Pi Time

My fundraising for school is going well. I'm at the halfway point and hope to leave in about 3 weeks.
I'll have more to say on that later.

Tomorrow morning I again do my best to contact DES and have a long appointment with my Hospice counselor to talk about some of my issues leaving for Israel, leaving Wash/TARDIS "home", leaving my sweet kitties...
It's a lot.
Aelphie has been my animal companion since I lived alone as an adult. I know she is getting older, she has some grey now on her, but I still see her as my little girl. It's hard for me to think of being away from her comfort for the summer. It's hard for me to think of what she might be feeling while I am gone. To them, Wash was here and then he was gone. I don't know how to explain to them I'm coming back.
Leto, well, he's my baby boy. He is the last living connection to my husband I have. I'll never have his children, but we had Leto. He had Leto. And Leto lost his dad. The human he loved most. Now I'll be leaving him too. I'm coming back, but how will they know?

It's hard to think about. I can't help but cry. When I was so alone, the house empty but me, my family all busy with their own lives, my friends not close enough to comfort, or not able to be there... my cats were there for me. They let me hold them for hours while I just sobbed. They purred in my lap. They slept in the bed, making it feel less empty- less alone.

I'll be without them.

And I want this. I want this chance. I need to do this. I need to go.

But it hurts.
It hurts to not know. It hurts to know I will be so far away, without my support, without the few living things that love me around. I know Wash would want me to go. I know.

I'm afraid of something happening and I cannot be there.

I've been trying to work on a "normal" or regular sleep schedule, but the stress is making it hard. So much to do, but no real routine to help me function to do it.
I've been able to catch 03:14 on the clock every 12 hours for the last full week or two.
I see it and I say "Happy 3:14" or "Happy Pi minute my Love". Wash made a point for as long as he could remember to, to tell me that everyday- at 3:14(am/pm).
"This way, every single day can be our anniversary."

I miss him. I miss his voice. I miss his hugs. I miss his love. I miss his jokes- all of them, I miss him telling the stories he told over and over.
I'm not good at saying "Good-bye". I'm not. I don't think I ever will be.
So leaving is hard. Knowing it will be months before I see my friends again. My family. Being around people who love me, or my pets who do.


I apologize if this is incoherent. I am mostly just sobbing and crying tonight.

It has been a while since I have had the flashbacks, since they were uncontrolled. They are coming again. That night, over and over. The day he went into the hospital, over and over. The months of warning signs all flashing before me. The questions, always plaguing, 'Could I have done more?' 'What if?' 'Did I do everything I could have?'

The biggest one. The most evil. The one that never really fades, or really goes quiet.
"Was there a chance I could have saved him? Was there a way to avoid his cancer? Why did I not see it so much sooner? How much of this pain is mine to bear?"

The question that I will never really be able to answer; "What happens now?"

I never thought I would be a Widow this young. I'm angry, because when we got engaged, he promised- swore he would let me die first. I know it's not exactly something he could really promise, but I hate it all the same. I hate the loss. I hate the Silence now. I hate how empty my bed feels. I hate having to cook for one, not two. I hate that I am entombed with his things, his life, but not him. 
I miss being held by my husband. I miss my best friend. I miss him so much. It is more than a void, it is my own self, my own soul, broken in half and gone. Not missing, gone. Not lost, gone.
He made me better, and left.
He left me.

That hurts. "Pain" is not a comprehensive enough word for this. English has no real word for the feeling of desertion by way of grief.
I miss having a reason to smile. Something to be happy about. Someone.



There is no potion. No drug. Nothing instantaneous. No wave of a wand, or hat-trick.
Time does not ease the pain, the hurt. My wound may not bleed as much now, but time makes it grow deeper, makes it into a keloid scar- ever growing, not healing.


I was stronger with him. Better.
I just feel so small and helpless right now.
I am so very tired. I feel I should be nearing the end of my life, not the start of my adulthood.
I've lived so much already.


I miss my Love. I miss our Love. I miss being loved.

I miss being loved.

Moment of Silence

I saved my "ExtraBucks" from CVS lately, and bought myself a scented candle last night when I picked up my 4 new scripts. That brings my total for the month of May at 9 scripts. I always *love* (sarcasm) spending time deciding if I need to buy electricity or medicine each month.


