Today for example is our wedding anniversary. With Cheryl not here, it just another day.
I got a card from a friend.
My date dyslexia kicked in a couple weeks ago when I made an appointment with my attorney today. I had forgotten the significance of today when I said okay to her assistant,
It seems very strange to me somehow. The house is quieter.
I will reflect on that silence.
Carpe Diem.
This year marks seventy-five trips around our star for me. That single fact is, to me, remarkable. I want to say that I had not thought about my birthday and the number of years but that is not true.
The first birthday I truly cared about was my fiftieth. Several important things happened that year to remind me that all is not permanent. Cheryl was almost taken from me that year. She was in a serious car accident that year. When I first saw her car afterward I was very surprised and elated to see her alive siting on the curb at the side of the road. Her injuries were such that she felt the need to find some none impactful aerobic exercise to recover. She settled on deep water aerobics and during the fall and winter became an avid fan. The accident had occurred in the spring and as she built herself back up in the summer I found myself accompanying her to the local YMCA where I found a trainer (a kid really) to help me discover a program that was more manly than deep water aerobics for me. I had become fat and slovenly in my forty-ninth year. It was time for a change.
Cheryl on the other hand dearly loved birthdays and celebrated everyone’s birthday with a vengeance. I think her mother gave her that feeling or thought about the importance of birthdays. It was not only birthdays, any family anniversary or event was very important to Cheryl. When her family stood around and sang happy birthday to anyone the song was ended with, “… and many more!”
Cheryl bought me a card some time ago which I found some few weeks before she died. On the front: “Thank you for finding me, charming me, and loving me. Thank you for making me laugh, for being there for me in so many ways, and for always being the best friend I need.” Inside: Dear Paul, (in her hand) “Thank you for making me feel like the luckiest person alive.” Love, Cheryl (in her hand). I keep this card on my bulletin board.
I do not remember nor do I think it is a birthday card but the sentiment goes with many occasions. It merely says “Thanks”. When I found this card a few months ago, I cried a little. This card was from her favorite Dollar store and even though it was an inexpensive one, she had managed to find one with, to me, a very moving message.
So with that same sentiment, Cheryl, I am sorry in many ways that you are not here with us still to celebrate my birthday with me. I am saddened that you were not here to celebrate your birthday in May. Nevertheless I am glad to have known you in this life and I look forward to reuniting with you in the next one. I love you and I keep your heart in my heart. One day our hearts will be together again.
Happy Birthday to me! … and many more.
Carpe Diem.
Yesterday we tripped to a couple wineries to enjoy a bottle and some snacks. Today we saw waterfalls.
Don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you are used to. I know that you want to have it your way or nothing at all but you are moving too fast. – TLC
This song often pops up in my head. It has a good cadence for bike riding and as a result it is on my playlist from Spotify. It has a metaphorical meaning that I interpret as look around and understand where you are before you dash off looking for something better. Another phrase is – the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe it is maybe it is not. I suppose that we always want the thing that we do not have. We want what the other guy has rather than merely celebrating with him that he has it and enjoying what we have.
When I would take mom to dinner at a restaurant which has not happened for some time, she would ask me what I was having. This a different form of the same thing. Why would Mom want to be interested in what I was about to order from the menu if she did not believe in some way that it was going to be better than what she was intending to select for herself? Is there something I am missing here? Once I protested telling her what I was thinking about having and made that argument to her. She responded with – I might want to change and get what you are getting. That is a reasonable response.(After we ordered and the food came, often she would take her fork and get a bite of my whatever it was. I loved Mom but that always annoyed me.)
We all have had experiences like this. We all have a fear of missing out (FOMO). We are not missing out on anything. We may be unsure of our decision but that specificity does not imply that the particular decision that we have made for ourselves is the wrong one. That cannot be known or understood until it has been executed. The decision may morph into a learning experience. That is a good thing.
These days as I wonder what purpose this portion of my life is for, thinking about and pondering big changes to my life, I look for the waterfalls.
