Someone to watch over me

So I can't say if it was hallucinations or gardian angels. I can't tell you why I had to come back. I can't point to a map and tell you where the place was I went. I only know these things.

It was a place with substance and form. I was still my self, this may be because I was sent back. It may be that we remain aware of ourselves. My friend was in deep southern Florida. My other friends were all over the map. None was in the city I was in. Angels or hallucinations, a hallucination can't carry you to the bathroom when you have been "mostly dead", fill a glass, hand it to you where you can't get up, or hold your hair away from your face because if you let go to do that you will slide to the floor.

I believe we all go there when we die. I believe we are stripped of all the negative aspects of our lives. That we are all loved, every minute, by something hugh enough to truely do so. That what we do here is important here, but not there, unless it creates love, shares love or teaches love. There is more than hope for an afterlife, there IS an after life where we still have a purpose to fulfill. Generating love.

This is why I can not wish the mate back here. I have always wanted what would make him happiest. It is why I can not eat a bullet to join him. I believe that if you suceed at suicide it was your time to go. I also believe that if it is not the right time for you to leave you can NOT succeed. So suicide is not a sin. It is just another way we are gathered up.

When you have bad things happen to you then you understand the pain and hurt to better help someone learn to deal with the blow and open up to love again after the pain passes.

I believe that in every life, if you can just wait, good things will come to you. The entity I saw wanted everyone to be happy and feel loved. We work with that soul when we share the love that is given freely to us by it. It cared about ME. It knew ME. It loved me - not "anyway", not "inspite of" but because it can do nothing else BUT love each of us.

I was there. I saw it, I felt it, I experienced it and I grieved to leave it. But I still insisted when I was returned on thinking "things" were important. What I do or don't do can affect the world. And it can, but only if what I do is motivated by love.

There is help if we ask for it, always. There is an entitiy that loves us as we are and for what we are, always. We are separate from yet still part of that entity's "life force". Still "Self" yet belonging to a greater whole of loving power that spends it's existance just sending love to us.

Anything that knows self and other has a place there. Yes, our animals go there, too. I don't know that grains of sand don't know self and other on a scale to small to show me. I don't know that everything does not contain a bit of self and other knowlege.

And maybe that is why all weekend the force insisted on me repeating this story. Rewriting it a hundred times, trying to relive it. So I would remember....

The mate is there. He is happy, loved and loving there. That, of course, he can hear me because he is part of the self's generating the love for the entity to send us, that he loves me still and that I will always have what I need because he wants me to be happy and loving to others and help them be happy and loving to each other. That he is now doing what he did so well here still, loving others just the way we are, no strings.

I saw it, I don't have to take it on faith, I just have to remember it. And that I have to share it. The story of how much the mate and I loved each other, our children, our pets our friends and being together as just one small part of what we can look forward to in our future. And the story of the love I met when I died.

For me, his friends and family that he loved so deeply and well the mate created a little bit of that wonderful place here for us all to enjoy with him. My legacy from him is to keep it a happy and loving place for them all still.

And to share the story of the great love that is out there, that is truely loving YOU personally, as it does me, all day every day.

I have tried not to use tradional terms for this experience because I did not experience it in the terms I grew up with. There was no man with a trumpet guarding the gate, there was nothing of a body shape of any kind at all. But I knew some of them were "human" and some were "animal" and some were 'other' and the light was just "itself".

I need only reach out for it. I am trying to do this. I miss the love the mate gave me every day. I want to FEEL I am loved still, as the entity I met loved me. I need to feel that inside the essence that is ME. But even though I was there, felt it, saw it and experienced it, something is holding me back. It's not lack of faith, because I believe what I saw was real. I think it has something to do with being afraid to lose control of myself, to trust. But as long as I control me and love does not guide me I am trapped inside my pain.

What will help me tap into the love I know is there? I don't know. But I believe that help will come and I will feel the love again, before I have to die.

All prayers are welcomed, I will answer what questions I can, just ask.

But I do say this did happen to me and for me it is a truth.

Love is everywhere

So I argued with my friends, myself and anyone else that wanted a turn in my head. I cried about my kids and my family. I cried because no matter what they said I was still too sad and hurting to stay. Then one of them suggested I might like a last meal. I thought it would be a good idea to have a "last meal". Even prisioners get them, one of the protesters, added.

I staggered to the kitchen area in my small apartment, started to warm a pan for eggs and cheese then realized it would slow the poison in my system down. The butter started to brown and sizzle. It smelled good. I went to roll the pan and coat it evenly, the hot butter slopped on the burner and we had open flame. While this is may favorite way to cook, I don't ususally choose it for inside cooking.

In my very drugged state I couldn't remember if it was salt or what to put out an electric fire. So I poured flour on it. This doesn't work, it just changes the odor. So I decided to smother it. I took a towel and soaked it in the sink and slapped the wet towel down over the flames. The fire was out but now I had smoke...where was that darn alarm anyway?

I managed to get the fire out, the alarm off and that was it for this girl. I almost fell back on the couch and lay there like a discarded doll. I wasn't worried about anyone finding me, it was Friday night. The hallucinations had stopped but I couldn't get my thoughts back together. I was too relaxed to care. I closed my eyes. It was quiet. I liked that.

I died.

I have no memory of a tunnel but I was released from my body. When I was diconnected from my body I became aware that I had no worries, no pressure, no pain, no desires, no wishes anymore. They were all behind me. For just a brief moment I regretted the pain this would cause my family but I would not choose to go back. I was warm and loved for just what I was, no strings. None of the bad things I had done to me or done by me were left in me to experience. They were taken from me. I grew lighter still. I have never experienced such unconditional love, even my dogs get cranky with me sometimes.

There was a brilliant, warm light in the place I arrived at. It is a place though I can't tell you where to find it. The light was the source of the warmth and the love I was feeling. I turned toward it. This is figurative. I had no body, was not aware of any shape but I was still the self I knew as me. I would have answered to my name. I knew it was another self of some kind, aware of itself and me. It was not me and not human as we define it. It just was it's endlessly full self radiating warmth and love.

I wanted to get closer to the light but I was held in place. I know now I was at the gate and needed to go into the light. I was made to understand I had to come back. I began to mourn. I did not want to leave. I wanted to stay here and move closer to the being that was the light and loved me with all the others that loved me. I was aware that near by somewhere were more like me and that they loved me, too.

But it was no use, as badly as I wanted to stay I was sent back here understanding I could not go there yet. I opened my eyes on the couch to discover my shirt was wet with the tears gushing from my eyes and that my chest hurt from the sobs of loss and regret.

My too tall friend was there smiling down at me. He was a big man in real life. He pulled me up, tears and all, from the couch and put his arm around me to hold me up. My legs would not support me. He got me to the bathroom where I collapsed next to the seat, grabbing on with one arm to hold myself up in an almost sitting postion. I was still crying.

The water ran and the bathroom glass was filled. He handed down to me and I drank a sip. Eeewuu. It was terribly salty. I hiccupped. He just looked at me and I knew I had to drink it. So I did. Just seconds later the vomiting started. My friend had taken the glass back. I was clutching the seat with both hands to hang on. He moved my hair from my face and held it while handing me the glass again. This time it was ipacac. Ick pa keck we called it.

I drank it and threw up some more. Violent spasams shook my body. My throat and stomach hurt from the pressure and the acid in the do over. It tasted nasty. I finally choked to a stop, breathing hard and tried to clear my sinuses. When he went to hand me the glass again I balked. No, he protested it was only water. I grabbed it then and drank it all down and wanted more. He refused me as if I had had enough. I threw that up, too.

I crawled up from the floor using the sink for support and managed to get to my feet. I began the ritual of brushing my hair, washing my hands and face with a cool rag and I felt a little better. When I turned to return to the couch I started to fall or collapse when I let go of the sink. My friend caught me and helped me back to the couch. He brought me a blanket and I pulled it up to my chin. I don't remember anything else until I woke in time for work on Monday. I don't think I slept two days but I may have. There was no one there with me.

I knew it was a work day when I woke up. I got up, showered, dressed, made coffee and grabbed the big to-go cup. I was ready when my ride got there. I let them know I wasn't feeling real well but went to work anyway.

I had what I thought were more hallucinations during the day but some of them have happened since then. I dreamed vividly for many nights. I wrote it all in my journal. The ones that burned up in '88....I wish I stll had them because this was in there, too. And the other dream of the mate, and the dream of the black and white cat who was Butch Cassidy later, having her first four kittens.

If I could have scanned it in here with the dates and errors and notes in the margin you would have had to believe me. Now I can only hope you believe me.

Lost and all alone

I had one of those strange days Friday that you just don't understand why you are spinning in them or what the point is but you feel like, no matter how hard you try, you are missing a very important piece of information or communication.

It started out normal. I got up, fed the animals, let them all in or out and in while I had coffee, checked the email and got dressed for work. Little Red started just fine. The drive in was uneventful and I got there with no incidents.

Powered up the desk top, got the business mail, checked what needed to ship and got it around, started looking for customers and faxing them or calling. Boss seemed fine....all SOP.