But. I splurged and bought a $3 candle.
And my room smells nice. Relaxing.
Reminds me of the candles Wash would buy for me/us. Reminds me of the small signs he cared.

As I was walking home from the pharmacy last night, I realized with some quick math that Wash and I had walked that same stretch at least 600 times together. Probably closer to 800.
I could see the changes, like small photographs being flipped together. Winter, summer, seasons changing. Building being torn down and built up. The first few hundred walks, and then a Ghost Rider bicycle on the corner appears on 10 May 2010.
There are flashing lights, sirens. We are escorted to the other side of the street, and decide to walk home instead of further down the street.

It is now cooler, almost "cold" for Arizona. We are walking, hand in hand as always, Wash to my right side. He is wearing his "GEEK" black knit hat. He is laughing at something. His beard is thick, and I can see all the colours in it. Reds, blondes, browns.

It is a spring night. I am holding his hand with my right, and a bag in my left carrying Ginger Beer for us. He is walking slower now, but still laughs. There is a slight breeze, carrying the spiced scents of the Thai restaurants towards us. He is excited about his upcoming Stand-Up show.

It is summer now, and hot. Blinding. No more shade. Even the birds are standing in a single file row in the 4" of shade cast from a light pole. Wash is at home, no longer able to walk with me.

The photos blur faster. Rewind. I am out of breath pushing him in his wheelchair. We are trying to get early to "Wicked", our last anniversary present. Wash is angry and yelling, I am stressed and tired. Everything feels uphill at that moment.

Backwards. It is late fall. I am tired from work and moving. Wash is tired from moving, work, and school. He stops me from my load of laundry and pulls me outside. It is November 2008. We are on our first walk through our new neighbourhood together. His hand holds my right one. He is pointing out the styles of the apartments, townhomes, brownstones around us. He is wearing his work/welding boot and walking with large steps. I have to remind him to slow down, I cannot walk as fast.

Time ceases to be linear in my mind. It is past and present at the same time. Blank spots for the future. Images imagined of what could-have-been, what should-have-been.

He throws his head back, his neck long and scruffy with red tinged hair. He laughs. He smiles.
He leans closer and kisses me. I am flush with warmth.



I am home. The street is dark. The trees and front flowerbed across the street are gone, along with the kind older woman who tended to them daily, and spoke often to me about plants and gardens. The lights in front of my complex are different, installed a few years ago. The tree in our front yard is missing the large branch that a storm blew into my neighbours' bedroom window three winters ago.
Everything is different, and the same.

But I am now walking alone. The feeling of Wash holding my hand fades.


I walk inside my home. No longer "ours". He is gone. His welding boots are still on the shoe bench by the front door.

I light the candle. The scent takes me back in time again. I eat, I take my pills. I try to sleep.
I snuff the candle, but the smell hangs in the air, light, and comforting.


I am awake now. It is dark, still nighttime. I am hearing shadows of voices. Male? Female? Faint, but untraceable. My house is empty save for the cats and me.
I go back to my dark bedroom and hug Hoban tight. It is faint, but he still smells of Wash. The stuffed bear hold many hugs, and a small stuffed heart kissed by my Love when we had the bear made.


For the first time in weeks, I sleep.
I sleep, and I am thankful I do not dream.


The room is silent now, save for the typing and fans. My candle is lit again.
Tears are falling while I write.

There is a sense of emptiness. The last exhalation before a gasp and holding.
There is Silence.

I am Alone.

There is only physical self. Gaius-Wash is silent today.

Entering Widowhood: The In-Betweens

This post originally written and posted at Persephonemagazine

It’s been a couple months since my last post here on my new status as a “widow.” The horrid “W” word that no one in love or marriage actually wants to think about.

In that time I’ve made a few personal steps forward, a few back, one even sideways I would say. I have had friends and mentors die in the last few weeks, friends get married, friends getting pregnant, friends having their children, and friends getting ready to graduate from college and “move on” to the next phase of their own lives.

Through it all, my constant is still defined by my husband’s death. I can see how easy it is when one is steps away from the actual death, is not closely bereaved. Life continues for most. They still have school, or a job. They have children who need them, and a living reason to get up in the morning, to eat, to take care of their own selves. That becomes harder for me.