In the background while I am doing the day-to-day activities of life, various chores, duties near to and necessary for the little part time job I have with a local community college, I think about making larger changes in my situation. Cheryl was all of my day before she moved to memory care. She was a huge part of my day when she moved and had full time care not from me. Now that she is gone there is a vast empty time.
I have thought about continuing with volunteer work or activities of some sort at the memory care facility where she had been. I just do not think I can do that. The memories are too raw. My heart sinks when I think about it. I feel that I am letting them (the patients there) down. I do not know where that feeling comes from within me.
For now, I have filled it partially with bike trips. These trips of 12 or 15 miles at a stretch let me get much needed exercise. They provide solace and distraction. It is easier to imagine the times when she was not sick.
This week I am filling my time with visiting with my sister. We have a commonality in that she became a widow a few months before I became a widower. We support each other in that respect. She was not expecting to lose her husband and I was not expecting to lose Cheryl. Even though it was right in front of me I refused to believe Cheryl would be gone. I have come to grips with that now. (I still do not like it but there it is.) I notice myself talking about Cheryl and trips we made. It is easier as time continues.
Where do I go from here? Should I look for a new waterfall? The pool below the fall is close to the ground but still agitated. Often the stream below is swift moving. When the water joins the river it is moving slower and calmer.
Carpe Diem.
These thoughts keep coming to me when I ride along the Little Miami Trail. Often I think of Cheryl and our life together. The end of it was less pleasant but I am glad for the grace that she taught me. I am glad to the life skills she taught me. I am glad for the short time that I had her in my life.
I am often impatient with myself. I suppose that is a common trait for a man. But when I put my mind in “bicycle” mode I have a calmness that enters my thoughts. It seems to appear as I load my bike onto the rack behind my car and as I attach and tighten all the carrier straps. It is funny in a way. It is like putting a small child into the car seat and checking to be sure all is secure. I squeeze its tires to see if more pressure is required. regardless of the squeeze test I attach my little battery powered air pump. Three different bikes need three different pressures. Each has different tires. Regardless of my thumb test, the gauge tells the tale, the air pump awakens and runs for a little bit every time.
On my way to the trailhead that I have picked for that day, I am okay with the anxious drivers wanting to get to their destination 30 seconds quicker. Their life may depend on it. I do not know nor am I concerned about their urgency. I find the parking lot and it is blissfully unattended. I assemble my kit to myself and remove my bike from the rack and ride off. A deep calm descends as I settle into the rhythm of the music I selected.
Persistence is keeping the drum beat going until the end. I listen to jazz these days. some old some new some new age. I like it all. It is not the music of my youth. It takes me away from the nostalgic sadness that dwells in my heart for Cheryl. It helps me to enjoy the surrounding nature. If I want to go fast there is a steady rhythm to help pedal along. Music helps the zen.
The zen feeling of lost in my own thoughts sends my mind elsewhere. Walking in someone else’s shoes for awhile and understanding their needs or trying to understand those needs is empathy. As I ride along I think more about Cheryl. I think of how much she would have enjoyed walking on this shady tree lined trail or the view of the river where I stop to look myself. I am riding a bike now but with her I would have been walking. I cover more ground on a bike by myself but we used to cover a lot of ground on foot.
Excitement about what your are going to do or what you are doing is enthusiasm. These days, without her, I am enthusiastic about bike riding. There is a peacefulness.
Apologies to you fast riders keeping your pace as I am lost in my thoughts.
Carpe Diem.
Cheryl was not a big spender. If anything she was a frugal spender and a diligent saver. When I was looking into financing a stay in some facility that could take care of her needs better than I thought I could, the price tag always took my breath away. I learned this from her but I had always felt that we had saved all our life for this very reason. Ultimately with help from my sister it worked out.
But when she did decide to spend, stand back! She had very strong opinions about what, where and how much. On shirts in the spring and summer seasons she was fond of flowers and patterns both had to be light and bright. In the fall and winter season her taste was stripes and solids. Both of those had to be darker and more subdued. I am taking all of this into account as I put together a memory quilt of her shirts with my daughter’s help.
