Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
There must be some way out of here
I think it has been long enough that I'm not spoiling this for anyone, but on the chance you have NOT seen season 4.0 or 4.5 of Battlestar Galactica and you even think you might want to; stop reading now.
I'll be at Emerald City ComicCon this weekend.
I'll be visiting with some very wonderful friends, some people who are supportive, caring, and people who love me and wanted to see me happy, do something nice for me.
This will be my first trip alone since I married.
This will be my first trip alone since I was widowed.
This will be my first 'Con alone, or without Wash.
I'm still planning probably on Friday going as Yves from TLG. Sunday, I'll be hunting Walkers in the convention hall.
But for Saturday (maybe Fri as well) I'll be going as Kara "Starbuck" Thrace.
Late series Kara.
Married Kara. Harder Kara.
When we were still hopeful about having a child, 'Thrace' was a middle name we both adored.
Our various electronics are named after Cylon models; we have Boomer, Athena, Anders, Leoben, and Tigh.
Wash saw the ending before I did. I was not caught up yet, and he wanted to see it when it was broadcast.
I remember him sobbing. I did too.
For different reasons now.
Kara had Anders.
I had Wash.
Kara watched as his brain went out, as it ceased to be 'human', more Cylon then.
I watched as the bits of humanity were slowly taken from Wash, his memories. His life.
We had the same kind of "goodbye", though on different circumstances.
I could not go to 'Con as Zoe Washburne. That still, is much too close.
Too many memories for me of hearing a wry laugh, "You nicknamed me in 2008. Did you know back then?"
Hearing my Wash play A.T. and keep asking me, "Tashi, why does my script for Serenity end on page 88, and yours goes to 130? Guys? ....?"
No, too much.
But Kara? I can be Kara. I can be strong like her.
*********************************************************************
Some day, I will attend a 'Con (or two) where I can meet Jane Espenson, Joss Whedon, "The Grand Moff" [as Wash would call him] and Ron Moore and get down on my knees and thank them.
I can thank them for creating something so wonderful it not only brought me to meet my husband, my soul mate, but gave him comfort in the last years of his life, dying of brain cancer.
When my husband could not remember what day of the week it was, he could still recite lines from BSG and Firefly.
When he could no longer run, I helped him to walk. When he could not walk, our friends rallied to help him crawl. When he could not even crawl, it was the worlds of Science Fiction; his favourite shows and characters that carried him home.
From "Firefly", he knew I could still fly true after he was gone.
From "BtVS", he knew we could both fight; hard, strong, and with heart.
From "BSG", he knew I would be there by his side. Imprinted on each other.
From "Doctor Who", he knew it was ok to let go, to leave, and to begin his next adventure after 'life'.
To explore.
To regenerate, but not as my Wash.
He loved the Cosmos, and the infinite possibilities that it contains.
And he loved the way that Science-Fiction brought together all those wonderful ideas, possibilities, worlds, characters, music, colours, shapes, creatures and beings.
That gave his life meaning.
So, I'll be looking out to thank people.
Perhaps, if you, Dear Reader, have the opportunity to meet one of these great creators before I do, you will also say thanks on behalf of my Wash.
'Never give up, never surrender!" - See you at 'Con!
I'll be at Emerald City ComicCon this weekend.
I'll be visiting with some very wonderful friends, some people who are supportive, caring, and people who love me and wanted to see me happy, do something nice for me.
This will be my first trip alone since I married.
This will be my first trip alone since I was widowed.
This will be my first 'Con alone, or without Wash.
I'm still planning probably on Friday going as Yves from TLG. Sunday, I'll be hunting Walkers in the convention hall.
But for Saturday (maybe Fri as well) I'll be going as Kara "Starbuck" Thrace.
Late series Kara.
Married Kara. Harder Kara.
When we were still hopeful about having a child, 'Thrace' was a middle name we both adored.
Our various electronics are named after Cylon models; we have Boomer, Athena, Anders, Leoben, and Tigh.
Wash saw the ending before I did. I was not caught up yet, and he wanted to see it when it was broadcast.
I remember him sobbing. I did too.
For different reasons now.
Kara had Anders.