I am a person of habit. I have lost them all. The schedule I had before my husband became sick is something I will never get back to. The schedule I had with him, is also something I am trying to accept that I will never have back.

I’ve had a good bereavement counselor from Hospice see me, and that, to a degree, has been helping my mental state. It is always nice to hear that the feeling I have, the thoughts, most of the emotions are all in the “normal” range for grief. What we’ve spoken about more of is the really arbitrary number system that American society has on “moving on.” It seems to be around six months if you are a younger widow(er) and/ r have no children and around 12 months for those who were married, say, more than five years and/or had children. While some mourners certainly can fit those numbers, I feel rather constrained to have a faceless nobody tell me to “get over it, already.” (“It” being the death of my husband.)

As a note, for me personally, and I have heard from other widow(ers) that hearing the phrase “moving on” can be disgusting and heart-wrenching for the bereaved. “Moving On” has a lot of implications, and though, for the most part, the people who say that come from a place of good or kind intentions, what is most often heard is “Well, we’ve been able to not think about/speak about [dead person] we have decided it is time for you to stop as well.”

Being a young widow, I often hear that phrase. I have tried nicely to have my family and friends stop using it, but after a few weeks of being nice, I just tell them that I can’t talk to them if they must use that phrase. Being a young widow what I’m hearing more of as time passes on is something akin to, “Well, you’re young. Well, you still have time. Well, there are still options. Well, being young, you still have your whole life ahead of you!”

These phrases are also terribly not helpful.

Being “young” is not a hard and fast rule. By pure age or cycles around the sun, yes, I am in my mid-twenties.

By life experience, I am willing to wager I am far more mature than most people in their early- to mid-twenties.

I have “time.” Time for what, exactly? My husband thought he had time, too. His brain cancer began to grow when he was 24. He was dead one month after his 28th birthday.

Time is not something I take as a given anymore. Time is not my friend, nor my enemy. Time is not to be taken for granted by myself though. Or, perhaps by “time” it is meant that I have “time” to find (another?) love? That is quite a presumptuous thought on my own feelings of love, intimacy, and personal wishes.

I have “options.” Please, dear friend, expound on that. What options specifically? As it is my life, I believe the choices are mine to make. Options for living? Options for moving? Options for a job, a career, another lover? Generic statements that do not really support anything.

“…still have your whole life ahead of you.”

That phrase, however, might be the worst of them all. That is the exact problem. I do have the rest of my life, every second I breathe or have my blood beating, to go. I am all too aware of this. I am aware with every bit of my body that can feel, and every bit of my soul that can feel, time is taking me away from the person I had wanted, expected, and pledged my life to.

I am all too aware of the days, months, years, decades even that lie ahead of me, without the person who swore the deepest oath to be there with me through it.

I have my whole life to live, missing the part of life I wanted to live for. Missing the half of me that wanted to share in living.
That kind of grief and mourning cannot be rushed.

I am thankful for the Hospice services. My local Hospice that served Wash during his illness is a non-profit and I can feel the people who work there really do care, and have a lot of experience in addressing the mourning issues. I can only imagine how much more depressed I would be without them.

For me right now I am trying to work on stopping the comparisons of my life to the friends and social circles around me, and I have to stop comparing how my life is now to what I had in mind it would be.

I had prepared as best as I could, as my husband’s death was inevitable. His was not a cancer that can be “cured.” What is almost harder is knowing I could not prepare for the actual feelings I have had since he has died. Grieving who he was, our love, who he and we were going to be. Grieving the two pregnancies that almost were, and were lost. Grieving the anniversaries that now come, but are not cause for celebration.

Towards February and March I had played around a little with taking my wedding band and engagement ring off. Sometimes just for an hour at home. Sometimes for a whole night while I slept. Once or twice I even went outside on a walk without them. Then came the first wedding I went to since my Wash had passed. It was lovely, and my happiness for the couple is genuine. However, this was a wedding that Wash knew was coming. These were his friends, his brothers. This was a uniting of love that he should have been alive for. He should have been there to make a toast, to wish them well.

I stopped taking off my rings after that. I’m not ready to stop wearing the reminder of his promise to me. I’m not ready to take off my engagement ring that was the other half to his matching engagement ring. I have decided to forego any wedding invitations for the next while. Perhaps through this year, perhaps through next spring. I don’t want to limit myself to a specific number.