Then I get a phone call from a contact/competitor in California I have sent some customers to on occassion. He says he doesn't need anything but felt he needed to call me all morning and finally did so to get it off his mind.

I told him that I had been dealing with a lot as my mate died 30 days ago. And that was how it felt, like I had done 30 days in jail or something. Then I choked up and he left a long pause while he digested that. Anyone that has known me more than ten minutes knows I love my mate. It was just one of the things in my life that was always coming up in conversation.

The caller is a very kind man and a strong christian believer with a long, loving marriage and good partner. He was sincerely saddened by the news. He offered pretty standard but very sincere condolences and shared that he had lost his son about 4 months ago and his brother just before that. One of them went just out of the blue with a massive coronary. I could feel his pain and grief. I wanted to comfort him and his wife if I could find the words.

So I told him, "Listen, I want to tell you about where your son and your brother are and why I know they are ok." And I told a story I usually keep to myself but felt moved to share to try to comfort him.

Then I went to tell my boss why I had been on the phone so long with no sale. I told him the man had lost his son and brother and I tried to comfort him. The he says he is reading a book on Near Death Experiences and gets it out of his briefcase and hands it to me. I didn't even look at it. I just handed it back and said, "Ok, does it go something like this?" And told him the story.

He closed us up early so I went to town to get a permit to purchase. The woman behind the desk and I are getting off on the wrong foot. I am trying to be funny and she is taking everything seriously. I say whoa, back up and start over. Then burst into tears and tell her I am only getting the pistol because I am a woman alone in a rural area with a high crime rate and just lost my mate.

She and her mate were true lovers, she is still here and still single after 12 years alone and knew all my pain. She told me to be comforted because she had a near death experience and shared hers with me. I told her the reason I couldn't even wish the mate back is I knew where he was and I always wanted what made him happy. I told her mine. This was the third repetition and I am getting a little freaked out.

When I left and headed for home the phone rang as I came in the door and it was a friend who had left me a gift of a box of candy only it was on the trash can Tuesday and this was Friday. I walked out and found it wedged in the front of the can by the arm of the tote I use. We started discussing gifts and I learn this prison guard, hippie, partying biker has found god.

So I share my day and tell him I feel like a kid that has to write "I will not stomp my feet" a hundred times and I don't know what it is that I am not getting. But then I shared it with him.

I thought it would be all done then, but it wasn't. My mom called with some info and I had to tell her. And then I knew I had to blog it for some reason. So I did. Only blogger lost the post. I went to copy it before hitting publish and hit just the c instead. Now I have to write it again.....which will make 7 times. But I am too freaked out by all this so you get part today and the rest later.

The mate's passing isn't the only time strange things have happened to me in my life.

They say most people dream in black and white. I never knew that! I am a full color, full sensation dreamer.

I have repeating dreams and I have had prophetic dreams.I have controlled flying and uncontrolled falling.I have dreamed I "missed a step" climbing stairs and woke up with my foot still reaching for purchase.I have dreamed of friends from long ago and far away and seen them or heard from them in less than a week. I dreamed of my dad, but only after he died, and he was still laughing at me.

I dreamed of my mate and I riding motorcycles with a friend and wrote it down 18 months before it happened just the way I described it. It was a year before I re-met the current mate. I read it to him from the journal when we got home from the ride and freaked him right out.

I drew a sketch of a dream house for the mate and I and the first place we bought looked just like it, allowing for my lack of drawing ability. It also had all but the rhubarb of the plants and trees I listed on the wish list.

One time I dreamed I had a package waiting at the post office. Turns out it was true but it was returned as I didn't pick it up promptly. I got it a week later, re-sent by the Mom.

I had my first near death experience just before the dream of the mate. After my second marriage male had surprised me with a lot of things, that should have been discussed before we were married, I left him. I went into a deep depression. I tried to suicide with a lovely cocktail that I won't give the receipe for here. It worked.

I got whoozie right away. The hallucinations started. Many of my friends tried to talk me out of what I was doing as I sat on the couch, slouched against arm. I was amazed to see friends I had not seen in more than four years as real appearing as you and I are. Four or five made appearances and argued with me.

I told them I was done dealing with being on the bottom rung of life. I couldn't pick a decent man and I didn't want to be alone and I was out of here, thanks very much. I would miss them but I wasn't staying. There were two in particular, that were persistant with me. They were my favorite kind of friends. They played gutiar very well and they liked my singing voice! They took turns giving me shit and cajoling me but I resisted their every effort.

I'm so glad we had some time to spend together

A short note to my new readers:

You can comment on any post, no matter how old. I have it set to email me when I get a comment and a link will take me to the post you read and posted on.

The archives for Blogger make me crazy. If you go to March 05 you should scroll to the bottom of the page and read each post then scroll UP to the next one.

I know many of you are just lurkers out there but comments are a goodness, even a different opinion or a negative comment can get the feedback going and we all learn new things. Don't be afraid to post.

And PLEASE! Use a nick name to post NOT your real names. Be safe on the net, never give real info. I don't need to know which commentor is which, just what you thought.

Check back in a day or two and you may find I replied to your comment. Usually I email you if you give me that option. Especially with the older posts that you may forget which one you posted on.

Most of all - enjoy your time here. I know I am depressing right now. The mystery is "Will Val find comfort and consolation before her heart blows up?" Stay tuned for the next installment.

Darling, for your love, I ain't found no life saver yet

Sunday the kids came over for the pay per view. It was the last of the three christmas wrestling shows the mate and his eldest did for each other and the rest of the kids. It wasn't quite so healing as last time. It had that "last time" aura of saddness in it that I am so aware of and that the kids are just finding.

We still all managed to have a pretty good time. I had photos all sorted out for the new family historian to work with and some for all of them of their dad and grampa. One of the nephews made it over as well and he will be joining the army soon. I have been trying to think of something special for him. The Undertaker lost his match by a fluke and then they packed up the extra pizza and headed for home. The house always feels emptier when it has been full....

I got the coffee on for morning and headed for bed. Monday I told the boss I needed Wednesday off to do paperwork on probating the will. I got through that day, someone came over Monday night, oh, Mom brought my foster sis and her kid because they were out looking at deer. And I made it through Tuesday and Bible Study, the sis brought her fun sis in law and the cousin made it over. We made soft tacos and burritos. The sis brought chicken from a deli. Nice visit with everyone.

Then Wednesday I started finding sorting and filing the paper work for the estate inventory and filing for probate of the estate. I can't find out what determines the value of an estate for sure. I got the inventory done and the value estimates for the cars from the Kelly Blue Book and one for the motorcycle. When you figure the equity in the house and the value of the vehicles and guns and the VA and SS and Visa insurance with the costs of the funeral it looks like the estate has a total of less than $5000.00. If I have it wrong then I have to go through a full probate. If I am right I can do an informal probate - probably without a lawyer. The trick is finding out when all you get at the Legal Aide Center is put on hold. Every time.

Every time I started for the bank to do the insurance for the credit card someone called or the furnace quite running again. I got there just as they locked the doors. The nice ladies knew I was coming and let me in.

One more thing I learned the hard way, ladies. The insurance on a joint credit card only covers the primary customer. If your mate is the primary, as is common, they will pay off the amount due BUT they also close out the card. This means that you have no magic plastic to fly someone in for the funeral, fix a furnace, get a rental car or anything else for the 4 to 8 weeks it takes to get a new card.

And if you die first the mate still has to pay off the credit cards. Go out now and get YOUR OWN credit card with you as the primary. Use it enough to establish your credit with them well. This way you have emergency credit until the estate is settled even after they close the joint card.

So I digested the fact that I had become used to knowing I could handle up to our limit in an emergency with plastic. Then I realized I can do nothing to fix the stupid furnace or the thermostate on the water heater or anything else that might go wrong in the next two to six months until the estate is probated and I can sell the bike and trailer. Why? Because after a year of only one of us working I have no major savings at all. Barely any minor. I have to go to work or the whole party comes apart. This is not a good feeling. All I can do is pray I can hold everything together a little longer and don't have anything break all the way before then. Or that the credit card comes through with anything like the same limit in less than normal time.

After all the bad news of the day I was glad to have something more positive to look forward to. I had arranged to meet a friend of the mate's from work for a cup of coffee and to give him a little rememberance of the mate. It was just a photo and a special to him and the mate themed desktop and screen saver but they were both just right. This guy and the mate were the live comedy team where they worked and were really good friends that just ran out of time to spend together.

We got a munchie and talked about an hour. He loved the gifts and they made him laugh. He talked about the mate fixing his boat motor and how much he respected his abilities mechanically and then he said, "He was just the kind of guy that made you want to hang around with him, you know? He was fun and he made you laugh and he made you feel good about yourself, too."

I was gonna lose it. It was so true. When you respect someone's opinion and their opinion is that you are a good person, you feel like you are, maybe, even a better person than you thought you were. It's part of what he gave me everyday. An unspoken but visible approval of you just the way your are. I think it is the closest anyone as come to describing what was really special about him. He never expected anyone to be anything to suit him, he liked them the way they really were. He was real with them, he didn't pretend to be anything for anyone. If they didn't like him they would go away and that suited him fine.