Cheryl had two favorite stores; Kohl’s and J. C. Penney. Of the two she liked Penney’s the best. When J. C. Penney closed their mall stores in favor of stand alone buildings or mostly separate buildings this merely made it easier in her mind. And when she quit driving and I became the pilot these occasional trips became excursions. The particular location that we traveled to several times a year eventually did not keep up with profit margin expectations of the corporate office and it was closed.
The next closest Penney’s store was twice as far away driving time. Earlier I used the term excursion, so, this fact was okay, maybe more so. Kohl’s could never become an excursion because four minutes driving time on surface streets can never qualify as an excursion. In addition the type of shirts she might be inclined to buy were located barely into the four-minute-drive store, so, a Kohl’s visit was a pop-in visit. As if parkies can pop in anywhere.
On a cool day in late fall almost two years ago now, she announced one morning, “we need some new towels!” I responded with sure, do you want to go now? Today? She said no but soon. Soon became that afternoon and we went to Penney’s for towels and afterwards somewhere for dinner. An excursion was afoot.
This morning with her no longer here I was using these towels and wash cloths and thinking about that excursion and other excursions. Bath towels came from a department store like Penney’s. Kitchen towels (rags) came from Target, K-Mart, Kohl’s or the like. Pop-in stores. I was thinking about the source of things later as I was putting away the towels and disposing of other items that I had laundered the previous evening.
When we went to Penney that day looking for towels we stopped to look at earrings. None where to her liking so we moved off into the back where bath and bedding items are located but additionally there is a restroom. After the earrings she needed that facility and we were still in the stage of care where I did not need to go with her to help. Afterwards, it was on to the bath towels finally. I was the excursion driver but I was still working on patience. Often looking back on our life with Parkinson I notice how I readily agreed to some outing to somewhere but often when I got to the end point I became impatient to get the program over with.
There are many different aspects to shopping in a store for something specific. There is a wide selection of manufacturers, qualities, colors of bath towels. Cheryl would get stuck trying to decide. This was her term for it. Trying-to-decide, I think her brain got stuck on too many selections and internally she was thinking, what about this color?, this feels nice, is this a good brand? I could find my patience back when I detected this coming on her. I could not always see this happening. She was closer to death before I came to understand that I should make suggestions and help steer her thinking a little. A menu in a restaurant, a recipe, directions in a sewing pattern, a smart phone, a dumb phone, TV remote control, a fork, all of these over time became very hard if not impossible for her to understand and operate. This woman used to write software, analyze business data, taught in grade school, balanced the checking account without a calculator.
I suggested that since our overall theme of our condo was a light true green, that perhaps, we should look for towels that can go with that color. Perhaps mustard yellow was out and maybe also pumpkin orange, although browns and deep reds, fall colors would work. “This is a nice deep green…” And this cream color would provide a nice contrast. I like this deep red. We could put it out at Christmas. On the conversation went but she was no longer stuck.
We bought two of each color selected. We bought matching hand towels and wash cloths. I was particularly proud of the fact that even though two of each item was not available in the store, I was able to fill out the pairs buying them online. When UPS brought them a few days later she said, good I thought we had left them at the store. We should wash them first before using them. Sure I said as I carried them to the washer and assembled a bulky items load in it.
I wash a lot of items together and call it a mixed load.
Using the towels always reminds me of Cheryl. The towels I use most often for myself were actually purchased at Macy’s after we shop lifted them on the way to Dillard’s a few years previous. It is a similar story except that she wanted to go to the mall to look for towels – I think it was for towels. I may have just talked her into going to this particular mall because it was inside and had easy access elevators to get to each level. Nevertheless we found a couple towels and I put them onto her walker and she wanted to keep shopping so we walked right out of Macy’s to Dillard’s. It was not until she could not find what she wanted at Dillard’s that I realized we had shoplifted the towels from Macy’s.
We paid for them on the way back through Macy’s to our car.