It’s not just the odd isolation that comes with being a young widow. I am stuck in many “in-betweens.” I am not in school finishing any degree. I love school, and I do have a desire to return someday. The timing is not right now. I do not yet have a job that provides me income, let alone a career. I’m not yet homeless, but I have no real way of moving anywhere new, despite my desire to leave this home I once shared with my love at some point likely this year. I have days now where I rarely cry, where I am starting to have longer hours together functioning. I am thrust as well into the space behind that where I still have moments breaking down and sobbing for hours until my eyes swell shut.
I am trying to stay friendly and in contact with the many many many more female friends I have who are pregnant or had/have kids.

It is hard for me to see something I wanted, something I had (if only for a few weeks), something I lost, something I will never have again. It is hard to have and own my own emotions and history and still be happy for those I love and care about. To visit and meet the child of a close friend who was born right before my Wash passed; I’m still working on how to cope with my own pain and express joy for the happiness in the lives of the people around me I love and care for. To hold hope for the friends and family I love that they will never have to face the pain I am living.

I will direct you up a few paragraphs and please ask you don’t placate me by saying I’m still young enough to have children, or to get married again, or to adopt (as a single??) or that “things will happen in their own time.”

So, how is this 26 year old widow doing?

There is no simple answer.

There is no set time on grief, or progress, or regression.

I simply am, now in place of “we simply are.”

For now, I am in-between. I still wear my rings, but I said my “goodbye” and listed my status on Facebook as “Widowed” instead of married. I have begun to really sort through his belongings, but have not yet fully parted with everything. Though I physically feel split in twain without him, I’m able to now stand on my one leg, even if I cannot move in any direction yet.

My journey continues.

Chaz & Roger

Today my heart is with another cancer widow.

It is a horrid beast, to take the ones we love indiscriminately.



Roger, I will miss you for so many reasons.



It is my most sincere hope, if he believed in some afterlife, that he is there now, happy with Gene and access to every movie ever made.



You can read Jo's wonderful post on Roger from 2011 at the link.


Roger? Gene? Grab some popcorn, relax, and now enjoy the show.

DST

6 months.

like healing from a heart transplant that did not happen.


I can walk again, catch my breath most days.

But it feels like being post-surgical. I'm still walking around with a giant hole inside of me.
Like a much much MUCH poorer (and probably sadder and lonelier) Tony Stark.

 Everything is different but it feels like so much has remained the same.



I miss my husband. I miss his company, his jokes, his kisses, his hugs, his laugh, and I miss my best friend.
He was.


I don't have that with anyone anymore.

I do not bore of the company of myself, but I do not wish to remain alone for 360 days a year on say, the Isle of Skye or Mann. That is not a life for me either.

It is quiet here. Disconcerting to me.

If Walls could talk

I bought myself an Anniversary card. One that I thought Wash might have chosen for me.

I think this is going to be the hardest week/anniversary to deal with before this coming Sept.
There is a big part of me that just wants to curl in a ball under my covers with my kitties and cry.
There is also a part that knows time will pass on.

6 months since he died tomorrow. Half of a year. Autumn and 'Winter' [well, AZ winter].
I have extra Xanax for this week, I talked to my doctor about it back in Feb.

I'm so sad, and so angry at the same time.
We never even got one year of marriage without cancer. We never got to have even one anniversary "normal". Without cancer, or the threat of death hanging over us.
I'm mad and sad.



Wash used to create. He would make me things; goggles, watch-chains, a Cryptex (my engagement present) leather pieces. Mini models. Stories. Sketches.
There will never be any new things like that from him ever again.

The card is from me. To me. In his name and memory only.


I wanted more. I was not ready. I am not ready.
It is too late now.
14 March 2009 was the top. That was the happiest Pi day. The day where anything and everything in our life together was possible.

We should have been two joined families. It's too late now.


6 months tomorrow. Should have been our 4th anniversary in 4 days.

Shabbat Shalom!

I have some melancholia in my bones today.

Are anniversaries still something to bring up, to celebrate, if there is no one to celebrate for/with?

My wedding anniversary is next week.
Pi day, of course.


