Denver || 9.5.25
I have tried. Not with great intention, but rather aimlessly. It might be enough for some of you to say Yes, there is such a thing. You are doing it. Look at you go.
It doesn't feel like it, really, when I think of him constantly. When I wake, when I see the prisms around the house, or spot the birds in flight moving together in sweeping shapes in the sky, when I hear a song that I swear is meant for me from him, feeling a lazy wind through the trees... I try to imagine what it would be like if he was there in these things and signaling mystically to me. I'm distracted by this all day long every day.
I bear this loss like I did the weight of his cancer. Only that burden came with relief (as devastating as it was at the same time--the pressure did release and then I was left with nothing). This weight of loss with his death just doesn't come with relief. It will never be complete. If "free" is a goal, I don't think I can expect a day in the future other than my own moment of leaving this world when I will feel free.
In the meantime, I keep showing up. I do the things. I try. If you want to call that moving on, I guess you can. For me it is pure fight vs. flight and survival of the fittest and sometimes my mind isn't the most strong, fast, or wise. Again, I don't know what I'm doing, so let us just say there is no such thing.
For my own sanity, though, let's talk about what I have done while drifting aimlessly. For my own memory and to leave to Raine. What all of this is like.
Last September, I traveled alone for the first time.
First I went to Denver. While Hattie was at work, I was alone in her apartment. The loneliness even in a different place made me cry. It almost hurt more than at home--which was already a messy composition of what felt like very raw pain and exasperation every night sitting on the couch and staring around the room, looking for Dan.
He would have loved that I ventured out on my own finally and wandered through a farmer's market. I felt keenly aware of my singleness as I watched pairs of people and families bustling through the park. I had coffee and a killer breakfast sandwich, ooohed and ahhhed at booths full of plants, vegetables, jams, spirits, and art. Then I sat for a long time watching everyone.
I visited my favorite bookstore, quietly approving books as I peered at stacks of them on display tables or those lined up on the shelves with paper notes of recommendations by staff. I intuited my selection and later documented them with joy. My travel tote was heavier than I wanted, but it felt good. Books console me with their possibility for what I can feel and learn.
And yet, Where was he for me to call and tell him about Andrea, and their books of poetry, and how they had passed, too, leaving their partner, but they left us all so many holy poems to just read and breathe in? And about the way I wrinkled my nose at the beautiful mushrooms or renewed my vow to take care of house plants, or.... or! The taste of the handmade mochi filled with black sesame cream, a layer of red velvet cake, and a dusting of black sesame powder? How adventurous was I?
I COULD IMAGINE HIM BEAMING.
Saturday night we went to Red Rocks. I got to see Brandi again, this time with Hattie. I would have tried to describe the moon to him. How my heart dropped to the bottom of my toes at her cover of Everybody Hurts. I would have told him about the new songs she did. Her new album was coming out soon and he would never hear it.. It was always disorienting when I would realize that---because Dan always had the newest music, in almost every genre, dialed up and playing on his earbuds every morning during his walks.
Did he see us pass the racoon eating popcorn as we left? Did he hear Hattie and I laugh the whole way back to Denver on the funny little school bus with our free beers and hearts so full of love and light?
Milwaukee || 9.27.25
Then, back in the Midwest, I took a road trip alone. To Milwaukee. To a wedding.
I stayed at a fancy hotel and I tried to look fancy. I hadn't paid much attention to myself in the last year... No need to have chin hairs plucked or hair color died, a small waist, or painted toe nails for doctor's offices and hospital hallways. I also didn't feel like Dan needed me to be anything other than what I was typically--which I considered somewhat attractive? But I felt overweight and always looked tired. I was sure I looked cute giggling at his dance moves, though. Now I had to look at myself straight on and do my best to feel confident without my biggest cheerleader there to kiss me.
To say I cried is an understatement. I cried silently for an entire Catholic wedding, in the beautiful Old Saint Mary Church, with beautiful Molly walking down the aisle to her beautiful groom Tom. I cried with the stand-ups and sit-downs, the thoughts for those who aren't with us, and the peace-be-with-you and also-with-you each person gave to the other, and all the elements that go with the whole sacramental liturgy. I just cried.
Memories of our wedding, of our first date which was at a wedding, of our second date which was at a wedding, well, yes, many wedding memories to make me cry. But also, just the absent seat next to me in the pew, and his missing hand for me to hold. It didn't take much.
At the reception, I gave it my all. I braved the dance floor with In Da Club and Pink Pony Club and other clubs...with strangers. I had a lovely meal in the dining hall with a family I didn't know. And the bar was fun, with good ol' Midwest drunken strangers, who I just couldn't even really muster up much conversation with. I didn't feel perky and interested in other people. I felt devestated to not have my tall, handsome husband with me, with his hand at my back, and his whispers in my ear.
I got very drunk. Not so drunk that I couldn't walk, but I know I had more than my fair share of the cute little drink appetizers--that waiter knew where to find me--a little 7 oz. bottle of Miller High Life with a deviled egg, ham, cheese, and pickle skewer. A few Miller Lites to follow...I just sat silently at one point. I rode in another bus back to the hotel, this time without Hattie and her laughter and a heart so full. I arrived at the hotel with the same thing I left it with--my singlehood. My widowness. My awkward existence.
My saving grace, I feel like, was that Molly had my presence, my support, and my deepest love for her and her future with Tom. It was my gift to her to be there! And I also took great effort to give them a thoughtful gift that would have been picked out by Dan and me; vinyl. Some of our beloved records. Mine, Over the Rhine Drunkard's Prayer, and his, the sea and cake the fawn. I wrapped them carefully because of my tears.
I like to think of Dan watching Molly and Tom as they open the present, and listen to the records. That's how he lives on, right? So I guess if I keep going, it is him living on also.
I can do that. Look at me go.
