I‘m not doing anything that could cause an injury, and- and- he couldn’t think of anything he would say I could do better. I modify the poses. I have a spinal curvature and a severely arthritic left hip. I am working on correcting the spinal curvature and getting as much range of motion out of my hip as I can. I have been working on the spinal curvature since I was 55 when I first saw the problem in a mirror.
I went to show Mike. I corrected my lopsided posture and asked him if I looked straight. He said yes. Then I stood the way I always stood. He could see how distorted my body posture was then. It had been at least 50 years of incorrect movement, which created my problem; I understood fixing it was going to take a lot of time. I accepted that. The better I get, the faster the changes come. Now that Yvette is working on me every other night, either giving me a short massage or a Graston treatment, I think things will go even faster.
I love the way she uses the Graston. She does it very gently and meticulously. She sees the instruments as extensions of her hand. It feels great, and I can see the difference in the next yoga class. Sometimes that difference looks like I’m worse. But I understand that something rigid has been released throwing my weight onto muscles that haven’t been able to do their job before, limiting what I can do at that moment. I have to take it slow, modifying my work. I love detail. I love working slowly and meticulously. It’s like the Mindfulness mediation I learned, paying careful attention to the body. Wonderful! I’m also getting better. Also, wonderful. I’d love to be able to teach someone what I know. In my experience, there aren’t many people who are prepared to work with my concept of progress. It’s the one articulated by the yoga teachers: look for an improvement 1/16 of an inch difference. But, it’s not what most people do. I was made for 1/16-inch improvements.
I rushed home from Bikram because I have to get my phone calls in before 11 am when the businesses I have to deal with on the east coast shut down. I dealt with State Farm Insurance. Mike bought it when we were living in Princeton. He thought he bought one kind of insurance, which would be worth a fixed amount in the end. At some point, he found out that he had bought the other kind, which would continue to grow. Besides informing them of Mike’s passing, I had to find out how to claim the insurance. I had to fax the death certificate to the main office and the claim form to the local office in Ohio. Mike never met the agent in Ohio. Our policy was transferred there when we moved to Columbus. The Ohio agent is still our agent because there is none in Hawaii. I had to give the agent my email address so he could send me the application form. The amount of money available was a delightful surprise.
I think there must be people who are struck by my dealing with these financial issues before his body is in the ground, literally. I have been planning for his death since the day I knew he was my life partner. My father died when I was 15. Many people who lost parents as children regularly grieve the loss of significant people in their lives. Mike used to kid me about it. When we were living in Princeton, he would sometimes come home later than expected. I would be curled up in a ball on the sofa, convinced I was a widow. This pattern has continued to the end. Mike would say, “Stop burying me.” And then, he’d say, “We’re going to die together in our 90s.” Liar, liar pants on fire. At any rate, I thought through all I would have to do if he died over and over. I have thought through my life after Mike, not always coming up with a successful scenario. These thoughts have been driven by my need to know that I could survive his death. I’m doing well now; check back in 6 months or a year.
I adored and still adore this man. Those 6 weeks in the hospital were a gift. Some have commented on how difficult that time must have been. It wasn’t. I know it was stressful, mainly because I developed a killer back problem in the middle of it and was in constant pain, but the rest was easy. As I said before, touring Scotland, something Mike wanted to do, would have been much more of a self-sacrifice. Being with him in the hospital every day was a meaningful activity. Mike ran several mental hospitals in New Jersey when we lived in Princeton. He said to me several times, “If I’m ever in a hospital, don’t leave my side.” I was prepared for what I did. Being there, I was able to provide him company, information that he wasn’t alone in this ordeal and tons, and tons of love. God, did I love him. And the six weeks allowed me to fuel up on love, which is carrying me over now.
Paulette called to tell me that she would stop by to drop off the homemade chicken noodle soup, from what was left of the chicken Brenda got for me, and two biscuits. Then Brenda called and asked if she and her husband, Don, could come over on the 27th for dinner. Of course, they are coming to pick up the photographic panels for the funeral, and bring the food. Brenda is the one who will take care of setting up the panels early so they can be enjoyed by people coming in early.
While I had her on the phone, I talked about the reception. I know that Fr. Lio is expecting 300 people. The church will hold 450. I have this nagging feeling that there will be more than that. So many people talk to me about how they love Mike and how much they are going to miss him. He was no ordinary man. I know what he was like as a husband. That’s what I focused on. I know people liked him and admired him, but it seems they loved him, truly loved him. I suggested to Brenda that we order for at least 50 more people, and I pay for it. She read me the menu. I was expecting what’s called heavy pupus, appetizers, but no, Fr. Lio has ordered a full luncheon. There’s a vegetarian dish, a beef dish, a chicken dish, a pork dish, salad, fruit, and dessert. “Holy Shit!” was my response, probably not entirely appropriate, given the circumstances. Brenda assured me that there would be more than enough food.
Adam came over to take me and the items I wanted to return to Costco. He loaded 9 (nine) cases of Pellegrino. This was as much my doing as Mike’s. I bought them when they were on sale. He couldn’t drink them anymore because of his kidney disease, but he was hoping that once he had a transplant, he could again. Costco only accepted 5 of the cases because the rest had expired. I thought of just leaving the remaining cases outside with a note for people to help themselves. The clerk said I couldn’t do that. Plan B: load them in my car and contribute them to a food bank. I left the flatbed cart by the return desk and did some shopping. This was a new first: the first time I shopped at Costco since Mike’s death. Now, I only had to think of myself. I didn’t have to call Mike and ask if he wanted me to pick up something for him, another moment which brought home that he’s gone.
Adam had left after getting me to the return desk to drop off the recycling at the transfer station. I thought I was going to have to deal with those heavy cases on my own. Lo and behold, when I got to the checkout line, there was Adam. He had forgotten something and had to return to pick it up. We went through the checkout line together. He loaded the remaining cases of Pellegrino and some other heavy items I had bought into his car. I thought he’d be right behind me. But no, it took him about an hour to get home. He had to pick up some takeout food for his family. Given there were only three cases, he took them home for his family. Good enough.
Flowers arrived from Kathy and John Coughlin. Now I have those flowers and the plant from my colleagues at Licking Heights South. I have more than enough to last me for a while.
I walked Elsa. When I got back to the house, Yvette was there with a loaf of fresh bread in hand. She gave me a big slice. I slathered it with butter and finished off the remaining salad and the salmon. Then I watch some TV, Suspects, walked Elsa and went to bed.