And then the friend had to get back to his family and I had to get home and let the dogs out. But it helped to share a little of the pain and get his opinion on things I was trying do or decide. I think it helped that I just got out of the house for a while. And had someone to talk to that was really there. I tend to want to huddle down at the house where it's ok if I go off my rocker a little or have to cry loudly.

The nephew is supposed to get the truck one night soon to go through it. The Eldest Boy is coming down with the family one day this weekend just to visit. I think on Sunday I will try to get out and visit with a few more friends. I need to shop for dog food and some groceries for lunches, too. So I am staying busy.

But then Bosephus sings "Old Habits" and I fall to pieces. You just never know what will set you off. And you think you better stay home because you might embarrass yourself or your friends.

Then you figure you will think about it tomorrow, put the coffee on for morning, lay out your clothes for work, give the dogs a last outside and lay down in the king sized bed to try and sleep a few hours before the next day starts it all over again.

Oh, lucky me, I'm only cryin' once a day

Just because this one is such an oldie I wanted to stick in the rest of this verse so you get the context...
I'm so glad that I'm not like a girl I knew one time.
She lost the one she loved then slowly lost her mind.
She sat around and cried her life away.
Oh, lucky me, I'm only cryin' once a day.

Once a day - all day long - and once a night - from dusk till dawn. The only time - I wish you weren't gone - is once a day every day all day long.

I really wanted a title that reflected my confusion at some of the feelings I'm dealing with but this one just demanded to be the topic today.

I was at work Thursday when I got a weather update in the email. Storm coming. I watched out the window and when it got to looking really nasty I told the boss I had to go pick up the mate's death certificates (true) and took off about three. I went right to the store, got four gallons of drinking water and some other supplies, batteries and such then beat feet for the house. If I am getting stormed in, it's going to be where I know the ropes, not on the side of the road or in some shelter where I have to freak about the animals.

Something about the mate's life, either his army training or his innate sense that the would will screw you if it can, made him the kind of guy that always checked for exits, didn't sit with his back to the door and never put his eggs all in one basket. We have fuel oil heat, electric water heater and propane for the stove. We have wired and wireless phones. We have a full set of camping supplies, propane lantern, kerosene lantern, battery lantern, a little army stove that runs on gasoline, candles, flashlights, extra batteries, the whole nine yards.

The bottom of our freezer has a layer of containers of water. Throw one in the house freezer and one in the fridge area and your food stays cold. As it thaws it's drinking water.

At the bottom of the basement steps is a small and a large bucket stacked next to a shop broom.
With the power off the sump pump stops working and the water rises from two to eight inches depending on how long the power is off. Use the little bucket to fill the big bucket and you have flushing and cleaning water. When the power comes on you use the broom to empty the low spots of water.

Before the power even went off I had the candles located and on safe stands, the batteries in the flash lights, and the old standby portable am/fm by the window with a new battery in it. When it did go off around eleven thirty I just cracked the door on the oven and set it to 200 degrees, then crawled off to bed.

It was chilly in the morning but I got dressed and made a pot of coffee with the old pour through camp pot and checked out the news on the radio. The phones were still working so I even got online to get my email.

Once I called and found out we wern't due to get power back for three days I got the old blanket out and hung it over the living room door then closed off the bedroom and pulled the recliner into the dining room for a bed that night.

The rest of the day went fairly normally; let the dogs out , feed the dogs, let the dogs in, let the cats out, feed the cats, let the cats in, make some toasted bagels, only in the oven , not the toaster; write the bills, write the mate, write thank you's to yet more cards and gifts in the mail; read a book, repeat.

When the battery died on the computer I ran out and plugged it into the converter in the truck and recharged it so I could get on line to play some cards before bed, as is my new habit. The sun went down. I turned on the propane camp lantern for the extra heat as much as the light it gave, played spades in the zone till the battery ran down again then crawled into the recliner, snug under my hand crochet blankets with the dogs on the couch in the next room and a cat on my lap and one on top of the chair back.

Then I cried. I had been dribbling tears all day as each item brought into our home by the mate that let me cook, clean, stay warm, see after dark to read, keep the food cold, make hot food and hot water, flush and maintain our home was brought out to use. The last time we were without power was for four days and we had done it all together.

Last time we used our gear was to go camping in the U.P. this past summer with our friends and the neices and nephews and we had a great time , inspite of the rainy weather that weekend, and the flat tire on the bike trailer.

The last time I slept in the recliner was when I was so sick and lost my voice and I didn't want to keep the mate awake with my coughing. And he tucked me in. Sometimes when he fell asleep watching TV on the couch I couldn't wake him and I would tuck him in.

But I went through that day and the next, talking to people that called or that I called to check on or catch up with and got the job done. All by myself. Just fine, thank you.

It's one of the things that made our love so special. He didn't need me and I didn't need him. We both knew we could get by on our own.

Neither of us was rich so we were not in it for the money. No one would pick us for models, even for bike leathers, so it wasn't our looks, really. I found him the epitomy of male and he swore there was no one more beautiful than me, but it was only true between us, not on the social scale of beauty. While we both had skills the other lacked they could be found in the yellow pages in a pinch and someone hired to handle it. It's also what makes it so hard for me now and would have made it so hard for him to lose me.

For both of us to be happy every day we had to be together. That's all. It may be the best summation of "what true love is" ever written.

Apart, no matter how much fun we were having or what commitments we had, we were not happy in our hearts. But together, no matter what the world threw at us, we were happy and content knowing the partner was there if we needed them. That we were each others number one commitment and would drop the million we had just won and race to the rescue if the other one called. That was what we were all about. He was never second to anything in my life and I was always his number one consideration. And that is team work. Putting the team first.

So if to be happy I had to be with the mate it's only normal that without him I am unhappy. We hate normal.

The wonderful guys out freezing their noses off got us back to full power a day early. At almost midnight Saturday the lights came back on and stayed on. I dropped an email to the kids to let them know the pay per view for wrestling was on and then I started putting the house back the way it was supposed to be.

I restarted the furnace, reset the water heater, took down the blanket over the door, checked the pipes at every faucet for water pressure, then put away all the candles, flashlights, lamps and extra blankets I had gotten out and went to sleep in my own bed. But I was crying again because the mate made sure we had what we needed for all emergencies. He took such good care of me and still did even after he was not with me that I grieved for myself selfishly even though it was just the mate's love for me showing again.

Together again

my tears have stopped falling, is the song I want sung my the cousin's family band at my wake.

A lot of people, including the kids, have shown concern that I won't make it thru this, that I will end up following the mate; Dying of a broken heart. It has been known to happen. It would not be the first time a partner has done that, even in our family. My great gramp died and his second wife, the mate's great grama, died three months later. They were a love match.

I have not finished the mate's business yet and I would not leave that undone. It was my commitment to him. I will be fixing up the things the house needs done. I will keep us in a safe home. I will be keeping up the vehicles that I don't sell. I will continue to let the dogs in and out and the cats and getting me off to work every day. That's what the mate would expect from me, to carry on.

That I am not to the place where it is painless to get through a day can only be fixed by time. We are all still raw and tender because of the unexpectedness and the speed with which we lost him.

I am trying actively to stay on the planet. But I have also given strict instructions to everyone - no heroic measures, no resusitation if I do go. Just PLEASE, love me enough to let me go. I don't want to go to a hospital and I don't want to cost a bunch of money, I want to go quick and cheap.

So, No, I don't think I will die of a broken heart. Yes, I will be here for the kids and grands and cousins and such as long as I am allowed. But no, I was not afraid to die, even before my heart attack and I am even less afraid now.

And no, I didn't make it a day without crying yet, but it will come....

I cried a river over you

I was up too late Monday. A nephew came over for some advice, my eldest girl and the boy both called and I wrote till late to the mate. So I over slept Tuesday. I never heard either alarm. When I did wake up I had a splitting head ache. I called in and then realize it was Valentine's Day. No wonder I felt like crap.

The mate and I skipped a lot of traditional holidays, feeling they are an excuse to spend money we didn't have. He always was bringing me little gifts, flowers for the table, candy, movies and such to brighten my days. I use to love it when I was just getting over my hip surgury and he would run out to the gardens and bring me in a big bunch of grow your own's from the yard I couldn't work in yet.

I decided I was going to run to town when I got the headache whipped with a few handy pills. I had dropped off two rolls of film from who knows when last week and found another one on Sunday I wanted to take in. I lagged around the house till afternoon and finally got out of there.

When I got to the hugh, (man I hate it,) new store I had to walk half a mile to get the pictures and do the one hour processing. I killed time looking at what they had for computers. The whole time, from the moment I walked in the door the radio was killing me.

The mate and I used to have a radio station that we really liked. It played so many songs appropriate to what we were doing and feeling that he used to accuse me of drawing up the play list ant then timing my day to match it. It used to work for him that way, too. I would be cruising with him in the truck, he would be holding my hand and driving and the radio would crank out "I got you Babe" or "My Girl" or something and we would just looked at each other and laugh while we sang along to each other.