Whenever we went to Target for anything she would announce that we needed some new wash cloths. We bought several times the inexpensive ten-for-a-dollar packs of wash cloths. These would fray easily in the washing machine. Cheryl would sit in the evening and trim off the edges so they could fray faster.
I have lots of memories from these towels and wash cloths. The cheap ones I pitched out. They were clogging the lint trap in the washer and the screen in the dryer.
Carpe Diem.
It is a strange new experience for me this new existence without Cheryl. In order to fill a large part of the time void I have been riding my new bike around for exercise, but mostly, I am exploring bike paths that I have not ridden on before. Occasionally I ride on streets nearby but car drivers generally scare me. I am an old man and I have first hand experience with falling down. I imagine being knocked down by a car would be significantly worse.
I am sitting here in my living area next to Cheryl’s empty chair. between that chair and mine is an end table. It is one of a pair I built many years ago as an off the wall furniture building project I created for myself. There is no special significance to any of that except that one evening last summer Cheryl began to scratch off the coating of varnish that I had finished them with. Over a period of several days she picked at a nick on the edge of the table until she had exposed a flaw in the finish. She worked on that flaw until she had scratched an oval area about the size of a soup spoon. I may have been upset at the time but I distinctly remember thinking to myself, I can refinish the table later sometime.
I think I shall never do any refinishing on the table. It is such a strong image that I get when I look at this little marred spot. She was so very determined. Her only tool was her thumbnail.
As I ride my bike around I think of things like this. How memories can be remembered by an insignificant prompt like a scratch on a piece of furniture. Scratches give furniture life.
Yesterday I teased my neighbor to ride with me. He had expressed an interest before. Occasionally he tells me about seeing a used bike for sale somewhere. I bought a new bicycle and as a result have a spare. He told me he has not ridden a bike since grad school.
It was a good day to ride. It was relatively cool. It was mostly overcast. He could not find his helmet in the garage clutter. I told him we were going to a park and it was mostly flat. As long as he did not fall off, he would not need a helmet. It was my own little joke. Besides I continued, aim for the weeds if you are going to fall over.
We started by riding around the park loop which is a bit shy of two miles. I took him over to a connector that joined this loop to the nearby airport loop. I stopped at the bottom of a long gentle grade and asked if he wanted to continue. He said yes and off I went. At the top of the grade I stopped near a bench to drink some water and watch the airplanes for a bit. A little out of breath, he remarked that the grade was longer than he expected. I laughed and told him the reward for going up was coming back down. We continued on for a couple more miles of flatness and at another bench stopped and watched the planes some more.
We turned around and headed back to the car. When we got there he remarked that he had forgotten that he had hand brakes. His old bike had a coaster brake. It reminded me of another story.
Many years ago Cheryl and took a Road Scholar tour to Mackinac Island in northern Michigan. One afternoon that we had to ourselves we rented bicycles to ride around the island. I tried to get her on a tandem bike with me but she was not having it. We rented a couple of bikes that looked like old Schwinn bikes. Both had coaster brakes. I had not ridden a coaster brake bike since I was about ten years old. I was fine until we stopped at an ice cream place on the island to get a snack. I had a mild panic stop by dragging my feet. Cheryl however made a smooth controlled stop because the only kind of bike she had was one with a coaster brake.
Old furniture and conversation and bike riding remind me of life stories with Cheryl. I hope that it will always be that way.
It was a good day. We only rode for eight miles which is coincidentally the approximate distance around Mackinac Island. When I asked him today how his legs felt he replied fine, but I can still feel the bicycle seat. He used to come with Cheryl and me to pizza Tuesday. He is a good friend.
Yesterday, I left him hunting for his helmet in the organized clutter of his garage as I left to visit with my son. Perhaps when the bicycle seat impression fluffs back out and if he finds his helmet he will come again.
Carpe Diem.
Last night I had an odd dreaming experience. Odd because the story line was strange and very real. Odd because it is staying with me as a memory. Odd because the visual is a strange combination of objects.
I wonder where dreams come from in my brain.
A couple weeks ago I dreamt about Cheryl. That does not seem weird to me based on the fact that she recently passed away and left me on my own in the world. I thank her every day for giving me the opportunity to complete my training.
