changes. I debated between that title, and the one I eventually chose, for more than a moment. The main theme of this article is about change, but since all the changes have happened to me, I think I will stay with.....Me.

If I were to pick a word that described the pervasive emotion I've felt throughout my life, I would have to pick- melancholy. Even when I was a child receiving a gift, doing well in high school, meeting and falling in love with my first wife, I always felt an incompleteness. I felt that something wasn't right, there was more I couldn't find, that something important was just beyond my grasp. Even during those times  my life seemed to be going great, I could never shake those little doubts, the loneliness, the sadness, that weighed upon my heart. And that is how I felt through the good times. My life has hardly been a collection of good times. Mostly, I remember the bad times, the lonely times, the sad times. That was the template of life I had forced myself to fit.

As I sit here, right now, and look at how my life has brought to this moment, I can scarcely believe it. I can't say for sure where that young man, walking off the graduation field so long ago, thought life would lead him. I can say for sure, it wasn't the hell here. Don't get me entirely wrong, I met some special people, did some interesting things, became a father to a wonderful son. And I wouldn't trade the 18 years I spent with Eve for anything in the world. But through it all, there was always that feeling I wasn't whole.

During those good times, it would have been hard for most to recognize that melancholy, but during the sad times, even a blind man could not fail to see. It would manifest itself in self-destructive behavior, anger, even rage, and bitter depression. There was a period when I would regularly punch the towel dispenser, in the men's room, at Ruby Tuesday's. There was one night I went in- one punch-BOOM- clean of the wall. I went back to the bar, hand bloody, sat down, ordered another drink, and my friend, Pat, refused to serve me. Get out, he told me, I'm not ever serving you again. And that was the second time in a year he had done that. I would also pummel the side panels of my pickup truck, to where people thought I had been in an accident. Yeah, it had been in an accident.....me.

Once I met Eve a few years later, the physical nature of my self-destruction pretty much went away. I replaced it by letting myself go, not taking care of my health. To the point of, one day finding myself lying on an operating table, a surgeon performing a triple-bypass on my heart. For a while I felt I had been given a second chance, and lost weight, became stronger, felt better than I had in many years. But soon, my schedule, the pressures of work, not eating right, and financial troubles, caused me to fall back in my old ways. By this time, however, I became inured to the sadness permeating my heart, it being an unseen, yet always felt backdrop to my life.

So this was how I was, when I found myself sitting in a room, a terrible room, holding Eve's hand as we learned the truth, the terrible truth...........that she was going to die. And she did. In ten, short, terrible days, she was gone. And I say 'terrible' because I watched the woman I so loved, slip farther and farther away from me every day, a little more of her gone each day. And yet, I have to also say 'joyous,' as they were ten of the most tender, loving, magical days, and we shared intimacies so profound, they transcended any act of physical love we had ever made.

But, as I said, she died. And though I had those ten days to prepare, one can never really prepare, and her loss hit me very hard. There were a whole range of emotions, sadness of course, but also despair, and guilt. Sadness, when I realized I was never going to hear that laugh again, my heart will not thrill to see her over a crowded floor at Home Depot, I will never again feel that little shudder, as she touches the back of my neck unexpectedly. There was the despair, knowing I had to face the future alone, with no help, no guidance, no encouragement. And the guilt, that may have been the worst of all. To know she had died, but I was supposed to be the one to die. I was supposed to die, so she would get the insurance, so she could continue to stay in the house we built, the house we loved, the house we were going to spend the rest of our lives in. She was supposed to have that, the extra years in the house, and how could I ever spend another happy day in this house feeling I had failed her. I guess you could say we did spend the rest of our lives here, at least she did, but that was no comfort.

But, life goes on, that's what the trite saying tells us, and it does. On a couple of forums I belonged to, I told fellow members I wanted to live a life twice as full, to honor Eve. I put on a brave face, made an effort to smile. I tried to remain optimistic, but then there are the days that punch you in the gut. The day the man from the Funeral Parlor handed me the small cardboard box, the box with the plastic bag, the bag with the twist tie at the top, the bag full of dull gray powder, that I could not distinguish from cement. The first Valentine's Day, only 14 days after her death, the first Valentine's Day we spent apart in 18 years. The day I gathered up her clothes, the clothes to give to charity, and there were her negligees, and her bras, and her special panties, the special panties that were only meant for me. I couldn't give them away, not those things that were so especially Eve. But what then could I do? I couldn't keep them, and I couldn't give them away. I cried, cried tears of betrayal, as I placed these precious articles in the trash, betrayal that I might be discarding her memory like it was trash, betrayal that I might be denying the life we had spent together. That may have been the worst day.

As winter passed into spring, I tried to adopt a normal routine, and for a while I did. I would go shopping, or to the library, or anywhere to get me out of the house, and not so much because I wanted to be out of the house, but because I felt I should be out of the house. But as summer moved into autumn, I began to fall back in my old ways, the constant sadness and foreboding, heavy on my heart. I was sleeping only a few hours a night, and the sleep I did get did nothing to renew, to refresh me. I started to ask myself if I could go on, or if I even wanted to go on. Those are thoughts I didn't want to entertain, because if you turn to take that path, no good can come from it.

I hope you will continue to Part Two.   Don