It was just not a good day to be out in the real world. He was playing the radio to me with every song. I waited about 30 minutes for my films, gave the photos a quick look and started the long walk back to the exits. Then I decided the mate would have gotten something holiday like for the bible study tonight. I got a heart shaped box of Hershey's hugs and kisses, went through the u-scan for the first time and headed out the door. I was running for the house as fast as the little red truck would roll.

The truck was too slow, though and the songs just as love related there as at the store. I found myself crying again on the way home. I ate one piece of chocolate candy and sang along with the radio most of the way.

I made it home in time to get my self something hot to eat and was just finishing up when the dog alarm went off. Sis was early and the mom was on time. We started without the cousin. We got all caught up and had our study then they left.

I got on the machine and played a couple hands of spades. If any of you play cards in the zone.com game room and would like to get a hand of spades in I am dod_thestar there. The ladies were all bragging up what the mates had done for them, but having lots of wonderful memories of what the mate used to do made listening to them easier.

Then I wrote to the mate, got the coffee on for morning and went to bed. I have severe sleep apnea and am supposed to wear a machine to help me breath right at night. I had a friend fix it up for me this week and have been trying to use it.

I would not wear it if the mate was awake because it makes you look like an elephant with a prostetic trunk. Totally unromantic. Now that he is gone and sleep eludes me even more I felt I had to do something. I had trouble with it last night and took it off early but I still overslept again to day.

Only today I called the boss and said I was on my way and just explained the problem to him when I got there. He was good about it. There is no radio in my office and no sound card on the machine there as I like a nice, quiet computer. So I expect to make it through tearless.

If I do it will be the first day in three weeks I haven't cried.

Please don't bury me, beneath the cold, cold ground

Like many couples, the mate and I had talked about what we liked or really didn't like about funerals and weddings and those talks led to what we would like at our memorial services. I had a firm idea of what he wanted and did not want for a service. I meant to carry out his wishes to the best of my ability.

I also had to deal with the fact that every person has different emotional needs regarding death. Some are personal and others a matter of belief. We have many religions, and the total lack of them in our family and I was stuck with managing a balance between what the mate wanted, what I needed to do for him and the traditions practiced by our many tribes. This made for an interesting time planning his party.

We both would rather see contributions to family or our charity than kill perfectly lovely flowers at fifty bucks a pop. I am a pine box and a deep hole with a tree in it by water spirit and he choose cremation. I am an "always leave 'em laughing" lady and he is an always leave 'em too drunk to find the tent kind of guy. I still have one more memorial service to arrange for the closest friends.

With the best of the last stack of his CD's and favorite tunes on the stereo system the family greeted each other and friends over the "not dead" volumn level, still much lower than prefer by the mate. We had The Blues Brothers, the sound track to "Oh, Brother, where art thou?", Creedence Clearwater, a two disk Beatles Collection, his personal favorites by Bosephus (Hank William's Jr.), and some biker road song collections. Then we put it on random and let him pick.

Then, when it looked like everyone had arrived that was coming, we began the service, presided over by my Eldest Nephew. He opened with a prayer and a bit of verse from the good book. I asked the Veterans providing the mate's honors and the flag ceremony to come forward and offer him the proper rituals.

They presented me the flag, filed out....we waited.....the command was given, the guns were firedl There was total silence as the bugle cried "Taps" for my mate and the sound of sobs and tears when it ended. Mine were among them. I know all the words to that song and had said them under my breathe, clutching the flag to my heart til the last note wavered away.

The men were then free to leave and be with their own families while ours grieved. Nothing can possibly set the tone for a memorial service like taps does.

My very talented brother in law performed a song then, based on Danny Boy, called "My Silent Friend" that I believe he authored. His gutiar work was haunting. It was touchingly beautiful and beautifully done.

Then my cousin, the big K, played his gutiar, the one his dad left him, if I am not mistaken and sang "Your Love Amazes Me". This one hurt my heart because his love did amaze me and I was not familiar with the song.

The nephew then invited us to share our memories of my mate by standing and speaking or coming up front to use the podium. When there was a lag, I cued him to read the wonderful words sent by my eldest girl, the mate's step daughter.

My mother's husband was an extraordinary person. He was my stepfather. He and my mother were married when I was 16.

He loved his dogs and cats with a deep and intense affection that is often deemed unmasculine. When I was a junior in high school, our house burned down and we thought my cat had died in the fire. When they found her two days later, he brought her all the way to my English class at school, despite her frantic attempts to stay out of that huge scary institution.

He loved my mother a whole heck of a lot as well and he never, ever had a problem telling her or anyone else how much he cared about them. He told me once that he was afraid he would go first and leave her behind. He didn't want to do that because he knew it would be so hard for her.

He hated to be inconvenienced for little things, but would drive 60 miles to pick you up and tow your car home too. He could fix anything with a wrench and some duct tape. If it had a motor, he knew how it ran.

We lived in a house down a quarter mile dirt driveway whose entrance was 5 miles from a paved road. It snows a lot in Michigan. One Christmas vacation, we were nearly snowed in and the four of us (the mate, my mom, his daughter and me) played hand after hand of doubledeck pinochle for days and days. We did it all day long, drinking coffee and just playing cards for the entire vacation.

Definitely a man of few words and cranky when emotions ran high. He didn’t deal well with me and my mother fighting because we are women of many, many words although we never raised our voices. He would sigh loudly and stalk out of the room, even when we were trying to be civil in our “discussions.” He could have trademarked that sigh.

I could talk about anything with him. Except sex. Sex was definitely off limits. When I was 17, I was reading Helter Skelter (you know, the one about Charles Manson) and read about how some of the women were forced to perform fellatio. When I went to him and asked him what the word ‘fellatio’ meant, he turned red and spluttered, “Look it up!”

Otherwise, I could talk frankly with him about anything. I could get the real story on what was happening with my mother after her heart attack last year or what was going on in the family when I couldn’t get a real answer anyplace else. He believed in talking straight and saying things like he saw them.

He smoked, wore leather and rode a motorcycle.

Despite having some canalized intolerances that made him occasionally uncomfortable, he tolerated all of the crazy freakies that I brought home as a teenager. All my goth friends, bull dyke lesbians and Pete Burns look-a-like gay friends, you name it.

At the family reunion, when we couldn’t stand any more hanging out with my crazy family, we hopped on his motorcycle and got the heck out of there for a long ride.

He totally understood me and my anti-social ways because he was the same. Give him some football, a book, his dog and some iced tea or coffee, and he was happy as a clam. Or give him the bike and the open road and that was good too.

100% blue collar, Army regular guy, he did his time during Vietnam and a stint posted in Germany before leaving the army and taking up work doing specialist type stuff in a factory. He had only a high school education (actually plus two years of college and a factory trained Yamaha Mechanic) but he read everything he could get his hands on and was the one who helped me read all the way through and understand The Silmarillion. He was a David Lynch fan before I was. We liked the many of the same books and I introduced him to Firefly as well.

Our last conversation a couple of weeks ago consisted of me asking if he’d FINALLY seen Serenity. And he had, so I was finally able to burst out with, “I can’t believe they killed Wash!” We talked about that for a little while and about what we had been reading lately and that was it.

Today my mom called me to tell me he’d taken a freak fall and died this morning. He wasn’t even 55. I’m really going to miss him.

I can not possibly recall all the wonderful things our friends and family shared that day. I do wish I had the sense to record it, but I suppose a video would have been tacky. I can't even remember who went first. But I do know that some of us, not sure we could speak well enough to be understood, wrote out our tributes. I believe my eldest son, the mate's step son, who was 13 when we married, walked up to the podium next to share his feelings.

My mother's husband was a son to a few of you, a brother many, and an uncle to several more. Later he became a father, and later still, a grandfather. And to all of us he was always a friend.

But for me he was something more. He was someone to admire. Someone to look up to. From my earliest days I never had frequent contact with what you might call a ‘positive male roll model’. My own father never taught me anything worth recollecting. He never taught me to ride a bike. He never taught me a work ethic. He never taught me how to appreciate those with me.

The Mate didn’t teach me how to ride a bike either. Because he never considered taking small steps. He taught me how to ride a 125 Honda. He was attentive. Helpful. And strong enough to lift the motorcycle up when I couldn’t. And he had a quality that I recognized later as fatherly. Having rarely seen it before, I didn’t know I was seeing it then.

Though he may not have known I was watching, (though I suspect he did) he taught me how to relate to the world. Doing what I could, when I could, and not loosing sleep over the things I could do nothing about. If he had a creed, it was "No Worries".

He taught me how to maintain a strong presence without ever having to say a word.

He taught me when to speak, and when to just shut up.When to hold’em, and when to fold’em….so to speak.

He may not have meant to teach me a work ethic either, however imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. And though I may have been a little slow to put it into practice, I now do what can, and what I ‘must’ to support myself and my own growing family.

Now that he’s gone, I have to wonder what I’m going to do. He was a presence in my life. He was a father, and he was a friend. And now I have to find out what its like to loose that. And it sucks.

I know I’m supposed to cling to the good times and the memories. But it's hard, and maybe I’m being greedy, but damn it, I want more of them.

