New Orleans Valentine's Gift

A few years ago in February I went to New Orleans to run the marathon.  There were five of us.

On February 14 we were in a ward in a scary part of town and stopping to see if I could find a duffel bag to carry back some free shirts I got for Bel Inizio.  I left the car and was walking down the sidewalk towards the dollar store acting as comfortable I could be as a white tourist in a very dark black poor part of town. So far that had not been a problem. Maybe I am naive and certainly am trusting but there really is not much to mug in my world.

Anyway, a man rushes across the street towards me. Old, white, unshaven, dirty clothes, and comes right at me. But not in a scary way. Or not in a way that I was scared.  He gets right up to me and without looking, pushes a package in my hand and says "Happy Valentine's Day" and walks on.  By the time I got my balance he was half way down the block.  It was little red box about the size of a deck of cards. Unopened. It had red and pink hearts on it.

I felt like the gift giver was an angel.  A homeless, smelly, angel that Tom sent. And maybe Tom sent the angel so I would know he loved me and missed me and that is was ok to talk to the old dirty homeless guys on the street.

The Valentine box was never opened (even in my worst chocolate cravings) and sat on my dresser where I looked at it every day.

Last night, Jakethevildog found the box. Why he would suddenly find it after all this time I  have no idea. Clearly having no respect for homeless angels, ruined New Orleans, and Tom's touch, he chowed down. When I found it I was so sad I could barely beat the crap out of him. But I managed.  And in a few minutes, after lunch settles, I am going to have a chocolate.  It is an old chocolate now, from new Orleans, from an angel/man I will never know, that has dog slobber on it. And I will thank Tom for his gift, get out the scotch tape, and place it up higher on a shelf.

2 steps forward 1 step back

This was an amazing long weekend for friends. Thursday one friend agreed to select Bel Inizio as her Reason2Race and started getting set up to do the Jailbreak Race in October. On Saturday I hung out with four very cool women and we celebrated a recent wedding with massages, wine, and lots of laughter. Late afternoon another friend made it possible for me to get the best salmon I have ever, ever eaten.  14 lbs of it. That night two neighbors came over and helped me jump start my car and actually keep it running.

Sunday I had a great run with my two loyal mutts waiting at home, helped stuff packets and met some interesting people and supported one of the biggest supporters of Bel Inizio. The night ended with a delicious Fathers Day dinner and yet another friend hanging out with us.

In the middle of that had two great and long phone calls and even got a cool card in the mail.

But here is the weird thing.  Last Monday night I sent a text asking someone for help.  I needed the help on Sunday, almost a week away. It was help I really needed. I never got an answer.  Not ever. Not when we saw each other once during the week. Not even when we emailed twice.  Just never acknowledged.  Just ignored.  Not forgotten, just ignored.  And it is really bugging me.

I won't do anything about it, I won't bring it up, and even when I think about all the love I gave and received all long weekend long it still really bugs me.

It is like having 5 pounds of ugly fat you can't lose. Or really hate but are unwilling to lose. (Somehow there is an analogy in there).

But now that I have put this out into the universe for everyone to see, and I realize how petty I am, I am going to let it go ...now...in a minute...at least by morning....

Pushing a car

This morning I am almost at work and almost on time after a hugely hard upper body workout that made me want to vomit and left me shaking.  (The whole time I drove home and cleaned up I kept feeling my forehead for a fever.  Surely I could figure out a reason to go back to bed. No luck).

Anyway I'm all dressed up in my heels and new white fake silk shell and snappy black dress pants and I see this guy trying to push a truck into a gas station. There is an old woman in the driver's spot. So I keep going as I always do convinced some big muscle guy is going to stop and help.  And then like I always do I turn around to make sure. And then like always happens no one does.  So I pull over, get out of the car, and start pushing.  In my white fake silk shell, snappy black dress pants and heels. 

And we push and push and she gets the truck to the pump and I leave. And I am so glad I had some muscles to help. And I wonder how anyone, ever, could keep driving by. That thought makes me sad.  But then I am double glad that I wore my white fake silk shell and snappy black dress pants and heels today because at least I looked buff pushing a truck with an old woman in the driver's seat into a gas station.

