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January 10, 2011
Months before he died, I developed shingles and — because my immune system’s arsenal consists of water balloons and Silly String — I was egregiously ill the entire summer. We lived within walking distance of each of other by now and he brought me homemade chicken noodle soup and stir-fry and burritos and spaghetti sauce. He bought groceries, cared for my pet rabbit, took out the garbage and recycling, and made me laugh through the relentless and searing pain. He told me I was beautiful as I sprawled on the couch in pajamas with hair unwashed for a record-setting time, and at the end of summer, he threw me a surprise party.
In some ways, this stubbornness caused his death.
He said he was done climbing for the season, but the temperature unexpectedly spiked and Sunday morning, October 4, 2009, he left for the North Cascades. When we talked the night before, we were ebullient and goofy. I was finally starting to improve and we agreed that when he returned on Tuesday, October 6, he was going to nap, swing by my place and then we were going to attend my friend’s reading at Seattle’s Town Hall. Per our system, he gave me his itinerary — when he was due home and what time I should “officially” worry and start making phone calls if I hadn’t heard from him. When he didn’t arrive at my home, a faint buzz whirred in my head, but I wasn’t alarmed: he had returned past his scheduled time repeatedly over the years, always for benign reasons, and indeed, this was why he always instructed me to err on the side of patience. We were nowhere near the designated worry zone.
When we crossed that threshold the next day and I made the first call, I didn’t know that over twenty-four hours prior, loose rock had given way and he had fallen 1000 feet and died instantly. His body was found at two p.m. Saturday, October 10 and the sheriff’s office told me around six. That night, at the vigil his family asked me to hold at a pub across the street from his apartment, I had to excuse myself and go outside. Having overseen hundreds of phone calls and emails the previous four and a half days, I finally ruptured. When my brother came to find me, he found me doubled on the sidewalk sobbing. “Listen,” he said as he held me upright. “I knew him and I know how much he loved you. I’ve been married fourteen years and you two were as married as we are. He scrubbed your sinks, for God’s sake, and you didn’t even ask him to. No man ever scrubbed sinks for a woman unless he really loved her.”
His absence, though, remains as enormous as it is unfathomable
His evangelical Christian parents saw it differently and chose to exclude me from his obituary and memorial service. It was a deep cut but it has healed. They barely knew him, let alone me.
His absence, though, remains as enormous as it is unfathomable. Whether we were in love or barely speaking, there was no part of our lives we didn’t share. He described details of each climb. We shared hundreds of mochas. When two agents approached me about my nearly completed novel, he was ecstatic and paid for my trips to meet with them. I can tell you which women at his memorial he’d slept with and if I’d died first, he would have been able to point out the men on my list. I published four pieces about him when he was alive and he gave me carte blanche to etch him and the two of us as I saw fit.
He’d been dead four months when the first guy asked me out. By month six, one of my friends had tried setting me up. Others have persisted on both fronts throughout the year and their intentions are as kind as they are laughable — I didn’t stop loving him, just because he died.
And, for the first time in my life, I have no interest in sex. When I’m awake, that is. I had read Joan Didion’s masterwork on grief, The Year of Magical Thinking several years ago and have re-read it twice since he died. It’s a wonderful book, but nowhere does she mention you will have recurring sex dreams about your dead partner, just as you did when he was alive.
When I masturbate, inevitably I’ll feel him again and as often as not, I end up crying. When I consciously try not to think of him, the opposite occurs; he’s the sexual equivalent of the elephant in the room and the alienation is intensified because he’s the person I want to tell: we easily discussed sex in ways graphic and dirty and sublime and ridiculous. He would understand, and perhaps be flattered by why it sometimes seems he’s about to enter me again. Though I’m sure my friends would listen, this is not lunchtime banter, and they couldn’t really get it anyway — as one of them put it, “Honey, you got here decades before the rest of us.”
For months, I contemplated getting a tattoo with the digits of his birthday. But I know eventually I’ll view my body as more than a shell I cart, and I’ll want to be touched again. His literal marking would be the ultimate boner-killer for me and the man involved. And again, it’s bemusing, because he would apprehend this completely.
At the start of 2010, I purchased an antique trunk to store his things. It sits in my living room, perfectly emblematic: rugged, handsome, slightly battered, and in no way matching the décor. I still have the “NOBODY KNOWS I’M A DRAG QUEEN” T-shirt, and when I occasionally glimpse it in the back of my closet I both smile and wince. After he died, I wrapped one of his unwashed shirts in mine to preserve his smell, and for most of this year I slept next to it.
I recently swathed it in plastic and added it to the trunk. One day, maybe sooner than I think, my bed will become a place where I do more than read and mourn. It will stop being his side of the bed — maybe sooner than I think.
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.