I had Wash.
Kara watched as his brain went out, as it ceased to be 'human', more Cylon then.
I watched as the bits of humanity were slowly taken from Wash, his memories. His life.
We had the same kind of "goodbye", though on different circumstances.
I could not go to 'Con as Zoe Washburne. That still, is much too close.
Too many memories for me of hearing a wry laugh, "You nicknamed me in 2008. Did you know back then?"
Hearing my Wash play A.T. and keep asking me, "Tashi, why does my script for Serenity end on page 88, and yours goes to 130? Guys? ....?"
No, too much.
But Kara? I can be Kara. I can be strong like her.
*********************************************************************
Some day, I will attend a 'Con (or two) where I can meet Jane Espenson, Joss Whedon, "The Grand Moff" [as Wash would call him] and Ron Moore and get down on my knees and thank them.
I can thank them for creating something so wonderful it not only brought me to meet my husband, my soul mate, but gave him comfort in the last years of his life, dying of brain cancer.
When my husband could not remember what day of the week it was, he could still recite lines from BSG and Firefly.
When he could no longer run, I helped him to walk. When he could not walk, our friends rallied to help him crawl. When he could not even crawl, it was the worlds of Science Fiction; his favourite shows and characters that carried him home.
From "Firefly", he knew I could still fly true after he was gone.
From "BtVS", he knew we could both fight; hard, strong, and with heart.
From "BSG", he knew I would be there by his side. Imprinted on each other.
From "Doctor Who", he knew it was ok to let go, to leave, and to begin his next adventure after 'life'.
To explore.
To regenerate, but not as my Wash.
He loved the Cosmos, and the infinite possibilities that it contains.
And he loved the way that Science-Fiction brought together all those wonderful ideas, possibilities, worlds, characters, music, colours, shapes, creatures and beings.
That gave his life meaning.
So, I'll be looking out to thank people.
Perhaps, if you, Dear Reader, have the opportunity to meet one of these great creators before I do, you will also say thanks on behalf of my Wash.
'Never give up, never surrender!" - See you at 'Con!
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Vague
I woke up this morning feeling weird and off. Neither cat slept with me; Leto enjoys his "perch" of the cat-bed on top of the laundry hamper.
The work comes along, slowly.
I ran into my landlord's father the other day while I was taking out the trash. English is perhaps is 3rd language, but he came over and gave me a hug and said he hoped I was well and they loved me as a tenant, and loved my backyard garden, and they (his wife and his kid, my landlord) missed Wash; he was a good person.
It was a nice reminder and good to hear.
My neighbours behind me have taken up on my style and have put up solar lights exactly like mine in their backyard and hanging from their shade/covering. I take it as flattery; my place looks lovely in the evening, and they must have appreciated it.
I had to take today off of really sorting or organizing. After doing the bedroom yesterday; perhaps the most emotional thing, it was a bit much.
Also a shirt of his I found at the bottom of the hamper under the canvas liner. I thought I had emptied the hamper months ago, but that shirt escaped me.
The pillows only faintly smell of him now, but that shirt was like the scent right around his collarbone, the smell I chase in my dreams. The smell that reminds me that when I wake if I keep my eyes closed I can pretend for a second or two longer he is not gone. That one.
It's only been a little bit of sobbing today. Thankfully. Nothing keening or racking.
There is an oddness and stillness within the house. I have to say house, because it does not feel correct to say "home". I've lived here longer than any other place as an adult, but without Wash, it just does not feel like a home. Home ceased being singular to myself (and Aelphie to a degree) when we got engaged and moved in together. I knew many many years ago that with the way I live and prefer to live, and can function... it is not something that is really compatible with the way the vast majority of people prefer to live. I lived on my own, by myself since I was 17. I moved in with Wash right around my 22nd birthday. He was the first person I ever could see myself or could consider moving in with. He accepted me, completely and totally. We had our growing pains the first couple of months, myself getting used to living with someone else; even thankfully under the fulfilled condition I laid out of needing a place with two bathrooms. He had always lived with other people. Wash was an extrovert and someone that I think was easy to love, easy to live with- for the most part. The incidents and adventures he had with all his roommates were told in the form of happy stories, jokes, things that might make myself twitch and scream, but he would only laugh at. That was Wash.