Getting beyond the crashing waves

Ok it is happening again.  It sort of feels like that point in the ocean when you are trying to get beyond the breaking waves but you are stuck at the part where they just keep hitting you in the face and making you snort salt water.  You can turn your back but then you can't move forward.  You can dive under but chances are you will come up in the same spot with the water hitting you smack in the face.

It is Monday and I accomplished so much over the weekend.  But not enough.  I am cooking my lunch at 7 am instead of walking the dogs and have no fruit in the house. I have an intern that is bugging the crap out of me this morning and Ican feel myself getting impatient.  I have so much to do and there is not one since thing in the entire pile I want to get to.  I have no busy work (except this blog) to distract me.

I want to go and leave and run and run and run and then maybe I can focus.  I have to work on the Humana grant and I hate it. And I feel fat as a house since I did not exercise Sunday. 

So with all the logic of myself I decide to:
1. avoid work and blog (clearly a good choice)
2. eat crap food so that I will be happy (or not most probably)
3. rinse and repeat and throw in looking at Facebook

Or I could work on Bel Inizio. That should be fun but it is not.  Another wave just crashed.

In my heart I know my "stuff" is not worse or even as bad as other people's I just don't know how other people keep moving forward.  They must have a way because otherwise nothing in this world would get done. Give it up all you successful robotoms!

Ok break to look at Facebook. Wonderful loves, great kids, spiritual breakthroughs, positive outlooks, bootstrap stories, and pithy quotes. Post from Theresa: Quit lying and go back to bed like the rest of wish we could do. Or share your rose colored glasses.

But wait!  Its showtime!  Put on the happy face. Love life.  Cheers to all! Or if all else fails just get back to work. Yummy.

So a while back I decided that I was losing fitness faster than I could gain it so I hired a trainer.  This is a guy that I met through Cherita at Bel Inizio.  He is very good.  But interestingly enough, the more I work out and see results the more wierd I am getting about my body. Or maybe the more insecure I am getting overall.

Before, I could go to the park after work, run in a circle and go home. Nicely invisible. Oh no says Calvin.  You have to do agility, and speed work, and stretching.

Yesterday I had to start doing these agility exercises before my speed work (I use the term loosely).  So I brought my yoga mat to the track and set in the grass and did my push ups, squats, gorilla jumps, lunges, planks, sit ups, and about five other exercises. And I was dying the entire time. Everyone was staring at me.

Ok, it is certain that if the police came and interviewed everyone at the little track last night they would not be able to pick my face, body, or outfit from a line up ... but I kept thinking everyone was looking at me. Sort of the way I look at the tai chi people. 

I don't look worse than others and certainly not better.  My mat is gray and my outfit is black.  Short of wearing camo I am fairly invisible, but it really shook my confidence just being in the middle of a field sweating and panting all by myself.

But then I started speed work. In my dreams I can do a 2 minute quarter mile.  More realistically I can do a 2:10 and it is ugly. I walk a 1/4 and run a 1/4 until I reach 3 miles. The whole time I was running I had to pretend -- honest to God-- I was a skinny black Kenyan guy running for the gold. That is a trick that I must use being a person of a certain age, gender, and skin color. I completed the work out while everyone stared at the white, middle-aged female Kenyan boy.  And then had to stretch for 10 minutes. I should have sold tickets.

Ok, again, no one was watching me but I am so freaked out that I was so freaked out. I wonder where the 'I don't give a flip what any one thinks about me' person went.    I've never been the 'whatta you lookin at' person (sober) but I have gone so far the opposite direction it is unsettling. Luckily I had music blaring in my ears (white, middle-aged female Kenyan boy music) so I could fake it.

Anyway if you see who I used to be, let me know.  I'll sit and watch her like I watch the people doing tai chi.

I just got an email from Nicole about the blog and realized I had not posted in a long time and I think it is because I have nothing to say.

When Tom first died I cried and cried in fear of forgetting. And now I am. And I was afraid of losing, and now I am. And I was afraid of being alone, and I am. Tom's car is dying, his office is changing, and my memory is slipping.