And I wanted my daughter to get to know her grandpa. I want someone reliable to go to when I break things. I want someone with similar taste in movies so I don’t have to pay for them myself. I want someone whose mere presence in the same house is a comfort to me.

Just remembering all those good times and qualities isn't sufficient. Now, I need to be these things.

I can’t take his place, and would never try. But I can attempt to be everything he was…which is to say, exactly what he wanted to be, I would like to be too.

None of these tributes was read in the dry way they are presented here and you don't know these kids, (now adults) their lives or their hearts. They were burned young and often by the the people who should have been there for them and have gone on to trust rarely and respect only those truely deserving of it. They were heartfelt words of grief at the loss of a man who was the closest man to a father they would ever have. I am so sorry he is not still here for them.

The mate's own girl's were too stricken to speak but when we had been going through all the things he saved over the years we found this from his youngest girl.

Daddy...

We've had some good times
and also some bad,
We've been happy together and
we've been sad.
Mile after mile we've rode
Just me and you,
Times we've watched movies
Just us two.
When you bought me my
very own bike
And taught me how to ride,
When I was so sick
and you sat by my side.
We've watched the Lions together
time and time again,
Even though it's not often
that we get to see them win.
These times are the times
I'm fondest of
And I think of them
with lots of love
Cause Daddy you are a special person,
Who means a lot to me.
That's why I wrote you
this poem,
And I did it lovingly!

Happy Father's Day,
Love Always,
Your Daughter

What can you add to a tribute like that? I had to get up and go to the girls where they sat with their Mom and family to hold them while we all cried harder.

The cousin and her husband that had been here the last weekend we had with the mate had come back to help me through the next one. She was younger than him but they were very close. She sat at my machine and tried to write. and tried...

Ever since I got the call that Bill was gone and that memories were the order of
the day, I've sifted through mine to come up with the one that would show, not
only how much he meant to me, but what a hole his death would cause to the world
at large.

Then I realized that speaking that way now was really
preaching to the choir. Each person here had shared a piece of his life and will
feel the impact of his passing.

So instead I will try to share the
memories that made me love him the way that I do.

I remember "winning" wrestling matches with him when I was about four years old.

I remember the compassion and tenderness that he showed to a broken-hearted little girl when he went away to the service.

I remember when he and Uncle Ken came up to the campground and gave me my first motorcycle ride.

I remember finding him waiting for me outside the funeral home after Dena died just so he could hug me, tell me he loved me and let me know that he was there for me.

I remember the midnight rides, our motorcycle trip to Kentucky and the
bike cleaning lessons that you obviously thought we needed.

I could go on and on in this way and I would still feel frustrated that these few words
cannot convey the depth of the love that Bill showed to those in his life.

I will miss his smile, his laugh and his big bear hugs. Most of all, I
think I will miss hearing him say "I love you, xxxxxx".

It was first mentioned here, his hugs. My man could put his arms around a woman or a child or a pup and they would settle right down and enjoy it. The man was a rock of safety in the sea of life and it was communicated in his hugs. It became such a theme that about the tenth time I said, just loud enough to be heard, "Enough with the hugs, already!" and we all laughed.

My youngest nephew stood and started to try and explain what his Uncle had meant to him. He had taught him to ride a motorcycle, too. The nephew and his wife had ridden to the U.P. with us two years in a row and camped out with us. He broke down.

I got up and gave him a hug and while I held him I told people he had more to say if they could just give him a moment. This fine young man made a mighty effort to get his voice back and said a few more things about my man and then added, "I sure will miss following those tail lights." When he said that my heart snapped. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I always rode behind and to the right of the mate when we traveled. Those were MY tail lights.

When the nephew joined us riding he was told to stay right behind the mate and I dropped back and over to the left a position. The mate even drove off the rode once and we all went with him....it saved our lives as a car got too close in the fog. They were that kind of tail lights. The neice and her husband joined us last year and made it a real family ride. It was always going to be missing a leader in the future.

This is from a friend we made playing cards on line. When I sent the mate off for a vacation on his bike "all by himself" one year he had never ridden alone and mentioned he might enjoy not feeling like he had to keep an eye on all the riders with him for a change. We set it up for him to stay with her and another family, one state over, that also played cards with us. He had a great time.

I believe Bill would be thinking this way because he is never going away........ in our hearts.....

Do not stand by my grave and weep; for "I" am not there, "I" do not sleep.
When you are awakened in the morning hush, I will be the gentle uplifting rush.
I will be the bright stars and moon, that guide you through the night.
I will be the falling rain, that washes away your sorrow and pain.
I will be the breeze, softly caressing your cheeks.
I am the bright shimmer of freshly fallen snow.
I am the warm light that kisses the morning dew.
Rejoice in my passing for I am now in a better place, where I am able to protect, care and watch over you, while you are among that rat race.
Please do not stand at my grave and cry, for "I" did not die.

Bill... it was wonderful knowing and meeting you! I will never forget your visit to New Hampshire.. our cribbage games at the kitchen table, chatting and drinking Jack!!! I will miss you!!!!! Love, Cardlady

People told of kindnesses, humor, hugs, respect, appreciation, sadness and loss. His love of others and his hugs came up again and again. There are more that belong here but I must have already set the record for longest blogger post ever. I will add the one from the eldest nephew when he sends it but must wind up for tonight.

With more than 216 people (and that was missing many friends) we had gone an hour and a half and more and were just getting loosened up. But life goes on. I knew people needed a smoke, a bath room break, to take the kid and change it, were getting hungry....

I stepped up to the podium and made sure I had the mike on so they could hear me in the back and read them my last note to the mate. You can read it here. It was a mighty struggle to keep my voice clear and cry at the same time but I got through it.

I took time to mention the mate was not a saint, but had his bad points, too. That we were ignoring them today but I didn't want anyone to think he didn't make mistakes in his life. Then I thanked them all for coming, for showing the respect to my mate and the family by joining us as we said good bye. My heart was full and the mate would be amazed at the people who's lives he had touched.

Then I asked the bro in law to take the piano for one classic hymn from our child hood. We all sang to sheets I had passed out.

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.
Through the storm
Through the night
Lead me on
to the light
Take my hand, Precious Lord,
Lead me home

I stood and was hugged, cried on, held, had things slipped to me, said to me and said over me as his friends and family went back to living, to meet us at the dinner, to their own lives.

I have been told over and over that it was the most beautiful and meaningful memorial that many of our people had ever seen...that pleases me because it was one of the last things I could do for my friend.

I did the best I could for you mate.

When will I see you again?

In my dreams, of course. I crave dreams of my mate the way a caged panther craves freedom. Knowing that the veil is thinnest when we sleep I reach to access him there.

I also sleep for crap and don't remember my dreams well lately. but I have had the consolation of dreamed communication vivid enough that I could feel his touch twice now. I wake comforted.

Does it matter if my mind is building the dream or the dream is a real mode of contact with the mate? I don't think it matters. What matters is I feel that he is ok, that he still cares for me and ours where he is now and that he is doing his best to ease our way.

It's like he still has a job to do even no longer being here with us. He flung his invisible self down on the bed and pleased me, then crawled up and lay beside me with his arm over me as he tried to explain to me what he had been doing. It involved my eldest, surprisingly enough. It was like she was full of something bad for her, akin to food poisoning but of the spirit, and his job was to help her clear it out of her system. He had gone and fetched a doppleganger of her soul and laid it on a table in his work area and then ran me off so he could do what was needed. He had come to get me to help him bring her there. It was so strange. Then I was alone again and I woke up.

In the first dream he held me and we talked. He told me he could hear me. It's why I talk to him as I run through my days. I believe him.

So there ya go. The old lady is going slowly nuts or I see dead people, take your pick...I really don't worry about what others think right now, I just do what I need to so I can stay on the planet and function in a fashion resembling normally.

Sunday's outing with the cousins was really fun. And my eldest boy took his Grama out to dinner with his family Sunday. Tonight the nephew is coming to pick up some stuff I have for him, photos and things, the 19th is the last pay per view so the kids will be out this next Sunday, I have some paperwork to do in town a couple nights this week and the world keeps me spinning with it.

But the nights are mine and I hope they continued to be filled with dreams of him. I will take any little crumb I am thrown and treasure it.

Sometimes when I'm down and all alone

I just keep moving till something happens to distract me. Four feet is usually enough around here. I started putting dishes away yesterday and ended up thinning out the glasses and coffee cups. It's not that I won't have large groups on occasion but hey, I can put a stack of large hot and another of large cold cups in the cupboard and cover that. One person doesn't need as much stuff as two.

It ripped me up. I keep finding more things that are reasons to have a partner. Like I can't bring home a couch from a yard sale and just take out the old one and put in the new one without finding someone to go with me... I can only lift one end of anything. And I will have to drag the step stool in from the garage for the tall cupboards. I can't reach them.

I don't have a back up at home to come get me if I break down. I may keep the little red truck and the little white one and just get one fixed up and put on ice till I need it.

And how am I ever going to move the TV stand and stereo set up! He's the one who knows where all the darn wires went. Yes, I used to play in a band and I can figure out the wiring myself - but it will be a two day tear down and rebuild because he's not there to do that while I do the other things that need getting done to rearrange.