Last night’s dream was an odd theme. I had become a rookie police officer. (What?) In this dream story I did not feel out of place until my training officer left me standing by the road without any way to communicate except a small hand held radio with an almost expired battery. As I moved away from the radio car, the view changed to a factory office setting with old metal office chairs and a metal desk. There were few pens to write with although I was supposed to write something down.
The only object to write on is the back of what looks like a tablet or video screen. It is a molded plastic surface.
I became bored with the assignment and began to wonder if this was some sort of hazing experience. Was my training officer coming back? I woke up to go to the toilet and while I was doing that I wondered what kind of dream was that? Where did that come from? Returning to bed I took up the story some more to see how it would turn out. It was like a streaming video series. It did not turn into anything.
My training officer returned to give me another pen and another strange object to write on and left again. I began to worry that I might not get home.
I woke up again thankful I was in my bedroom.
Just weird. And vivid as I write this I can see it in my memory as a visual. Much the same as I can recall the view from the overlook in the Grand Canyon National Park. Grand Canyon is a decades old memory.
It is a good memory though. I took this picture of Cheryl there. It is my favorite image of her. When I wake up my tablet to do the puzzles in the morning this image of her greets me. I miss her but I have no inclination to become a police officer.
Just weird. Where do dreams come from? What could this one possibly mean? If it means anything at all.
Carpe Diem.
Cheryl taught me that you do not have to accept the way things are if you think that the current situation is not acceptable or not perfect for your needs. Acceptance of imperfection was against her nature. It sounds odd even to my ear but I thought about this as I was retrieving the kitchen tablecloth from the dryer to fold it. A few years ago we were shopping for a round tablecloth in Walmart one evening. She found one that she liked but it was considerably larger than necessary to cover the table. I pointed that out to her but she liked the pattern, so, we purchased it. Her solution was to trim it and hem the new edge. She did this to two tablecloths. One to put on the table while the other was being laundered.
This tablecloth story is just one really small example. The tablecloths were not so large that they were unusable as is but it was a point in our life when we were very conscious of trip hazards and grab bars. Extra draping material from the tablecloth seemed to be a thing to avoid if possible.
Support group – her diagnosis of Parkinson and later discovery of others within our parish community were faced with the same malady inspired her to start up a support group within the parish. I wrote the following paragraphs as a part of thank you notes to many people who memorialized her by sending money to the U.C. Foundation.
She set out early on to help others cope and live their fullest life with Parkinson disease. She started a support group at Nativity Church, our parish community, and when COVID came along and stopped everything she moved it to Parkinson Community Fitness in Blue Ash were it grew to include many others who were not Nativity parishioners. Her goal was to disseminate information, provide social interaction and to help with the day to day activities of life with Parkinson. She wanted this to help both the person with Parkinson (PWP) and the care partners.
Her support group which I and a couple other helpers continue, is somewhat unique in this respect. Often support groups are for one or the other but by encouraging both to come she encouraged up front discussion about what both the care partner and the PWP were anxious and concerned about. Those concerns are often very different. Her group provided a safe place for us to talk over those issues.
Exercise – In her own body she did not accept the progression of the disease as a forgone conclusion. She knew that exercise was helpful and important for her to stave off the effects of the disease. Cheryl was not athletic at all during her life time. She played no sports. What she did enjoy is walking and hiking but she accepted the fact that she needed to exercise consistently. We had belonged to the YMCA and the JCC for a long time before her symptoms appeared. In her deep water aerobics classes at the JCC she struggled with moving down the pool as her left side motion and control manifested the influence of early symptoms of her Parkinson.
She did not give in to the onslaught of her disease. We walked more and she worked with a trainer at the YMCA who admitted that she was unfamiliar with PD but she was willing to learn and work with Cheryl. Cheryl for her part had a group of exercises provided by a physical therapist and between the two of them they developed a series of routines that Cheryl would do every time we came to the Y. I just peddled a stationary bike elsewhere in the gym and observed.