There is someone who is out there that wants to tell me that is ok. Time moves on. Memory fades to reduce pain, cars die of old age, and there is no sense in keeping a 50 foot shrine in an air conditioned room in the house. It is my wish to kick all those people very hard in a place that bruises and bleeds. I am tired down to my bones and it is not going away.

This morning I managed to put sheets on the bed. Don't ask how long I have been sleeping without them.

At a wedding this weekend a guy hit on me. He was old (my age), and had a big belly, and an ex-wife and an 18-year old son who he is kicking out of the house. It is unbelievable to me I can't go home and tell Tom about this funny guy.

 Apparently I am rambling. I have nothing to say.

Touch

There are a lot of things I have taken for granted in the past and probably still do now. But one thing I have always really valued is touch. Tom and I touched a lot. Intimately of course, but also passing each other in the hall, or sitting at the table, or just moving around the house. And in bed sleeping. I don't think we were ever within 5 feet of each other without a touch happening every few minutes.

I still get touched. My mom or dad hugs me, basic contact with the ladies at Bel Inizio, hand shakes or pats with other athletes. But it is not the same. And the difference is not because Tom and were married or in love or very familiar with each other. It was the intimate of a man. Guys touch different even if you are not sleeping with them. The hand is bigger or the movement stronger, or the grasp firmer. It is more like touch with intent, than touch as a byproduct.

What is so cool is the firm guidance of hand on your back as a door is opened for you by a guy you know. Or a hand reaching to help you up. It is the touch that dies in a bad marriage or sparks in a new relationship or reassures with a friend.

These days touch is scary. People don't touch because someone will go to HR and complain or get offended or read way too much into it. And in all of it it is easy to forget how wonderful it is to lose yourself in a long, deep hug, or to just have someone rub your shoulders.

Will smile for touch.

Food

Food was very easy way back when. Oatmeal for breakfast, Lean Cuisine for lunch, and at 5 pm the daily call of "Hey babe, what's for dinner?" That would result in cold cereal, fast food, pizza, or Chinese. It was a fine situation although at times, embarrassing.

At one point we (T&T) got on a kick of no sauce on our pizza. That lasted a few months and then we decided to have sauce one night. I placed the order and got a call back from the pizza place owner within minutes confirming our order. He had it memorized and wanted to know if we had made a mistake.

Then, a few years ago I quit eating. Not completely of course but really cutting back. It started when Nicole was here and we doing 12 hour shifts at the hospital. She found a company that would deliver food to me at home. She put me on a 1,400 calorie package, a total of 3 meals a day. But I misread the labels and thought each meal was 1,400 calories. So I ate only about one of the meals each day. I got used to being hungry and when you mix that in with very little sleep, trouble at work, and a dying husband it just became part of the package. When Tom died and Nicole left I never really got back on the food bandwagon.

I really do feel sick when I don't eat enough and usually have dry heaves on my runs. But I feel way worse when I am full and when I go over the deep end (see previous post about eating a box of girl scout cookies) I become significantly unhappy physically and emotionally.

So now I am trying real hard to eat my specified 6 small meals a day. I have about one good day a week. A good day is when I actually eat all my food. A normal day is when I get about 3 meals in usually all before 1:30 pm. A bad day is when I eat breakfast, forget about all the other food, feel like crap, work out and then disappoint myself and my coach.

There are lots of reasons a therapist might say I behave like this. Perhaps I am reflecting the emptiness in my heart into my body (how freakin melodramatic is that?). Maybe I still believe that if you don't eat and work out a lot you get thin (man could I catch some crap on that one). Maybe I am lazy and distracted and cannot prioritize what is good for me (unlikely as I sure manage to fit my workouts in). Maybe this the area of challenge God has given me to overcome (Now I am cracking up. I have not succeeded in the last 678,879.03 challenges He has given me - I’m thinking success on this one would be a poor bet). Maybe I can starve myself to death (No way, that would mean giving up my critical glass of wine a night).

So I set my alarm to remind me, have a lovely snack at 10:30 am (1/2 c nonfat yogurt, 1/2 c fruit, 3 graham cracker squares, and 1 soy sausage) and promise to eat again in 2 hours.