And I have become one of the dreaded minority. The single woman in a group of couples. It's not quite so bad for me as it would be for other women. For one thing I have always been part of the male group whenever possible, hanging in the garage, fishing, drinking around the fire, playing poker...it's where the mate was and what I grew up with. But now the guys will feel weird around me because the mate isn't there and the ladies are going to want me with them....not with their men....it will be strange until they all learn I have no interest in any men and just want to hang with our friends like we always did.

Maybe some other lady could be looking for a male friend to comfort her or even be thinking about who she can pair with next but I can't. The mate is in my head and heart and soul so tight that it killed me to shop the other day. I had no reason to get cashews or string cheese or check out the movie bins....no biscuts for gravy..so many things I used to look for just to get a treat for my friend and I have to walk past them and leave them behind.

I am entering the last of days. Last package of swiss cheese he put back for me because once I told him I craved swiss and by the time I wanted it he had finished it and he always got two packages after that. The last laundry is done for him. The last time I will have a card from him. The last time I will put his hat away....so many days stretch out ahead of me filled with another last time in them that I cringe from going there in my mind.

Even as he lay on the floor I realized I was drinking the last pot of coffee he would ever make for me. I always put the pot on the night before but the last one he picked only made 8 cups. Not enough to give me a large to go and still two cups to drink with him. So he would pour it into a carafe and make a second pot for my home cup with him and my to go and he would have the whole first pot to start his day. So when I pour my first cup after all the fiasco it was the last cup he would ever make for me. It's funny what you think of.

So I look ahead to running solo a lot this summer. The vehicles are all good for it if I keep them looked after. I can get a book on the bike and I can do a lot myself. I like fishing, too and sometimes the best way to go is with no one else.

And the kids will be riding. I can go with them sometimes if I feel the need. And the chapter wanted me back enough to offer me ACD. (assistant chapter director leading to chapter director) I told them no. No more commitments right now.

The death certificates, PROPER ones, will be here soon and I have to figure out how that will go. Once the paper work is done comes the harder part of letting his loved ones take the things they shared with him now that he isn't using them anymore and finding things to fill the hugh space in my life that it will make to pass them on to the right people. But I don't need them.

It's the right thing to do and I will find it easier to update the house with "stuff" thinned down. I am getting rid of a lot of my own things, too. The stuff you keep expecting to do something with someday that just gathers dust in a box. The craft supplies and such I will get to someday. I will keep what I am using, the rest goes.

I had a thought. That the photos and wave files and clothes and treasured hats and wallets and such are like the shattered shards of a crystal glass. They are of the glass but they can never BE the glass again. My precious one is gone and the things that remain will never BE him, they can only call to mind the memory of the man. It is in every square inch of this place. He was so much the motivating force here.

And it came to me because the pain is so sharp. From picking up a misplaced hat to the last time you wash his coffee cup it is like handling shattered glass. It cuts and you bleed grief from your eyes until they are swollen and tender. But you reach for them still because the faint aura of him surrounds them. And you try to smile because he loved you so much he put hat hooks all over the place to try and keep them up neatly. But you cry because you found one in the seat of his chair today. He never really did hang them up. He left them sit and you hung them on the hooks he put up for you.

So you go on, until the cousins come and spend some time. And you go to your sister's to see her cabin. and you eat out with them on their way home. Then go to the stores and get the things you need and go home.

The dogs greet you gladly as you get out of the truck and you have been fine for hours until you walk under the motion sensor light he hung this fall for you so you could see to get the key - that you had to turn up the wrong way because he got the guts of the door knob upside down - in the lock and burst into tears because he lighted your way and upside down or not, made sure you were secure when the door was locked behind you. Because he love you and he wanted you to be safe.

But you just can't smile anymore.

Anytime he's gone away

Some of you might want to chose to skip this post. It is a graphic description of death. There is a reason I feel it has to go here. But you don't need to read it, I just had to write it.

**********

After 20 years of all the ups and downs of life, here we were. In a snug little house where we wanted for nothing, loved each other, had our pets and toys and family and friends to share it all with and loved them, too. And smart enough to know we had it! It had really never been smooth or easy, but loving each other so much made it seem easier for both of us.

We had wonderful fun holidays with the family and with each other. The mate was wonderful to me for my birthday, no party again, but a very happy private celebration.

Tuesday, the 24th was Bible Study again. I stopped in town and picked up a used answering machine. He put up for me and we got it running before everyone came over. Snacks were all ready and the cake was hidden under a towel.

Mom's bday was going to be Friday and he had bought her a store cake with the icky bakery icing she enjoys and lots of yellow flowers on it, her favorite. I had a few fun gifts for her and a card. The sis brought her some ice cream and a gift, and the cousin joined us along with the sister's mate and a nephew and neice, I think, in wishing her a happy birthday.

The mate made me put the cake back so he could light the candles before he took it out for her and we sang as he brought it. It was fun and traditional and she liked it all very much. We ate cake and ice cream and he stayed with us instead of hiding upstairs or in on the tv while we visited and teased her. Simple fun with family and friends, our speciality.

After they left and I had the coffee on for morning and the mess cleaned up I went in and sat with him on the couch for a MASH rerun. Then we got around for bed. It was about 11ish.

We had both been running around all day getting stuff for the tiny party and the night before had been very satisfyingly romantic. We were tired and he crawled across the king sized bed and laid his head on my shoulder.

I petted him and he huggled me and we necked a little. "I love just laying here with you like this," he mumbled tiredly into my neck. "Me, too," I answered. We engaged in a mutual, tight hug, held it a minute and then he rolled over, called a sleepy "I love you" that I retured. He went to sleep while I read a little before shutting off my little light. (Make a note that this was the last time I ever spoke to my mate or heard his rumbly voice in my ear. no regrets)

I wake up hard. I have a clock with double alarms and battery back up. I set them 11 to 15 minutes apart and at least an hour before I have to get up then play slap down till they finally invade my dreams enough to get me up. As I sat up on the side of the bed Wednesday morning I saw it was a little after eight and I had to get moving to be on time to work.

I could hear the mate filling the dog bucket, going back to the bath room and drawing more water from the tub as I put on the bra and shirt I had laid out the night before. I found my socks and undies and was just getting up to slide them on when I heard him holler, the bathroom door screech and felt him land on the floor though the floor boards beneath my feet.

Still undressed I raced out calling his name and dropped to my knees beside him on the floor. As far as I could tell, and still will swear to, he slipped in some water he slopped filling the dog bowls, he would have had one hand on the door knob when his feet went out from under him and the bucket he was carrying for the humidifier went down with him as he fell backwards into the edge of the door. The bottom hinge had broken out of the wood and there were splinters and screws on the floor. The door hung at an angle.

He was laying there very wrong, with the edge of the door jammed into his neck at the shoulder. There was water every where. His eyes are traveling back and forth and blinking fast, color bad, not breathing but he would haved knocked the wind out of him.

Everything is in high gear now. I'm looking him over for more detail before I decide. His neck might be broken where the door slammed into it but it could be crushing the artery in his neck. I had to start CPR. He wouldn't want to live if his neck was broken......ran through my head and I moved him down away from the door then closed it so I had room to lift his head, now clear the airway, where's his tongue, got it, OW! He BIT me, no, it's just he's spastic....hold the nose, get the air in...two good ones for a grown man, two fingers below the breast bone, Five pumps, use your muscles, grab nose, breathe buddy, two times, he's breathing, sort of and I run for the phone.

The 911 lady made me crazy, I threw her on the washer and went back to doing cpr. Come on buddy, stay with me mate, and I did more reps. But his eyes saw nothing and blinked frantically and he was turning blue on me, I did one more rep and said to myself, girl, this is NOT working.

I raised up on my knees and brought my fist down on his chest screaming at him to breathe now, buddy, I did it again, nothing. Again, crying because I was hurting my mate.

I straddled his chest and leaned into the compressions, I bent over and breathed for him again and as I sat up he made a tiny gagging noise and stopped. I hauled my arm back far as I could spin and swung for the fence and screamed at him again, Breathe!!!!! Then slapped him as hard as I could. His head rocked down and back up. I was panicked because what I knew to do wasn't working so I tried this as a last resort. He hated to have his face slapped. He should have come up to knock me on my butt for it. I started the compressions again with tears running down my arms and over my hands.

And that funny, tiny noise you hear that sounds like a little gate bouncing on a tiny post came from his throat, two repetitions of three. Death rattle. I was sobbing. He was gone. Just like that.

I got up, picked up the phone, told the stupid woman he was dead, where were her people and hung up on her. I heard the sirens then. They were too late.

I called work and left a message that I thought my husband was dead and I wouldn't be in. The boss called my mom, the bro in law was on his way from the sisters house to tell her and got there as she was ready to leave and I still don't remember if I called my sis or my mom did.

Because as I sat here, stunned, with the dead man on the floor and the dead phone in my hand my internal systems were screaming for back up. I was closing down shop and needed to get the back ups in place. Who to call?

