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January 10, 2011
True Stories: After the Fire
The first fifteen months after the death of my boyfriend.
By Litsa Dremousis
He got up to use the bathroom and his sandy blonde hair, mussed and post-coital, sloped down his nude back. I popped out of bed, quickly opened my dresser drawer, and pulled on my new T-shirt, covering the double-D breasts he was so fond of. My dark wiry mess of hair looked even more kudzu than usual.
I bounced back under the covers just before he returned and slid in next to me. He playfully stroked my thigh over the blankets and asked what kind of ice cream he should get from my kitchen freezer.
“Oh, come on. Aren’t you going to mention the shirt?”
“I see it. But I’m pretending I didn’t,” he volleyed. “I’ll just bring back all the flavors.” And he did, along with two big spoons and cloth napkins, and we had an ice-cream buffet in bed with the words, “NOBODY KNOWS I’M A DRAG QUEEN” emblazoned across my chest.
I thought of him this morning when I dusted, knowing I was losing another corporeal part of him, however microscopic.
We were twenty-five in 1992, the year of drag-joke T-shirts and ice-cream feasts and persistent nakedness, living nearby each other in Seattle. When I see photos of that time, it’s impossible not to be amused by our multiple piercings (silver Thai hoop earrings in gradated sizes), Doc Martens, and all manner of torn and paint-splattered Levi’s. He had asked me out four years prior in a University of Washington creative-writing class, but I had a boyfriend at the time. We wandered in and out of each other’s lives in the intervening years, reconnecting when we bumped into each other in a bar while on dates with others — whom we usually proceeded to ignore. He knew I was a feminist and asked, “If I give you my phone number, will you call me?” — and then later admitted he was sure I’d take the “enlightened man” bait. Voracious readers with a deep love of film, we saw the documentary, Heart of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse on our first date. When we slept together on our second, his mouth fit mine perfectly and we laughed as we slid my black turtleneck over my head and he unsnapped my bra with the gliding precision of an astronaut.
I thought of him this morning when I dusted, knowing I was losing another corporeal part of him, however microscopic. Or rather, I should say, I thought of him more pointedly this morning, because since he died fifteen months ago — with his food in my refrigerator and his things scattered throughout my home — his image and voice have fluttered from my mind in no more than a few scattered instances. And in the early months, when the shock enveloped me like radon, we were as intertwined as ever because I was certain, sometimes literally, that I was dead, too.
We didn’t romanticize our relationship when he was alive and in keeping with who we were, I won’t sand away the rough edges now. Instead, I’ll use an illustration he would appreciate: try counting the marshmallows in a dish of rocky road ice cream. That’s roughly the number of times he and I went out, broke up, and got back together again over the course of two decades. We loved each other deeply, trusted one another implicitly, and to paraphrase Woody Allen’s line about orgasms, even our worst sex was right on the money.
Three weeks before he died, we were drinking iced mochas on a park bench and he told me he loved that we never ran out of things to talk about — and that each time he saw me, he wanted to have sex with me. He had relayed these sentiments a number of times throughout the years and I always responded in kind because there was never an instance it wasn’t true. Still, I’m glad we got it in once more under the wire.
Three weeks before he died he told me that each time he saw me, he wanted to have sex with me.
And so, it feels incomprehensible that if I’m to enjoy my life — as I want to and as he’d want for me — I have to meet someone new. And to do so, I have to start dating again, preferably before each potential suitor requires a handful of Cialis. Right now, I find this as appetizing as a bowl of gravel.
I have CFIDS, a condition akin to M.S., and he used to say he was Eleanor Roosevelt to my Franklin, that he would be my legs. He’d always been an inveterate traveler, but in 1999, he was mauled by a Yellowstone Grizzly. Surviving — and the desire not to live in fear — intensified his peripateticism and he climbed all over the world. I have piles of letters and photos from Mt. Kilimanjaro, China’s Kingata Shan, the Italian Alps, Ecuador, Mexico and dozens of other outposts. He’d return with fascinating and funny tales of drunken Russian guides and scurrying pikas and why, much like the bear, he’d gotten used to shitting in the woods. We were frequently apart, but felt together. This held true whether we were a couple, “just friends,” dating other people, or a combination thereof. Or indeed, when he was very briefly married many years ago.
Commentarium (58 Comments)
Most memoriams are still too puritan to put your details into.