And now as I read this I realize how completely all-about-me I am and I am sorry. How lucky I have a limited (and hopefully nonjudgmental) reader base.

President's Day

Tom and I had our first date on President's Day. Can't recall, maybe 1992 or so? He had me over for dinner in his apartment. I was a nervous wreck and so was he. In retrospect we were so much of what we are. He served me in wine in his grandmother's wine glasses. It was the only time we ever used them. We watched a recorded Paul McCartney Concert on tv. I never watched a concert show again. He loved those glasses and I really dislike concert tv shows.

That night he told me if I was not careful he would have me married with a white picket fence before I could blink. My stomach fluttered. The marriage was delayed for seven years until we became engaged on Valentine's Day in 1999 (my fault). The picket fence never happened (my luck - I would have had to paint it).

It was actually quite a golden time.

Valentine's Day 2012

Hi Tom,
Just so we are clear, today really sucks. I work up at 3 am and did not go back to sleep after dreaming that you were in prison and all you wanted was a giant poster of a big booby woman to put on your ceiling. Oh yes, and double sided tape to hang it up.

Then I went and worked out and was as weak as a limp celery. Then I lost my phone and discovered I left it across town. And then I ate (I swear) an entire box of girl scout cookies and it is only 10:09. I want to vomit and go back to bed.

What I am learning about myself is that I have an amazing capacity for self-pity (see above), destructive behavior (see above), and fitting in a bunch of crap before most people wake up (see above yet again). Oh yes, and I can blame you for almost everything. It is with apologies and love that I wish you Happy V Day and hope to see you soon.

T

Almost 3 years

It has been almost 3 years and things are improving. These are things that are not improving:

1. I was practicing using a nail gun and accidentally nailed the 2x4 to the hard wood floor. Luckily I had a pry bar and wood putty handy.
   
   


2. I was at a stop light and decided I needed a new hole in my shoes strap to tighten the buckle. Using a handy corkscrew (that says something) I made the hole in the fake leather and right into my finger spurting blood everywhere. Luckily it was a long light.
   


3. Nights and weekends remain exceptionally long. They are jam packed (or is it jamb packed?) but still manage to really drag out. Luckily I manage to exhaust myself almost daily so can get to sleep.
   


4. My dogs shed like crazy. Luckily I no longer have to set a good example of order or cleanliness for anyone else.

I have such a good life (except for nail guns, bleeding, extra time, and dog hair) but I can't seem to get out from under my cloud (missing my sunshine).

I've heard that time and cheesecake heal all wounds. I'm looking forward to both.

Marathon for Adoption

Today I ran the Marathon for Adoption in New Braunfels, TX. I am fairly well trained but did not actually realize the run was hilly. They call it rolling hills. As a Houston flatlander it seemed like Everest. The first 13.1 were brutal. The last three really tough. The mid 10 were ok. I was alone 75%.

It was so challenging that at mile 8 or 9 I quit looking at my watch. I had no idea of my pace or how far I had gone. All I wanted to do was stay true to my runs and walks. And I did. Remarkably enough I came in within 10 minutes of my goal time. I only broke down crying out loud (yes really out loud) twice. That may be a personal record.

I cry because it is hard and because I chose to do it and then because it is hard. Mostly I cry because Tom had the ever loving gall to leave me. And because he won't be at the aid stations and the finish line. He won't be at my stupid empty house to welcome me home and we won't have our metal ceremony. He won't hear all my war stories.

And here is the part where I usually quit being self-indulgent and feeling sorry for myself, and proud of my accomplishment and say really nice things about Tom watching me from Heaven etc.

But I'm tired. I ran a hard and good race today. And I am sad. We are moving in on 21 months and honest to God it was yesterday. And he is not at my finish line.

Tomorrow I will get out of bed, and stretch and be productive. Tonight I will be a bit sore all over, head to feet to heart.

Nite babe.

Happy Birthday Tom - October 10

Happy Birthday Tom.

This is from Karina:

Karina S. Descartin-ManacsaOctober 11, 2010 at 4:20am
Subject: RE 10/10
Happy birthday to Tom!