I'm a widow. Am I allowed an anniversary, still? What, if anything is there to celebrate? My husband's death? I'm not that morbid.
The 6 or so weeks of marriage we had before the tumor grew so big it began to change him?
The few months we took to secretly plan an elopement?

Celebrating dreams and ideas that will never happen? The home never built. The children never to be born.



The cats and I have decided staying in bed and crying is the best move.

It doesn't seem real today. That he is gone.


Tomorrow is Sunday. That was his Gaming Day.
Too many memories today of loss.
Too many.

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.

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.

01.20.09

I've been awake for about an hour.
It just hit me.

The last time I saw this, the last Presidential Swearing-in, Wash was still alive. We were watching history being made together, and how excited and happy we would be to tell our children about getting to witness that day.
We were about 6 weeks away from getting married.
Wash was in school, and had a "brings in money" job, and a better one lined up after we got married and came back to AZ.
I was still working full-time. I saw myself being able to go back to school to finish my own degree in a year or two from that point.

Neither one of us thought in any way, at all, that he or me would not be there just 4 years later.

We thought that it was the start of a new wave of Hope and Change, but it turned.

4 years ago this day, we thought anything was possible.
Now, it's just me.

One "term".

I'll most likely be crying a lot today.

To Teas

I've had a lot of emotions going around inside myself lately.

It is odd; this mixture of feelings I am having. So very lonely at nights, when I should have my love and his warmth next to me.
Twitching at the Silence inside the house, only the cats and artificial sounds abound.
Enjoying the small moments of having both cats cuddling with me. When friends come to visit. Trying to find myself again in whatever way I am strong enough for.

Steps forward and back.
I'm finding it easier on some days to just put on a mask and lie (I consider it lying, at least) and smile and nod and say "I'm fine. I'm doing ok. Let's talk about _________."
Some days, it is not a lie, and I can care. I do care about my friends and their lives.
Some days, it is hard to smile to see someone I love celebrating what I lost or never will have.


I am doing best to move at my own pace. There are some influences in my life (no comments needed, please) that think due to some reason... (age? length of marriage? ??) I should be doing certain things by now, taking certain "steps", walking a certain path.

That's not really what I feel entirely though.
I might have been following a trail once, but it veered very much off the track. I might have been following steps of others who had their trails veer from the paved, smooth road, but it had long since been covered up by circumstances.
Bush-whacking? Is that the term? Trail-blazing?
Some days the walking is easier; the ground level, the air dry and wind calm.
Some days... headway can be measured in inches or centimetres not miles/kilometres.

I get overwhelmed still, so often. At some predictable things I am learning to avoid until I can learn to deal with it. Surprises however can not be that entirely prepared for. I can prep as much as I have learned in my life, but there might still come up some new problem to solve that my wits and skills alone cannot win.
Those days are the ones I fear lately.

A lot of it with the holidays, a lot of it with memories of sadness at holidays past.

Thank you to everyone who has been sending me holiday cards. They do help.

I still have not quite figured out what to do for Christmas eve or day next week.

I am starting to become functional in some ways, but mentally, it is so hard to just make a decision. There are always variables to consider and I am compelled to consider them all.

I miss company as well though. I miss companionship. I miss watching a movie in the evening after dinner with someone, talking maybe even laughing, and going to bed warm, touching the person I love who loves me. I miss the sounds around the house; doors closing. Kitchen sounds. Talking and laughter. My own laugh often sounds so odd to me now, though it does come more often.



I try to be thankful for those who loved us and helped us throughout the years, especially around the holiday times. But, that puts me in the past; such bittersweet memories.
At what point I wonder, does it hurt less to remember? Does it ever?
Perhaps like all grief, it truly varies from one person to the other.


Some times it is the most simple of actions, the littlest of things.
Someone to bring me tea in the morning.
Hugs. On a daily basis. More than once a day even.
Kissing.
Having my hair stroked by him. The way he sometimes would wrap his fingers in it as he slept, keeping close to me.
Hearing my name.
Being told "I love you".  Knowing it is meant when it is said.

The world does go on, yes.
My friend put it very well in some correspondence with me:
"Making friends as a young adult, the way we mostly do it, is easy. Most people have coworkers or fellow students, so their friends are handed to them on a platter. You've got a triple-whammy situation happening, in that you're much older than other people your age (not just because of Wash; I think you started out that way), you're not in school or working some crappy job, and you've seen a whole lot more than most folks do in a lifetime.