But you did put in some things we all understand, and made your anguish that much more three dimensional.
Though it was ultimately harrowing to read, I really appreciate your honesty.
This is heartbreakingly beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope one day I find what you found in him. I wish you happiness.
Perfect and bare honesty. Too rare. Thank you.
Heartbreakingly beautiful. Thank you.
I only like this story because I assume it is true.
This, the possible premature death of my significant other, is my deepest sorrow. He would take a piece of me with him.
That broke my heart. I hope never to endure such an ordeal. I do hope you find the peace you deserve, and which he would want you to have.
thank you
You will always have him inside you, he has given to you and not taken.
You are extremely lucky to have experienced a relationship so deep and natural. It might happen every 20 years or so. Best of luck.
This made me cry. I won't even pretend to understand what you went through. This was so heart wrenching to read. Wonderful. And I'm sorry for your loss.
No one wants to say this is a "Best of 2011" in January, but I'll go there. Also...Evangelicals: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
How beautiful, my friend.
Beautifully-written, Litsa, and a supremely moving homage. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Thank you for reminding me that my life isn't over if my spouse goes away
Litsa, Your father and I are so proud of the grace & dignity with which you have handled the heart breaking grief you have endured. As I've told you before, "He loved you & You loved him. Neither death nor time can change that." This story is evidence of that enduring love you had for each other. I know just how difficult it was for you to write this & how much you needed to write it. Beautifully done, my child.
I am sitting at work blinking back tears. When I do go home in a few hours, I am going to grab the man I love and hold him tight enough for him to never leave.
I love to be reminded that true love still exists in the world. This was heartbreaking.
I'd be happy to etch you with henna whenever you have a fitting tribute to "try on" for a spin. Love that you are (and were) able and willing to share so completely - some never achieve either in word or deed.
Thank you very much, Litsa.
Amazing, profound and exquisitely written.
Beautifully written. The two of you had something that very few people ever have. Fifteen months is not a long time to grieve for something like that. When you're like me and it takes you 10+ years to get over a loss, then you have a problem! Give yourself time.
Very touching. I lost my bf 6 months ago...we only dated for a year, any kind of loss is not easy and i can't even imagine what you went through. sending my thoughts.
Hauntingly beautiful and infinitely sorrowful. Litsa, I never really knew the back-story having more recently re-connected with you. I am so sorry for your loss in every way. From your beautiful writing I can tell that you and TJ were more 'married' and in love than many long-married couples. Take as much time as you need - there is no statute of limitations on grieving. You will know when you're ready to take the next step. Until then, lean on your friends and take each day as it comes.
even the cynic in me has shut up. the most real thing i've read in Nerve.
Litz,
I was around for the beginning of the relationship and I thought you were both VERY well suited as friends and more... as I no longer live in the Pacific Northwest I'm sad that I haven't been closer to you; I didn't realize the extent of your connection with TJ... this fills in a lot and I can totally see how it has played out. I always felt you were both soul mates. You're someone who I think of often and quite fondly. You're one of the most interesting and wonderful people I've been blessed with knowing. I have a photo album that I keep by my desk and I love to look through it often. I have the photo of you and TJ at Schlep's wedding and one with "the gang" relaxing at your condo, TJ included. This is truly a wonderful, although bittersweet love story. I am sorry for your loss and I will keep you in my prayers. I'm always here for you.
we got it. you and your boyfriend were the most amazing, good-looking, groovy and special couple on the planet. congratulations.
The thing I love about this is the way this heartless and whiny commenter is going to be read again and again now that this is a 'best-of' piece.
This is the kind of thing I started reading Nerve for - it's about love, not the sports and movie commentary they waste space with now. Gorgeous and lovely and wonderful. Thank you.
Thanks you so much for sharing this.
Beautifully written.
so, so beautiful
Litz, Brilliant story. I commend you for your strength and courage. I learned here that I need to reach out more to family & friends through the good & bad times & remind them how much I love them. The past year for me has been rocky r/t losing a job & medical issues. Much love!
This was beautiful and complicated and heartbreaking (like, it seems your relationship on and off for 20 years was, as well). I'm sorry for your loss. Death sucks.
Amazing. Just amazing.
What happened to you is the very thing I am the most afraid of, so it was very hard to read this, but I want to thank you for writing it. You are clearly a very strong person to deal with this, and to talk about it so eloquently, and I admire that very much.