I met him only once, Theresa. I am glad I did.

We have Tom's bookmark in our fridge. :-)

Btw, in Filipino (in my family at least), when a loved one moves on, they now have 2 birthday celebrations. Most often we continue to celebrate both---with eating with family and/or friends just like they were still with us. The first is the birth birthday. The second birthday is the death anniversary--where there's eating party again. I don't know if it's a Catholic thing or Filipino thing. But bottomline is, we continue to celebrate their days as if they are still here. I guess they always will be. :-)

Warmly,
Karina

October 9 Happy Birthday John

Who would have guessed? John Lennon born just one day (and many a year) before Tom.

Man on the Moon

Tonight I watched Man on the Moon which is a movie that makes me so significantly sad I can't believe it. Tom and I watched it way back when and even then I proceeded to view and review REM's video title song over and over. And now I am doing it again. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hKSYgOGtos)

And I don't know know why. Used to be when I would do stuff like this Tom would hold me in his arms and remind me it was just a movie, or just a little bird that died, or just the way things go.

Once I literally curled up in a ball when the dog I loved at the dog track tripped and tumbled over and over. It never occurred to me they could get hurt. The dog was not hurt but I still cried until we left. When Patrice got kicked off of some rocker elimination show Tom had to calm to down by reminding I was probably the only non-relative in the country balling about it. I never watched the show again.

And last night I helped save a little dog who has now been passed to much more skilled and loving, generous hands than mine. And I am crying thinking about her alone in a cold and noisy kennel. (Her name is Ronnie Mac).

I never knew until 20 months and five days ago that my life had two parts. It had the part I did all alone during the day or away from the house, and the part when I went home and told Tom. And I sort of thought they were equal. And they were not. The part I did alone was 10% and the part with Tom was 90%. And losing the 90% does not in any way make the 10% fill the void. And we can say nice things like Tom is watching and loves Ronnie Mac but he isn't. He is dead. And I am at 10% and the dog fell at the track and Patrice is not famous and Ronnie may be cold.

Birthday 51

Yesterday was my birthday. It was harder than all the holidays since Tom died. Here is why: My birthday is about me and Tom made it triple about me.

Back in 1982 when I had this nutso boyfriend we started celebrating birthday week. When I met Tom we continued. It goes like this. You get seven days of celebrating leading up to your big day. We used to just do it so that starting on Sunday we had fun everyday to the birthday and that was great if your day landed on a Friday or Saturday but if it hit on a Monday you were screwed. So now it is seven days before, during, and after.

Every day of birthday week you get a present. It could be a silly present (e.g., a stuffed animal, a glow in the dark ring), a practical present (e.g., a battery charger, a hoe), a decadent present (e.g., those ice cream balls covered in chocolate, a hard cover book), or maybe a love present (e.g., a pair of earrings, a soft t-shirt).

On the last September 27 in which Tom made me princess for week, my big gift was a hitch attached to my car to carry my bike rack. He made a big sign and covered it in a big bow. Everyday I look at that hitch with love.

Thanks to amazing family, wonderful friends, and an unexpected cool front the birthday went from massively suck to decidedly nice. But I promise that no one will ever give birthday week like Tom did.

Thanks for the love Tom, and the hitch, and the glow in the dark ring.

My Tom "sighting"

Ok before you get your hopes up or think this is going to be some wonderful "Ghost" love reappearance it is not. It is just plain silly but it is true.

I have a lot of trouble sitting still. If I am still -- I am asleep. So that makes watching movies tough. TV I can do from time to time but that is because there are commercials so I can jump up and try and accomplish something during the break.

Tom could sit through an entire movie easily. I would need to "go to the bathroom" or "check a noise" or get a glass of water about every 20 minutes. If it was a good movie Tom would pause and sit and wait. Usually patiently. But sometimes things did not go as planned. I would go the bathroom and realize the towel was not clean so I would get out another one. Then I would think I should do a quick batch of laundry and have to sort through the piles. 15 minutes later Tom would find me cleaning out the closet having forgotten all about the movie.