The EMT's were here now, I let them do their thing, answered their questions and ended up with,"But you're too late, he's dead.", stared at the phone and dialed a number that went to a phone and hour and a half north of us. His best friend, the guy he always called if the chips were down.

And I told the poor guy at about 8:30 in the morning, that his best friend was probably dead but the EMT's were working on him and after an OMG or two, he said,'Val, are you ok?' and I lost it a little. "I don't think so," I answered, "but I didn't know what else to do. I am so SORRY!" I cried to him, meaning I was sorry I told him so hard and quick and then fell on him with my own needs and that I was sorry the cpr I did wasn't enough and that I was sorry he lost his best friend and that I was sorry for not being able to save my mate and a thousand apologies.

He stayed on the phone with me till they pronounced him. It was probably the hardest minutes of either of our lives. It was about 8:45 I think, when he said he was on his way and I got off the phone. He called our other best friend that lives about 6 miles over and asked him and his wife to come be with me. They were there before the emts left. As were my mom, my sis, the mate's brother and his wife and who knows how many before the body was even out the back door.

I think I freaked them all out when I asked them to move into the kitchen if they were done so I could let the dogs in. One of them looked at me funny. "Look," I explained as if it would be obvious to a two year old, "he has been with that dog ten years. I can't explain dead to him, I have to show him. He deserves that before you take him away." They moved back.

I just let white boxer and black chow/lab sniff him until I saw they got it. The boxer nuzzled his ear and broke my heart. I put them back out and took some time for myself but I truely knew the part I loved was no longer on the floor in that body. It was just so fast. I told him I would take care of everything, he was outta here, lucky bum and that I would always love him. Then I walked out and told them they could take it out.

We have one hell of a support team. And I had to tell the girls their daddy was dead, and my son the truck driver who was on the road and my eldest and his other brother in El fricking Paso and his sister in VA and the one he didn't like in Middle Town and omg his other friends and the cousins who were just here that weekend....

I had managed, after I got off the phone with his best friend, to run off one stupid person and reach the counter to pour one cup of coffee and get a smoke. After that I think I was on the phone or answering questions with officials or explaining the impossible to people all day. My sister cleaned, did dishes, went to the store, came back, made food, fed people and directed those that helped her and my mom answered questions and everyone helped while I was talking on the phone.

His best friend and his wife with their friends from TX ,who were people we knew, got here before noon, an impressive drive time in January. The girls got here in tears and their mom and her husband and there were so many people in our little house. And I just sat there talking between the phone ringing and thinking of one more person to call, cripe, his DAD, and I don't know what all I did. And the first meat and cheese tray arrived.

I got some time upstairs with just the best friend and his friend. I wrote about that somewhere else. I don't remember eating or anything. I don't know who stayed that night or when I went to bed. I only remember the reams of people and to all of them I kept saying, "I'm sorry."

This probably just about takes the prize for TMI. I don't care. I am trying to SHOW YOU in my feeble words with my untrained ramblings that you have to choose to be happy and loved and loving now, not tomorrow, not later this after noon. If you feel like taking a walk in the woods with your lover, grab em and go. If you are unhappy figure our what will help you change that and move toward it. If you love someone TELL them so, now, and often. Be nice to each other all the time. Even if you get angry the thing to ask is, "Is this how I want them to remember me?"

You only have from now until you die to be happy. Or from now until your beloved dies. If I have communicated to you how impossibly quickly you can go from just another day in the salt mines to having your entire live changed then I have helped one more person learn to enjoy what they have NOW. It is worth putting it out here.

The offical verdict is death by natural causes. The doc says he had one artery totally clogged and the other one 70% clogged and that he was dead before he hit the floor. I know if he had not slipped he would still be here. I never heard anyone fall that hard in my life. The floors are tile and slick when wet. And he did start sort of breathing on his own for a bit. But not for long enough. But it's a moot point now.

And he is not paralized from the neck down or stuck in his head and can't communicate or vegetating in the hospital on machines. He got out fast, the doc says painlessly, and left us all good memories of him from the last year of his life. And he didn't trash the bike he loved so much. When I sell it in the spring it will cover getting all the things done on the house that I need to get it in shape for one old lady to take care of by herself and still leave a little for the kids.

We would join hands and thow everything we all owned on the pile and light it if it would bring him back. All we can do is go on and try to live our lives with as much kindness, humor, and love as he added to our lives and to share it with others.

Our boys have to be men who stand up for what they believe in, protect children and little old ladies, treat their women like queens, help them achieve their dreams and put their family first.

Our girls have to be kind and loving and considerate of their men, support them when they want to try something new, help them express their love to the children.

They all have to stop for the family broken down on the side of the road and help their neighbors and friends when they need a hand.

All any of us can do is try to be a little better person because we knew my mate. It is how his life continues to put more goodness and love into the world even though he is gone.

If you knew my mate and he ever did anything good for you, please pass it on and whisper his name as you do.

And he's always gone to long

We moved from the little apartment to a 10' x 50' trailer in Tiny town. It was ugly but cheap. Even with both of us working child support was a big chunk of change for us but we were both determined the kids would not go without.

It took two years with the finances stretched to get the divorce final. I had been trying to save a little money and had found us a trailer on 10 acres with a garage near his old home for 20,000.00. Yes, that was a long time ago. We moved in the summer before we married and dubed it "The Swamp". We had two dogs and three cats and his eldest now. Just before the wedding my eldest joined us. We were beginning to be a family.

We married, on a perfect September day. The only flaw in the ceremony being the kitten I had rescued that climbed up the inside of my slip as we said our vows. I gave him a little hip action, he slid down my leg and I gently launched him between the mate and the preacher without missing a phrase or breaking eye contact with the mate. It made everyone laugh but we were so happy already it made no difference to us as we pledged our hearts for ever.

Now all was right in our world. The kids were getting over their hurts and we were legally a couple in front of all our friends and family. We raised the girls and my boy, added and subtracted animals and were happy there where friends were always welcome.

Then I had an accident at work that tore tendons in both hands. Four months later, on St. Patricks Day when every one was out celebrating and the kids were gone for the first time in six weeks, we were toasting each other and planning a night of heavy loving, when the house burnt down and left us standing in our pjs and assorted jackets.

A brother loaned us a 17' camper that was kitchen, bathroom and girl's room. We slept in a camper topper so snug that we had to roll over at the same time or "one fell off". Friends and family rallied and send small funds and furniture and we set up in the garage for a living room. We made too much money working to get help from the state but had nothing back. We got a trailer in September, a week before the anniversary and started over. With our income halved because of my hands and our debt doubled we were hurting.

The girls were getting older quickly. We had my eldest's graduation party and she went on to college in the Big City. The mate's girl moved in with her mother, we got homes for the animals that were left and, after only three years of being where we wanted to be the rest of our lives we rented a place in the Middle City, turned the trailer over to the morgage company and went bankrupt. This was a great shame to both of us. We dealt with it. It sucked.

After a few years in town we went to another rural trailer further north. It was near my sis so that was fun. We had some great times there, it was near a lake and we both liked to fish. Our landlords were stock car racers and that was great.

Then we found the refuge in Tiny Town, back where we started. It was a great deal on a minor fixer upper and my mom helped us get it. Things were good. All the kids helped us get moved in and I brought my flowers with me.

Now we had one cat and one dog and life was good. We were both working. The mate went from a black 750 Honda, thru a 75 Goldwing to a 1200 Yamaha we called Big Red, then back to a Black 1100 Goldwing, in here somewhere he added his white boxer pup that almost died of parvoe but lived to bond with him like a child, then a silver 1200 and then a wineberry 1500, his dream machine. After a year or two on that he had a friend paint it frosted lemon yellow. It glowed! He loved it and I could always find him in a parking lot.

I started having trouble with arthritis about the wineberry bike. After a year of not getting around well, losing my dad then I saw a specialist and he said the hip had to go. So it went. I was just getting my feet under me again when I had a heart attack, probably caused by the Vioxx I was on for the arthritis. The mate treated me like gold through all of it.

Now I wanted to be square with the world. We decided to refinance the house, make some improvements and pay off the land contract Mom had. This was going great and the mate fell for this big black Midnight Special by Yamaha. He took me to visit it one day. It had a dashboard like a car from the early '60's, very retro, very cool. They wanted half a house for it. He drooled, he kissed me, he extoled it's virtues at every turn.

I've skipped tons of living and fun and riding and things to give you the bare bones of our life together. You can see it looks pretty pitiful from where you are setting. Every time it wacked us down we came back up and went on having fun and loving each other. The way we said it was, "We don't have enough time to NOT have fun!"

The house wasn't that bad off. And I would really like a laptop. I knew just which one. So we did it. The bank owns the house but we paid off everything we owed and he had his bike and I had my laptop. He smiled everytime he started it, even if it was just to run it a little in the winter. He looked just right on it. His best friend told him it fit him perfectly. Was made for him.

Then last December he quit his job. He had changed jobs twice while we were together and I carried him as he had me through my times of no work, we just tightened the belts and got by. Then the unemployment ran out. Our area lost five factories last year. He was 52. The younger men were the ones getting hired. I wasn't worried. I liked being his sugar mama!