It seems everything I could say has been said but id like to add how amazingly fortunate youu are to have found a man like this and share his life for twenty years in this age of disloyalty and selfishness. If only we all could be as fortunate as you. Take as long as you need to grieve this very special man.
Achingly beautiful.
Such a beautiful writer... Thank you for sharing this painful story Litsa - you're an incredibly strong woman.
You have captured everything so vividly. God bless you
Thanks for this. It brought tears to my eyes. A wonderful tribute to your relationship.
Yup, this was sad and gorgeous and lovely. Thank you.
Thanks for sharing. This is beautiful and heart-rending.
Sharp and poignant.
Thank you for sharing your story. It was truly beautiful.
So beautiful, such honesty. Your pain is so real. It is also obvious that you are grateful to have known and shared so much of your life with him. It is the undercurrent of graditude, not the the sorrow in your voice that makes this story so poignant. Forgive my tears, I'm crying as I write this. Your story has truly rocked me to my core. Thank you so much for sharing. An earlier commenter called this the best of 2011, I agree
Litsa, your writing made me ache, cry, want to hug you----and to hold my husband in stronger, deeper understanding of our love. I appreciated your constant honesty and your eloquence.
Such a deep ache in a beautiful spirit. Xo
Having lost my soul mate over ten years ago, I can relate. You had something I feel too few of us ever find: A soul mate. While the sex is nice, the friendship, the understanding, is what really matters. Being friends first and foremost, and the rest just falls into place, and is so much sweeter. If even for just a short time.
Any story that can make me weep, as I am now, but also chuckle by adding the phrase "boner-killer" is a great piece.
I'm sorry for your loss, Litsa. But I'm thrilled for your voice.
beauiful
It has been 29 months since my young wife died. This is the first thing I have read which touches my feelings. Thank you.
Your story reflects the anguish that accompanied my own loss, the difference is that my partner of 18 yrs, is now married to someone else and has severed all contact. I came as such a shock to think I was in a perfect relationship only to find it was obviously not so from the other side. However after a death life has to be lived, and I now live on the other side of the world appreciating friends and starting to use my artistic abilities again, however like you the personal side takes longer and I have my version of your "trunk" and pieces of the one I still love are slowly being relagated, a nude self portrait she did for me years ago has now been replaced as it seemed incongruous to have another mans nude wife on my bedroom wall. My heart goes out to you but I also see your inner strength and love of life shining out through your pain. Strength and a sense of humour are what life gives us. May we both ride the storm and find direction and a way home.
That was so beautiful, it triggered the emotional bit in me. Couldn't help but crying near the end.
I lost the love of my life two years ago today. Not to death, but to situations we could not handle as a couple. I also went through a year of magical thinking, and read the book several times. We still live together, but I'm about to move out in a couple of weeks.
I've been struck by several parallels of my story in yours, or it could just be my magical thinking looking for connection with a magical story written from the heart, one which I wish was somehow mine, where the end was beyond my control and blame was not to be found.
If you are somewhere close to where I am in my journey, it's been a few months since you've found the potential for joy by continuing to live your life. If you're there, you have learned from the grief and the chance to examine your life together and alone. You've started to believe that intimacy is in your future.
One day, after an erotic dream, or after masturbating , you realized that sex has divested itself of its once-necessary link to him. That realization made you laugh and cry, and the sadness is now wistful and not heart rending.
If you're anywhere near where I am in my journey, you have lived through this Seattle November reveling in the unseasonal sun, where old years' sunbreaks desperately caught turned into sunny evenings watching the lake.
And you have plans for these holidays. And you might be alone, but you know that you either have people to be with, or the potential to find them.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to sit back and put these words to print.
I can relate 100% with everything you wrote. The similarities between our two stories makes me feel less alone. Thank you.
This is a beautiful tribute to what must have been a complicated and painful relationship. Grief seems to be coloring it in rosey-hues, but waiting 20 years for a man who continually slept with and even married others while giving loving signals must have been painful. Grieve and move on to someone who can be a true partner and speak of you to his family who would list you in his obituary.
I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here b/c you seem well-intentioned. That said, no one would laugh harder at you now than him. And I noted, his family didn't know him, so why would they know me? (At any given time, none of them were speaking to each other.) He was, in fact, quite close w/ my family who loved him dearly.