She was a consistent exerciser until the last year of her life when the disease took over her cognition and memory. I fought that by getting the doctor to recommend physical therapy. She was unable to keep up with the exercise regimen without some close in support.
Research – she participated in a research study that tracked the progression of the disease and because she told me she wanted to do it, when she neared the end of her physical life, I signed the paperwork for her to donate her brain to the scientists at U. C. studying the causes and searching for a cure for Parkinson. Cheryl’s dementia had completely taken over her brain a few weeks before death. She asserted her will until the end but eventually succumbed.
I was reminded of all of this this morning while folding that tablecloth. It is amazing, her mom’s word, where my thoughts go while doing everyday activities such as laundry.
Never settle for almost the right solution.
Carpe Diem.
Wednesday as I rode my bike around my favorite path, the Lunken Airport loop, I noticed, was amazed and elated that the bench is back. This bench sits at the top of a paved path to a lot where many folks park their cars to walk or ride the loop around Lunken. The view is of the tarmac behind the old terminal that has been neglected by the city fathers and mothers on the council.
The bench disappeared for a while. I assumed falsely to be repaired. It looks no different. Perhaps someone stole this valuable piece of art and the parks department replaced it with another. (He thought, tongue in cheek.)
Cheryl and I often came here to eat at the Sky Galley restaurant in the terminal. It was a favorite of her mother when Elaine was alive. The bar was always full and the atmosphere was friendly. Private aircraft landed and the pilots and passengers stopped in to eat. The national guard guys would fly their helicopter over to train and get a bite to eat.
The Sky Galley is closed. The restroom facilities are part of the terminal building and not up to city code. Maybe there is another problem with a building – an art decco gem actually – that the city owns.
Riding around the loop I think of these things. Memories of bringing Cheryl and her mom here to eat. A couple times we met Elaine and Bob her for dinner when they were both alive. That was many years ago now. Those are all good memories.
It is sad that the city does not maintain gems such as this. Tempus fugit.
Carpe Diem.
I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about death lately. I imagine that that is not unusual given the fact that the love of my life and my closest friend died just a few weeks ago.
I just finished a memoir by Sloane Crosley entitled “Grief is for People”. In it she discusses her relationship with a good friend, mentor and boss. She delves into her own feelings of grief and emotion after his death. He commits a suicide one day that no one including his partner had any hint was in the offing. She is angry and sad and writes about her life experiences with him. Her candor and vivid description of social life and office life is compelling. She had left the publisher to follow other interests and others said to her but he was just your ex-boss, why are you so upset? She examines that question from all sides. Regardless of the manner of death it is a well written discussion of emotion and friendship and loss.
I think I fell into reading it to examine my own grief for the loss of Cheryl. This is one of the few times that I have selected a book entirely based on the title and read it through. It was not what I was expecting it to be. I am always hunting for the manual that goes with certain places, stages, phases of life. I have found none, so, one might think I would quit looking for the repair manual that goes with this or that stage, phase or place in life but hope springs eternal in my mind. I will continue to search for meaningful words from someone who went down the road before me.
This book did cause me to think about Cheryl and analyze my feelings and my grief for her death. I have come to believe it is impossible to fathom death as a concept. I am not anxious for mine. Cheryl’s dementia was such that she seemed unaware of hers.
In a Louise Penny novel somewhere is the line, “Grief is love with no place to go.” This comment probably from Gamache, her main character, is succinct and directly to the point. I wrote that down in my journal a few years ago. It seems to me that I have no place to send my love for her and that is what makes it so difficult to accept.
Death is a normal and natural event. It can also be an abnormal and unnatural event. In either case it is death. Those of us left behind must find a new place for our love.
Carpe Diem.
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY: The ability of so many people to live comfortably with the idea of capital punishment is perhaps a clue to how so many Europeans were able to live with the idea of the Holocaust: Once you accept the notion that the state has the right to kill someone and the right to define what is a capital crime, aren’t you halfway there? -Roger Ebert, film critic (18 Jun 1942-2013)
Adjunct_Wizard 