So it quickly became home with Wash. We would be married. If we moved for school for either of us, we would still be together, in a home, even if it was in a dorm room. That was the plan. We could handle renting places for a few years, get established, we even agreed we could deal with a child while renting for a few years before wanting to have our own [SF] home. Wash, being the Architect, had of course already filled two or three notepads with his designs for our future home; how it would be built, the material, the layout, how he could even expand additions on to it for office space, or workshops, or extra guest or children's rooms. He designed a greenhouse for me as well; he wanted me to have the garden of my dreams.
Home became wherever we were together.
Sometimes, often, I talk to his TARDIS urn. Probably at least once a day still. I never expect nor receive any contact back. It is not the same though. It is not his energy that is left around. His things, his memories, my memories, but not his energy.
Once we moved in, once we said our vows, it was to the end. To death.
He promised he would let me go first. He did not often break promises. He really was a 'man of his word', but that time, he broke it.
I did not ask much from him, but told him that I did not want to live out my life waiting to die after him.
I am happy for the recordings I have. For the videos he left for me. The cards he gave me long ago, the notes I still find around the rooms, tucked in books.
There are still days, many day, where I wish I could call his phone and hear his voice. Where I wish I could hear which messages he saved of me telling him I loved him. All of them? Many? I wish I could hear that voice. I wish I could understand why his phone service was shut off the day after his death.
He was not on my plan, but had his phone from his days long long ago in California.
It does not feel like 2013.
It does not feel "right". Things are changing. Some against my will or wishes, some things instigated by me for my own good.
Some nights it becomes about the simplest of things. Remember how it felt to hold hands.
Remembering what it was like to be lying down and staring right into each others eyes. He had soft, wonderful eyes. Happy, large, clear eyes. He was often smiling, but his eyes held most of his expressions.
I remember the texture of his beard. The colours in his hair. The shape of his ear and neck. How his hips drew in just slightly but down to firm thighs and great legs- be it a bit pasty.
He loved to bother me by surprising me in the middle of something to quickly give my nose a wet kiss.
I've moved my pocket-watch to the bedside table. The soft ticking is comforting. It reminds me of Wash, of his heart-beat.
I have to check the office closet, but it looks like I'm missing some key pieces to my bed frame. This now is a bit of an issue as I'd like to sleep off the floor now that Wash rolling or falling out of bed and hurting himself is not an problem to consider.
Time does not make it easier. Not at all. Time reminds me of the future I/we had imagined.
2013 was the point where he should be done with school and into his Apprenticeship. 2013 was going to be my point of finishing my undergrad triple, or starting grad school with a specific major. 2013 was going to be the year we started to make solid plans for long term; looking at careers, looking at places to settle, to build our home, a place with good school for the kids we wanted to try to have in a couple years.
It's not, though. 2013 is the year I'm a widow. It's the year I won't be traveling to Taliesin with Wash for his school.
2013 is the year that I wonder if I will have an anniversary; does it still count if the other party involved is deceased? Is it still my anniversary, or was it my/our anniversary?
2013 is the year I travel alone, because I am alone now. I don't have a husband, a companion.
2013 is the year I wonder if I can watch the shows I/we loved, without it being too painful to enjoy.
I'd like to catch up on Doctor Who, but I literally don't know how without him. It feels as wrong to me as waking up alone in my bed. Same thing with Blood and Chrome. It is hard for me yet to figure out how to enjoy something when all my mind can think of is how much I wish my husband was not dead to see it; to have his fanboy and geek heart enjoy something. Because he lived for certain shows. He loved me, this I know. But he lived for the moment Kara was screaming from the brig "YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!"
He lived to text me "Morning, Starbuck. What do you hear?"
I miss having an (amateur) astronomer as a partner. I miss being woken up for 15 mins to walk outside to enjoy a full moon directly overhead. Large, and bright.
I miss that on evening walks, he always knew the stars and planets.
It's only been 5 months.
I still miss the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
The work comes along, slowly.