When Tom died I stopped cable and Netflix and the newspaper. Saving money and all that. Just recently I decided that life was hard enough and if I could not manage $10a month for NetFlix I might as well cash it in anyway. So I got NetFlix and started watching my first movie. For 20 minutes.Then I got up to get a drink and started cleaning the kitchen and decided to make some brownies.

Honest to God in the middle of making brownies I heard Tom say "Hey Babe, I thought we were watching a movie."

It is exactly what he would say. And he said it in that "I'm being patient but would appreciate some consideration" tone of voice. I cracked up. I stopped what I was doing, returned to the show and managed to sit for 30 more minutes before taking another break.

In truth I want Tom to come back and cuddle me at night, or help me make decisions, or lift a piece of furniture, but as it must be -- he visited in a way that gave me a big smile and was very true to our lives.

Thanks Babe.

Tom "sightings"

At the night of Tom's fundraiser a woman came up to me and shared that her dead husband had appeared to her almost two years after he passed. It was very comforting to her. A counselor once told me her grandmother had visited an sat down on the edge of her bed.

My brother Michael had an extended conversation with Tom shortly after he died. And now I received this wonderful story from Jeannie about a Tom sighting her husband Gary experienced.

Dear Theresa,

I hope this note finds you doing well. I wanted to share a little something with you. Gary and I just got back from a vacation to Maui. I have a dear friend who lives there so I went a few days before Gary to have some "girl time." Anyway, Gary had to change planes in Los Angeles and he had a Tom sighting. He said he was waiting for his plane when this guy walked past him and he looked up and was about to say "hey Tom" when he was brought back to reality and knew it couldn't be his friend Tom.

He said it really brought him some special thoughts and memories to see this man that looked just like his friend Tom. We are very intune with this sort of thing since we had our own many moments of Philip sightings after he left this earth.

While Tom may not be here in an earthly form, he remains in our hearts and minds forever. I continue to read your blog and enjoy your thoughts and memories... thank you for continuing to share.

Take care,
Jeanne Hazen

Thank you Jeanne for sharing this story. I look for Tom everywhere. I am so glad he is alive in your memory.

Please send me your Tom sightings & experiences, I would love to hear about them.
Love Theresa

Tom = Music

My auditory memory is pretty good. I can recall the baseboard I was sanding when I heard that one part of the This American Life episode about the kids that made up the family they were babysitting for all summer when the mom almost busts them. I can recall when I first heard the Indigo Girls sing about four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper. And I was free.

And I can recall a million conversations with Tom about music. Ok actually I can remember Tom talking. I listened. Especially when he was with Donna and Hugh or Jeffery. They would talk for hours about bands and artists and songs. Tom just shined.

Tom was music to so many people. A comment was posted to this blog by Trey, a man dearly loved. He wrote about Tom drumming on the dashboard of his car. And Tommy sent a link to a new song with lots of Gibson SG time. He wrote it was 4 minutes well-spent. (Yet another example of fine rock and roll played on the mighty Gibson SG... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_iBKacXIA4).

And I recall Tom sitting in the family room pickin' and strummin' while I fell asleep. Life is so much richer for the music, both literal and figurative, that Tom created.

Tom's new car

Tom and I had an interesting relationship with each other as it pertained to money. Tom set the rules, I fought forever and gave up. Then it worked out fine.

Basically we each handled our own money. We split the bills, saved, invested, and if someone had some extra or was short the other person covered it.

Tom was slow on most things but not on saving and not on buying. Take his car for example. One day he went out and bought a car. He deserved it. His old one was falling apart and he had been driving it for decades. But it cracked me up when he got up one day and said he was going to look at cars and came home with one. I always thought married people did all that together. Now granted, I did not care what he bought, where he bought, or how much it cost. Tom was reasonable. But to this day it cracks me up.

Months later I was without a car. I needed to go buy one. I told Tom we needed to go get me a car. He kindly said to call him if I got in a bind. Then I went and bought my own car.

And to think we did not get married for 7 years because I needed to retain my independence.

Now I still drive his car and look fondly at this six year old picture the dealer gave him with a funny memory. And I know I can go out and buy my own car.