I got up at the usual time. Now that the sun is coming up earlier, it is much easier to get up. During the winter, when dawn was just peeking over the mountain at 6 am, getting up early was an effort. I swallowed a big gulp of water and was out the door for Elsa's walk. When I got home, I did my oil rinse, washed last night's dishes, and then off to Bikram.
When I got home, I threw balls for Elsa. I really do that every day, several times a day, actually, whenever Elsa can get me to do it. Elsa can chase balls on an almost continuous basis. The other activity she has an endless tolerance for having her tummy rubbed. When I walk her, she rolls over on her back for every passerby.
I showered, washed my Bikram clothes, did MELT, and used my Tiger Stick.
I've been thinking more about Mike's limitations as a human being, what he was good at, and what he wasn't good at. Many of his shortcomings were caused by his treatment in the hands of his family of origin, particularly his mother. This brings up more anger. Mike was a fantastic human being, but he would have been capable of so much more.
He was a phenomenal teacher and counselor, really amazing. As a teacher, he was excited about the subjects he taught and inspired his students. He was a true scholar. As a counselor, he had that combination of honesty and sensitivity that touched people profoundly and changed their lives for the better. What he wasn't good at was unstructured social conversation.
When I first met him, his idea of a conversation was him talking for 35 minutes, uninterrupted, and then me making relevant contributions or asking appropriate questions. It took me years to get through to him that the function of a conversation was not to learn something new from an expert but to learn something new about the person he was talking to. He understood that in the counseling context, but not in casual conversation. He needed a clear framework to be able to function. His mind was linear; my mind, not so much.
I may have mentioned he didn't do well with maverick thinking. What the hell was he doing with me? This is what my life is about. Finding new solutions to problems. He once said that if he had been my boss, he would have fired me, despite my success with the students I worked with. Years later, when I mentioned this to him, he said that was because of his fear of the unfamiliar. In our marriage, I became more structured, and he became more tolerant of the unstructured. The big difference is that I was conscious from the beginning that I wanted to learn to be more structured. I believe he was not aware he chose me in part because of his need to change, which does not mean he didn't select me for this very trait. I think he wanted to learn to be more tolerant of the unexpected, uncontained. He just wasn't conscious of his desire.
There was a point in our marriage while we were still living in Princeton, where he was launching a serious effort to get me to change my evil mental ways. He came with me to see my therapist. He complained about how I leaped from one subject to another. He found this very annoying if not downright distressing. I pointed out to him that I could see relationships between Descartes and an arrangement of telephone poles; I make connections between everything.
I blurted out, "I use primary sources." Mike was outraged. He said, "I use primary sources. I read the original Plato and Thomas Aquinas." The therapist said, "She's a phenomenalist." "Oh!" He finally got the difference between the two of us. Thank God, this therapist knew what a phenomenalist was and knew that Mike would respond to that information. He finally had a context to understand me.
A few years later, he started working on his Ph.D. thesis for his theology degree from Catholic University. He chose or had chosen for him Simone Weil for his thesis topic. I read a little of her writing. I recognized the way her mind worked. She was a combination of his first wife, me, and him. She was a social activist (his first wife), and scholar (Mike), and a creative thinker (me). I think Mike's exposure to her helped him to become more tolerant of me. By the end of our lives together, he had gotten to the point that he found the way my mind worked amusing and fun. He said I was full of surprises; he could never anticipate what would come out of my mouth next.
I seem to have entered the angry phase of the grieving process with some sadness thrown in for good measure. Some of the anger that is coming up is toward Mike. There is a chance that his commitment to better living through chemistry to deal with his medical problems may have contributed, if not caused, his pancreatitis. He was firmly committed to what the "expert" doctors had to prescribe.
Some people fight about money, some about sex, some about religion; we fought about medical solutions to illnesses. I always do as much as I can to heal myself using alternative methods. I avoid taking aspirins. I finally brought my blood pressure down to 128 for 80 from 169 over 90 with meditation the other day. I am cutting back on the blood pressure medication I started taking while I was on Oahu with Mike. The moment I noticed it was high, I called my doctor immediately for medication, knowing that I would also deal with the problem with other methods. Mike rejected other methods.
He was a very anxious man, suffering from PTSD from his experiences with his family of origin. I also suffer from that. We both had mothers who screamed, and I do mean screamed in horror when things didn't go their way. Yes, they both suffered from PTSD, but also they both made no effort to contain themselves. I worked years in therapy, most of my adult life, to cure this problem in myself so I would be less reactive. While Mike was in control of his behavior, he suffered internally. He didn't overreact as I did, he withdrew. He did try a psychotherapeutic approach, but the therapists he worked with weren't skilled enough to lead him through the process at a rate that he could tolerate. As a result, his solution was to be on high quantities of anti-anxiety medication that were above the approved amount. This medication may have caused his pancreatitis. It is those very medications that are implicated in his fatal pancreatic attack.
His resistance to alternative methods even showed up in the hospital. I tried to do some healing with him. He thought I was substituting healing for his doctor's advice. I would never have done such a thing. I would never have disrespected him that way. However, I am not the least bit sure he wouldn't have disrespected my preferences if our positions had been reversed; he was so convinced of the value of what was 'scientifically proven," despite one scientific result being subsequently being disproven after another. I assured him I would never, never override the doctor's advice in favor of my healing work.
I have moments of anger about the outcome, Mike's death, but I also can let it go. Life is a gamble as far as I'm concerned, you choose which horse to ride and hope for the best. His horse lost, but it could just as easily been mine. I don't think there is a guaranteed solution. I believe Mike did deal with his problems as best he could. It just didn't work out, and we both lost out. I'm more sad than angry, but some anger does well up.
I called NJ probate court again to see if I could get more specific information on their accepted procedures. They said if there is a will, regardless of the amount, it has to be probated. Now, that is not true here in Hawaii. Here they offer a more straightforward and cheaper method. Going to probate costs money. But, my guess is this explains why my financial advisor has never seen the Affidavit of Collection that I've handed him and believes it is easier to get a Letter of Testamentary. All the people he has dealt with have gone to probate. Getting that letter is a piece of cake once the probate process is already in place.
I took a long, deep nap. When I got up, I ironed and took dry clothes offline. Then I sat down and binged on FreeCell.
Sandor contacted me to tell me he was free to help me set up the blog. Problem: I don't have a title yet. Also, he wants me to edit the 250 pages that I have already written before we post it. I'm delighted that he is thinking of me. I looked up the titles of other blogs on the subject.
How's this one: Mike and me; me without Mike. Me with Mike; me without Mike. I feel I the blog covers not just my loss but those five and weeks in the hospital. Maybe I need two blogs. One which includes before the death and one after. I'm very grateful that Sandor's making an effort to stay in touch with me. I am fortunate that I have people who are looking out for me.
I ate dinner, watched more of Murder in Suburbia, and cataloged books. I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."