I ran into my landlord's father the other day while I was taking out the trash. English is perhaps is 3rd language, but he came over and gave me a hug and said he hoped I was well and they loved me as a tenant, and loved my backyard garden, and they (his wife and his kid, my landlord) missed Wash; he was a good person.
It was a nice reminder and good to hear.
My neighbours behind me have taken up on my style and have put up solar lights exactly like mine in their backyard and hanging from their shade/covering. I take it as flattery; my place looks lovely in the evening, and they must have appreciated it.
I had to take today off of really sorting or organizing. After doing the bedroom yesterday; perhaps the most emotional thing, it was a bit much.
Also a shirt of his I found at the bottom of the hamper under the canvas liner. I thought I had emptied the hamper months ago, but that shirt escaped me.
The pillows only faintly smell of him now, but that shirt was like the scent right around his collarbone, the smell I chase in my dreams. The smell that reminds me that when I wake if I keep my eyes closed I can pretend for a second or two longer he is not gone. That one.
It's only been a little bit of sobbing today. Thankfully. Nothing keening or racking.
There is an oddness and stillness within the house. I have to say house, because it does not feel correct to say "home". I've lived here longer than any other place as an adult, but without Wash, it just does not feel like a home. Home ceased being singular to myself (and Aelphie to a degree) when we got engaged and moved in together. I knew many many years ago that with the way I live and prefer to live, and can function... it is not something that is really compatible with the way the vast majority of people prefer to live. I lived on my own, by myself since I was 17. I moved in with Wash right around my 22nd birthday. He was the first person I ever could see myself or could consider moving in with. He accepted me, completely and totally. We had our growing pains the first couple of months, myself getting used to living with someone else; even thankfully under the fulfilled condition I laid out of needing a place with two bathrooms. He had always lived with other people. Wash was an extrovert and someone that I think was easy to love, easy to live with- for the most part. The incidents and adventures he had with all his roommates were told in the form of happy stories, jokes, things that might make myself twitch and scream, but he would only laugh at. That was Wash.
So it quickly became home with Wash. We would be married. If we moved for school for either of us, we would still be together, in a home, even if it was in a dorm room. That was the plan. We could handle renting places for a few years, get established, we even agreed we could deal with a child while renting for a few years before wanting to have our own [SF] home. Wash, being the Architect, had of course already filled two or three notepads with his designs for our future home; how it would be built, the material, the layout, how he could even expand additions on to it for office space, or workshops, or extra guest or children's rooms. He designed a greenhouse for me as well; he wanted me to have the garden of my dreams.
Home became wherever we were together.
Sometimes, often, I talk to his TARDIS urn. Probably at least once a day still. I never expect nor receive any contact back. It is not the same though. It is not his energy that is left around. His things, his memories, my memories, but not his energy.
Once we moved in, once we said our vows, it was to the end. To death.
He promised he would let me go first. He did not often break promises. He really was a 'man of his word', but that time, he broke it.
I did not ask much from him, but told him that I did not want to live out my life waiting to die after him.
I am happy for the recordings I have. For the videos he left for me. The cards he gave me long ago, the notes I still find around the rooms, tucked in books.
There are still days, many day, where I wish I could call his phone and hear his voice. Where I wish I could hear which messages he saved of me telling him I loved him. All of them? Many? I wish I could hear that voice. I wish I could understand why his phone service was shut off the day after his death.
He was not on my plan, but had his phone from his days long long ago in California.
It does not feel like 2013.
It does not feel "right". Things are changing. Some against my will or wishes, some things instigated by me for my own good.
Some nights it becomes about the simplest of things. Remember how it felt to hold hands.
Remembering what it was like to be lying down and staring right into each others eyes. He had soft, wonderful eyes. Happy, large, clear eyes. He was often smiling, but his eyes held most of his expressions.
I remember the texture of his beard. The colours in his hair. The shape of his ear and neck. How his hips drew in just slightly but down to firm thighs and great legs- be it a bit pasty.
He loved to bother me by surprising me in the middle of something to quickly give my nose a wet kiss.
I've moved my pocket-watch to the bedside table. The soft ticking is comforting. It reminds me of Wash, of his heart-beat.