There is no way to overcome those barriers that does not disrespect what you've done and who Wash was, so I won't even suggest that you not talk about him or hide what happened.

You must not allow this to make you brittle. You *must* not. Even in the worst moments while Wash was dying, you reached out to other people and were beautifully flexible and loving. Most people don't manage that in a happy life. 

That said. . .these next few months will hurt. I wish there were a way around that, but there's not. You've essentially lived a life already, at 26, that most people don't have until they're 80. Now you have to go through birthing pains again, to be Tashi. It's going to suck, and it's going to feel hopeless at times, and there will be moments when you're glad for the absence of feeling, as opposed to actual pain. You'll end up as Tashi at the end of it, but you'll wonder sometimes if it was worth the price."

I do expect pain. I do expect more misunderstandings, and more patience needed on my part and every one around me. I don't expect it to be perfect or happy, or even an end. Life only ended for him, not me. I somehow how to keep more than breathing, to keep working to find myself again, who I am now, re-defined.

Without him as an 'active' part of me. Only part of my history and my shaping as a human. As the person who taught me what "unconditional love" meant on my own part; not just others'. 

The long journey really begins now. We've done the Kilimanjaro of brain surgeries, the Rockies of chemo and radiation over and over month after month, and now I am left alone to go up Everest. 

The Hope in the allegory being he trained me to do this. I have to trust myself. 

That is the next step. 

If doing this helps the next ones to follow in our path, perhaps my pain will mean something. 

I have to Hope. Some days that is all that is left. 

Midnight worries

I worry about what the cost of his (willed) cremation will really end up costing me. I had to pay upfront for it, and I still have not received any benefit money from Social Security.
I worry about the memorial.
I worry about rent, and other things, little and big.


I worry about how I will feel when more of his things are gone after this weekend when they are taken home by the people he wanted them to go to.
I worry I might enjoy having more space, and a chance to start to put the house the way I want.
I worry if I enjoy it, it means I am not missing him as I 'should'.

I worry about the week, and once my friends leave and my family too (temporary though it is) how lonely I will feel.

I worry about trying to find the right words for Saturday.

I worry about paperwork with DES and for my insurance.

I worry a lot about being poor.

I worry about my debts, and my husbands, and how they might effect me when I decide to go back to a school. I worry about working so hard, paying taxes, and still having to file for medical bankruptcy next year; depend on what the lawyer says.

I worry about the holidays, and feeling alone without him.

I worry about how much pain my heart hurts for this time right now; living alone for the first few years was a choice I made on my own. Living alone now is not by either of our wish.

I worry about waking up Christmas morning in a cold, empty, quiet house.
I worry about having no one to celebrate Hannukah with. I remember Wash working so hard to learn the Hebew prayers.

I worry about saying good-bye to him in a symbolic and final way.

I worry so much about my life is both the same and so unstructured; yet I'm not ready to change myself yet.

I worry about trying to communicate with the ones around me, and either not saying something that can be understood; or saying the wrong thing altogether.
I worry about how many people I will still have in my life next year.

I worry it is not acceptable to find moments to try to laugh.
I worry it is not acceptable if I don't laugh "more" now.

I worry about how confused I am that all I'm hearing is contradictions around me; specific advice on what to do at "this point"; specific advice to listen to no advice but my own wants.

I worry about the memories to come this week and month.

I worry about facing everything.

I worry so much about what will come next.

I worry how confused I am to feel so aged and mature, and so scared and young at the same time.

I worry how much I might forget about him.

Always worries.
Sometimes saying them lets them go. Sometimes not.

Con Te Partiro

I made it through Thanksgiving. (The American one. Canadians did it first, a month ago.)


I spoke to my parents and brother, and went over to the Fraternity brother's dinner.
I ended up helping to cook and clean. It was good, kept myself busy and distracted. I enjoyed several moments. I did not even cry until I came home.

I am thankful Wash had a good sense of people. He truly made some wonderful friends in his life who have "adopted" me in a way.
It helps a lot.

Most of my very small group of friends is no longer local. Some that are decided shortly after Wash became ill to just... abandon us. "Come get your stuff you loaned us or I'm throwing it away!"
Suddenly, no more friends to help plan weddings.