So when he wanted to ride he rode. When Jewel got bombed in Iraq, he was by her side when she landed. When Mom needed to take her motor home to FL. He trailered the bike and co drove her. He rode back one of the most beautiful roads he had ever seen. We were going to go do it again this summer. He helped his sis, did a rode trip with his brother, spent time with his kids, with my kids, with our friends and kept the house up and me feeling like pure bliss most of the time with our love.

I am so glad I could do that for him. He had pulled and pushed me over most of the hills in the road in our life together and I loved feeling I was giving back a little. We were happy and still in love that boggled our minds to think about. After 20 plus years, I loved him like I did the first time he made my heart pound when he reached over and held my hand.

Ain't no sunshine when he's gone

I realized today that I have jumped into this leaving you all hang as to what happened to my wonderful mate. While there is some debate on that "officially" I will tell you what I believe happened. There are two point to doing this. The first is to clear up any confusion for the local friends and family as I don't know who was where when or got told what. The second point is to, once more, seriously SHOW YOU that you need to live your life to be happy and content NOW. Not tommorrow, not when you have a little more money, not when the kids grow up. You have to find a way to be loving, content and happy in your life now or risk never having it ever.

For the ending I am about to share to have the proper setting you need the history of our love. This IS the short version.

The mate and I went to the same small church as small children. Our families - clear to the great grands - also attended services there. I have a distinct memory of chasing him, in his Sunday suit, around the Sunday school rooms in the basement and out the door. He climbed a 5 foot retaining wall to get away and by the time I ran in, upstairs and out front and all the way back around he was making faces at me from safely inside his parent's car.

If I was around 5 he would have been almost 7. He was 14 and a half months older than me. So sometimes we were 50 and 52 and sometimes we were 50 and 51. It always confused me so I ignored it.

When we were little his great grama married my great grampa. They had both lost their mates so it was a second marriage for both of them. Our families would see each other at their parties and gatherings. We both mowed the same lawns over the years and such even after my family changed churches.

My next sure memory of him is in that same church basement as teens during a youth activity, probably a summer youth program. He was at a table learning to do a four strand braid and I was gluing something together seated behind and to his left. I stared at him the whole time. He kept looking back over his shoulder at me. He was a hunk!

He tells me that one day after that he went by our house at the pond on his bicycle and saw me mowing the lawn in my swimsuit and that my long hair was blowing in the wind while the sun glistened on my skin and he was hooked. Love at first sight. Only I hadn't noticed him....yet.

The next day he showed up at the pond to fish. We regarded that as "our" property and patroled it for jerks and trappers. If we didn't like you or the way you were fishing, like throwing back wounded fish instead of putting them out of their misery, we would gather in force and swim off the dam doing dive bombs and splashing up a storm to scare the fish away.

I happened to get there first and walked right toward him before he had his line out. I was about five feet back when I realized who it was. He was pretending not to notice me, fussing with his line. I just stared at him.

He had rich, dark brunette hair that was longish, heavy brows and thick lashes around large, dark hazel eyes, a strong nose, square on the end, the shadow of a mustasch over his cupid bow lips that were the color of dusky pink roses, a dimple in his square chin that I have always loved and he was tanned like an Indian Brave from the summer sun. He was wearing a tank top and cut off jeans with tennis shoes and no socks. He was solid and square from the shoulders to his feet. His thighs were showing the first signs of hair and his calfs were thick and well defined. I always called him my Percheron Man. He was built like a draft horse. He would have made a perfect centaur. He was that magical to me.

And it was love at first real sight for me, too. I was 13. I can't tell you how we got past the part where we were too shy to talk. I can tell you we almost fished out the pond that year. He was my first hand holder, my first kiss and, eventually, my first lover.

We dated until I was 15. He had trouble at home, like most of us doing, trying to get parents to see us as adults while still being too inexperienced to truely be adults. At 17 he had had enough and wanted to join the navy or the army and leave home. He wanted me to go with him. He proposed then but I was only 15 and everyone said we were too young. (They were right but I wish someone would have worked with us that said we could get engaged, write until he was settled in a year and then see where we stood. If we still wanted to marry I would be 17 and he would be 18 and we could marry after I was out of school....)

As a couple all that time we were, what was called then, HOT. I would hitch over to his town on my two hour lunch/studyhall to hang out. He would study with me after school. We both "fished" on the slightest excuse. Any event we could both be at we were there together. My sisters would spot him and holler, "Vaaaallllerie, He is at the Daaaaaaaaaaum!" and I would shoot out the door and down the path to the pond to be with him. He and his friends came to the house for fun and dinner sometimes. I would ride over to his house, about 6 miles and do homework there.

Then one January, near my birthday, he took another girl out tobogganing with all our friends. I was shamed and hurt. We fought. We made up. We fought again. We broke up. I was destroyed. His friend told me if I dated someone else it would make him mad and jealous and he would come back to me. So I dated an older boy. His friend was only half right. He came back every bit as hurt and angry as I had been. We fought. He couldn't deal with the fact that I went out with an older man. It made him mad and he never spoke to me again.

We both ran away from home that year. He was brought back in two weeks. I was gone 4 months before returning. We went out once after that but the the hurt and anger were too raw and the pride was too thick for us to work past alone. I lived through the heartbreak and so did he. But it never felt healed. It was something I just ignored and went on with my life.

I always carried a photo of us on a Christmas date in my wallet. Always. Through two marriages and more men and the good and the bad of life he was never further than my pocket from me. Through the coming years I would dream of him, call his mom and find out he was home on leave but she would never let me talk to him and I knew she never told him I called to say I had dreamed of him....I wouldn't have told him either if I was her.

A year later, we both had mates and our first children by them. Once, after all that and a second child, I saw him and his wife at a movie theater in a nearby town. It was the first showing of the first Star Wars movie, I think. He was in uniform and I thought he looked like a very pissed off movie star. He must have seen me before I saw him.

They were behind me and across the center isle, it was dark, but I knew someone was watching me. I finally spotted him. With his short hair and the uniform I almost didn't recognize him he was so handsome. His face was cold as stone, eyes straight ahead every time I tried to catch them. They got out so quickly at the end of the movie I never did find him to speak to them.

There is more but this is enough to show you we were lovers young but deeply.

When I moved back to Michigan after 2 divorces and a relationship that failed after two and half years I was 30, depressed, broke and alone. I got a job at a bakery. After a week or so I realized the first shift worker was his sister. She had told him I was in town and told me one day that he wanted to see me. I had my Mom drive by his place one day with the stepdad and me to say hello. He came out and we spoke for under 3 minutes I bet. But the first eye contact, the mutual recognition, shock and yearning we felt, doomed us all.

We both knew then that we were still in love. I stayed out of his town, went to work and home and stayed busy. After two more weeks his sister begged me to call him. He wasn't eating, couldn't sleep, rode his bike all over trying to remember where my grama lived as I was staying with her and just in general seemed to her to be going nuts. I didn't want anything more to do with him, knowing my heart, because he was married. I had been the victim of the other woman and had no desire to be her. But she did convince me to talk to him at least.

So we set up a meet. After running into his father, his step mother and his sister where we were meeting we left together anyway and rode off on his Sportster. He took us right back to the pond. We walked the fields and talked for hours. He spent years angry at himself for not being able to get me back but thought I must hate him for hurting me. I spent years wondering how seeing another guy made him so hate me that he would never speak to me again, even to say good bye when he went in the Army, after he saw another girl first. When we got to the now we both understood it was youth and pride that ripped us apart. He had still wanted me and I had still wanted him and now we were screwed.

But is was like someone took a thousand pounds of hurt off my heart. We had talked and knew where we stood and he still loved me and he knew I still loved him. There was no doubt in our hearts. I was older now. I knew lust well and I knew infatuation. This was not them. And there, in the pines, with a dog around the sun on the most perfect day ever created in April we forgave each other our pettiness and meanesses and found our love still whole and beautiful between us.

We stole that day that was 80 degrees and sunny in April from everyone else and spent the time until sundown together. We put 150 or more miles on the bike. We stopped to eat. We rode his favorite roads. We walked in the woods everywhere by rivers and held hands. And we talked about everything.

God gave us that one perfect day and we both treasured it ever after. But like all mortal days, it ended. He took me home and I kissed him good bye. That should have been the end of the story.

Then it was back to the real world. It was skewed. Short version is I tried to be a friend of the family, not a threat to them. They helped me get a bike so I had cheap transportation. I watched the kids so they could go out, taught the wife to ride a motorcycle so they would have more in common, had my kids over and took them all out fishing and on picnics....and then, about six months later, he crashed his bike in front of me and I knew I wanted my turn with my man and had to leave town. It hurt even more because by then I cared about all of them and hated to leave but I could not trust myself.

It was a long cold year of heartaches all around but after a year of trying to stay with his family and make it till the kids were grown he left them to moved in with me in my little apartment in another town. We could finally just love each other. There was guilt and grief and practical life to be worked through but we loved and treasured each other every minute of everyday.

I wanted you to see that this is a lifetime story. It might have had many different middles but from the beginning to the end we were a pair in a story of "true love".