I have to check the office closet, but it looks like I'm missing some key pieces to my bed frame. This now is a bit of an issue as I'd like to sleep off the floor now that Wash rolling or falling out of bed and hurting himself is not an problem to consider.
Time does not make it easier. Not at all. Time reminds me of the future I/we had imagined.
2013 was the point where he should be done with school and into his Apprenticeship. 2013 was going to be my point of finishing my undergrad triple, or starting grad school with a specific major. 2013 was going to be the year we started to make solid plans for long term; looking at careers, looking at places to settle, to build our home, a place with good school for the kids we wanted to try to have in a couple years.
It's not, though. 2013 is the year I'm a widow. It's the year I won't be traveling to Taliesin with Wash for his school.
2013 is the year that I wonder if I will have an anniversary; does it still count if the other party involved is deceased? Is it still my anniversary, or was it my/our anniversary?
2013 is the year I travel alone, because I am alone now. I don't have a husband, a companion.
2013 is the year I wonder if I can watch the shows I/we loved, without it being too painful to enjoy.
I'd like to catch up on Doctor Who, but I literally don't know how without him. It feels as wrong to me as waking up alone in my bed. Same thing with Blood and Chrome. It is hard for me yet to figure out how to enjoy something when all my mind can think of is how much I wish my husband was not dead to see it; to have his fanboy and geek heart enjoy something. Because he lived for certain shows. He loved me, this I know. But he lived for the moment Kara was screaming from the brig "YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!"
He lived to text me "Morning, Starbuck. What do you hear?"
I miss having an (amateur) astronomer as a partner. I miss being woken up for 15 mins to walk outside to enjoy a full moon directly overhead. Large, and bright.
I miss that on evening walks, he always knew the stars and planets.
It's only been 5 months.
I still miss the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Victoria & Albert
I've spent the last 7.5 hours cleaning upstairs.
My bedroom has not been this neat since 2009.
I so far have one 30gal bag filled with things to donate, a bunch of books to shelve, and three 30 gal bags of trash to go out.
I've also done 3 loads of laundry so far, and have one more to wash and two loads to dry tonight. I have decided to take a break tomorrow and do stuff downstairs; clean out my fridge and wash dishes.
I hope to clean out my closet/our closet/the clothes closet before I leave on my trip in a week.
I don't know yet how I feel about this. I'm making a lot of progress towards making a house that I can function in, but I have now changed almost everything that Wash had made, touched, set, designed. His "touch" is not really here anymore.
I still have some of the things that were important to him up, and put up a few more of the notes he wrote for me.
I wish I was in a position to act like Queen Victoria, and not change a thing after Albert died; even setting out a place for him at the table and his daily clothes.
But, I can't. For many reasons from the mental to the rationally practical.
So, it's time.
I still don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going, but for the first time since he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I'm thinking longer than 2 weeks ahead. I don't know what it is, but I can at least, on more days now that not, see that there is *something* for me.
Little changes, cleaning and organizing needed, and slowly, I'm hoping to start figuring out my life on my own.
Leto seems to be confused but interested in the changes. Aelphie is in the bathroom because the vacuum and things moving scare the shit out of her. She's a lot like her mum.
I think I'm just not processing it yet. I did it physically, but mentally, I'm leaving it to Future Tashi. I made sure to keep stuff I was not certain if I was ready to part with yet; but I've put most of that away, again, to go through when I'm mentally stronger.
The bedroom was pretty bad, because it was where Wash spent so much of the end of his life, and I could not bring myself to change much of anything.
But, I cannot live forever like he is still dying. Or imagining he is coming back. He's not. Ever.
My husband has been dead now for five months.
Dead.
I hate myself for how that word becomes easier to say. It's still hard, and I stumble a lot, but I don't avoid the word anymore.
I'm still not stable at all, financially. I need help. I finally feel though, like I might be able to do something again. I'm not certain what, but it is progress from only seeing myself in bed, crying until I pass out.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Widowhood
Everything hurts and I just want to wake up to this whole thing being a dream.
How can he be gone? It doesn't feel real.
I've been crying all day. Nothing feels real. It can't be that my husband is now in a box.