No more local friends Graduating.

I cannot stand to be around pregnant or new children yet. The happiness and joy they produce feels like mortal pain to me.

Wash wanted something very specific and Doctor Who related to be done before his memorial service.
I have the supplies. I just cannot bring myself emotionally to do it.
"The Impossible Astronaut"

Except my Time Lord does not come back. There is no second chance. There is no way to cheat Death, not in a long-term.


His TARDIS urn is in the same place. It does not feel like *he* is inside though.
I look at it, and it is beautiful. It is art. It is love. It is Form and Function.

But my Love has become Stardust.

The Memorial is set. Invitations sent, plane tickets bought, pies being made.

This is the hard part. Not watching him in the hospital NuICU, not the wait of the two brain surgeries, not the fights for insurance. Midnight hours of vomiting and pain.
The moments he looked at me with just a little hesitation, willing himself to recall.
The anger. The fights. The physical pain.
Sleep deprivation. Going hungry to keep him fed.
What seemed like a steep climb was no more than an anthill.

This is my Everest, my Kilimanjaro. The 'After'.
The 'Alone'.

The Silence.

Such silence.


He was my best friend for 4 years. My husband for more than 3.
When he became sick, I became his memory.
He told me everything. All he could recall. His feelings. His jokes, and his pain.
I feel like there are two people living in my brain now.
I can hear myself, my inner voice. My Asperger brain continues to think, to ponder, to calculate.
Yet, at the same time, I can always hear him. Sometimes his voice is his, sometimes his words are my own voice. I look outside at my Throne he made for me, and I can remember his descriptions of how he built it. I can remember the nights, his clothes, the smell the welding burns. I can see all the sketches he drew of it, start to finish.
I watch a show; something new or something we have enjoyed before, and I can hear his commentary in my head. I can see his face light up at seeing his favourite actors, yet he's been gone two months.
I look at buildings and architecture like I never have before. I care because of him.

I have not been able to watch any new Doctor Who or Fringe yet.
I wish I was strong enough to. It is overwhelming. Like experiencing emotions from two people at the same time. I wish I could not just recall how much he loved those shows; I wish it did not hurt so much to continue with them right now.
Sensory and emotional overload.

He gave me such love.

He worked so hard to love me, to help show me not to write off all of Humanity.
I don't think there will ever be anyone like him again, not in the ways he was special.
Wash taught me it was possible though. Even at 6 Billion to 1 odds.
6 Billion in my mortal lifetime.

I ignore the probability, to hold onto the possibility Humanity might have someone like him again. The probability is I will not be alive to see who it is, but there is a possibility it can happen again.

My Love is over, in the living sense.


The world does not stop. It cannot. Not for one death. Not for one person. Society would not function unless we had to move on, forget.
But, the world moves, I still have not.
I have no career to go back to.
I have no children to tend or raise.
I have no interest in spending time trying to find a school to give me loans, to finish a degree I won't use.
I have no decades of memories and life to comfort me.
I have no idea what I would even want to do now, with my life, with a long future.

Half the people in my life are telling me to take time for myself right now, go slow, heal myself first.
Half the people in my life are telling me to start moving on, get a job, go finish my degree, move homes.

That's the one thing the WashVoice in my head stays quite silent about. 'Where do we go from here?'

Nothing but the silence of time, space, all eternity.


Mortality is so fleeting. I cannot comprehend setting aside literally one day to "give Thanks".
I had love for 1575 days with my husband.
I was thankful for every one.
I am thankful we made a point to tell each other every day and every night before we fell asleep that we loved each other.
Every night.

We are fragile. We are flesh. We are not forever, like the wind or Silence.

Yet, the chance is there. Another body, another life, another chance for that Love.

Breaking Silence

I feel a need for honesty; though my friends know with me that is never really a problem.

Yesterday my husband's family had a memorial service in his name.
I did not attend.
Technically yes, I was invited; when my mail/invitation came Saturday AFTER the service in a different State was over.

I am Wash's next of kin, and his executor. I am his widow.
I heard him every day for 3 years describe in great detail his ideal Memorial Service.
I am working hard to make that happen for him on December 8, 2012, again, in the Winter, as he requested before his death.

I am truly sorry to those who may have been deceived by others, but he did want and had Willed me to take control of the details.

The love of my life, my soulmate, my husband died less than 6 weeks ago.

Please keep it civil. I will be moderating comments on this post.

Wash had asked me not to write about his parents' or his issues with them until after his death.

I complied. 

Cannot erase our love

Small Photo break today.

I see these Post-It notes he left every day. I see them, read them, and remind myself of his words often.

I have been feeling hurt, angry, and rage filled lately at the opinion of some who by all seeming means, are literally trying to erase me from my husband's life.
Erase what we had.
What he did for me, what I did for him.
Erase the last years of his life.
Erase his happy smiles.

I am angry, because to me, Wash's love for me was just so obvious. Hopefully as my love was to him.
Clear and ever present.
He was the best thing to happen to me, and often said I was the same to him.
That cannot be taken away.


Love find ways to stay, even if the person who loved is no longer around.
His words are. His message. His intent.
His love.

***********************************************************************************

"Future me:
Be excellent to Tashi Today!
Past me"

"Is it possible for me to love my wife... more than I do?
I do hope so."

"Tashi, you deserve far more than what I have to offer. But I'll give you what I can for as long as I can.
Because I love you.
Wash"

Feet on the ground

I had dreams last night about the last night Wash was ever conscious and it was pretty horrible.
It was basically re-living it in my dreams.
I could not wake up.

When I did, I spent the first 30 mins or so just sobbing in my bed, I could not even move.

Yesterday, distractions helped.
Today, not so much.

I even got notified that DES won't cancel my health insurance now that Wash is gone, but that is not 'cheering' me up like it should.

It's like his last few hours are burned into my consciousness and it's a record player that won't stop; over and over again I see him, hear him, but just those words.

I don't even know right now, breathing hurts.

School-Daze

To me, if a person reads a truth, a verifiable truth, and takes personal umbridge; that person either has a valid reason for being angry; or they feel guilty for empathizing with the painful portion of the truth.

But, I'm weird.

I'm writing this post as a letter; I won't use names to avoid further mmmm, pain, but I will share the story.

Dear MFW,

I think I would be crazy and unable to care for Wash if it was not for the humanity of Hospice Care. 1 & 2 are driving him sad and crazy all at the same time. I am seeing my husband in so much pain, and it hurts me as his caregiver and his wife to see that. I don't want to see someone I love in pain. Emotional or physical.

Rationally I can understand that shit happens. Things fall apart. Shit happens at a really super bad time, and then like dominoes, the rest fall too. I get that, I do. Truly.

Wash doesn't. He sees hurt and he cannot see the reason behind it. He cannot cognate like that anymore.

I know you are right when you say that they are making his death about them. It sucks and it is painful to say but it seems to be the truth. Denial is painful for those around.

Hospice has been so helpful though. As hard as it was to make the decision to call them in, I think it was one of the best things I could do for Wash. He is able to speak to others to gain emotional and physical support. And relief. He can talk about 1 &2 without feeling guilty about even admitting he has problems with them. He can speak about the pain they cause, and hear from a professional that perhaps 1 &2 cause him pain because they cannot face the pain the truth would bring to them. As hard as it is to understand, it is easier to hurt Wash than it is to face the painful truth themselves.

We are taking your advice and trying to enjoy this week instead. We are trying to focus on his happy and high level of Quality of Life and giving him the best life possible while he can still enjoy it. While he still knows who he is and who others are that love him.

I do not know how long it will take him to get passed this. I hope soon. It's hard to move past something you don't understand, and with brain cancer the real truth is he just does not understand everything anymore. Sometimes I fear we are too far passed when his "best" time would have been. The longer the wait the worse he does get and the more he does not understand change.

I feel more hopeful not that I can change this, or cause someone else to move past denial, but I feel hope that I have support; Hospice and a few friends have stepped up, some family too, to really make me feel like even on days I "can't" do this, I can. And I will. I feel more hopeful for myself as an individual and human coming out alive after this, after he goes.

I love you, and I could not do this much without you. Without knowing someone is hearing our story, our pain, our small triumphs.

Things will change, he will degrade, but I feel- today at least- that maybe I don't have to die with him. Maybe it will be ok for me to say "Good-bye" and not "Wait up".

I guess I have to fight to live to see.