It all hurts. Breathing even.
I want to not be sad. I want my husband to hold me. I want a kiss. I want him to embrace me and just be there. Be here.
Nothing makes sense.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Goodbye, Lee.
Missing my husband very very very much today.
It's one of those 'I can't stop thinking about his last day alive' kind of days.
Any spare bit of love, or support you can send towards me today is most appreciated.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
6.9
Thinking good thoughts for my friends right now in Japan. Most if not all of my family over there is down on the South side of the mainland or on one of the southern islands; but a lot of my friends from school-age days are still up North.
Births. Bris. Weddings.
I want to feel happy. I try to. For the sake of the people I love, I do. I adore and care about my friends and I want so badly to just enjoy their triumphs in life.
At the same time, I feel like I'm walking around at these social engagements with a giant black "W" on my chest. I don't know people, I'm not an extrovert; that was Wash. That was his job, he would socialize or help me interact.
I feel lost.
It felt bad enough as someone with AS, not knowing what to say, when to speak, or what is appropriate (apparently discussing anything related to medical work/dead bodies/bones is NOT "dinner talk") and now I feel like no one knows what to say to me.
So.
Silence.
I've noticed now that pretty much no one talks about Wash anymore. They don't speak his name. They don't ask me how I'm doing. Maybe it is just assumed or obvious to others and not me?
Or, they've just moved past thinking about him. Which is ok for them. People die. People die who are not integral to one's life, and their memory or need fades.
It's not "starting over". That presumes I've only been moved "back" to a starting point I've been to before. I'm not.
I've never been here. I've never dealt with the loss of my husband before.
I've never had a 3 year employment gap.
I've never had my entire life and future I've dreamed and work towards since I was 12 suddenly vanish.
I hate that term, 'Start Over'.
I can't start over. Starting Over presumes a world without Wash ever in it, which would put me in an entirely different place. That's not what happened. Just because he is dead does not mean I will ever forget he was alive. He was a part of my life, he was a part of me.
This is not a JJ Abrams story. There is no "re-boot" halfway through, no change to another Universe, no extra Wash falling into this world, and no way to erase him from my mind.
He lives in my brain because he used my brain for 3 years.
Too many emotions. I've been crying too much lately.
I see all around me in my friends and family all the dreams I wanted that I will never have now.
There is no way to escape it.
Grief sets its own rules.
Births. Bris. Weddings.
I want to feel happy. I try to. For the sake of the people I love, I do. I adore and care about my friends and I want so badly to just enjoy their triumphs in life.
At the same time, I feel like I'm walking around at these social engagements with a giant black "W" on my chest. I don't know people, I'm not an extrovert; that was Wash. That was his job, he would socialize or help me interact.
I feel lost.
It felt bad enough as someone with AS, not knowing what to say, when to speak, or what is appropriate (apparently discussing anything related to medical work/dead bodies/bones is NOT "dinner talk") and now I feel like no one knows what to say to me.
So.
Silence.
I've noticed now that pretty much no one talks about Wash anymore. They don't speak his name. They don't ask me how I'm doing. Maybe it is just assumed or obvious to others and not me?
Or, they've just moved past thinking about him. Which is ok for them. People die. People die who are not integral to one's life, and their memory or need fades.
It's not "starting over". That presumes I've only been moved "back" to a starting point I've been to before. I'm not.
I've never been here. I've never dealt with the loss of my husband before.
I've never had a 3 year employment gap.
I've never had my entire life and future I've dreamed and work towards since I was 12 suddenly vanish.
I hate that term, 'Start Over'.
I can't start over. Starting Over presumes a world without Wash ever in it, which would put me in an entirely different place. That's not what happened. Just because he is dead does not mean I will ever forget he was alive. He was a part of my life, he was a part of me.
This is not a JJ Abrams story. There is no "re-boot" halfway through, no change to another Universe, no extra Wash falling into this world, and no way to erase him from my mind.
He lives in my brain because he used my brain for 3 years.
Too many emotions. I've been crying too much lately.
I see all around me in my friends and family all the dreams I wanted that I will never have now.
There is no way to escape it.
Grief sets its own rules.
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