Oh, Sweetie- Spoilers

River: Funny thing is, this means you've always known how I was going to die. All the time we've been together you knew I was coming here. The last time I saw you—the real you, the future you, I mean—you turned up on my doorstep with a new haircut and a suit. You took me to Derillium. To see the Singing Towers. Oh, what a night that was. The towers sang, and you cried. You wouldn't tell me why but I suppose you knew it was time. My time. Time to come to the Library. You even gave me your screwdriver. That should have been a clue. There's nothing you can do.

The Doctor: Let me do this!

River: If you die here it'll mean I've never met you.

The Doctor: Time can be rewritten!

River: Not those times, not one line. Don't you dare! It's okay. It's okay. It's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come. You and me. Time and space. You watch us run!

The Doctor: River you know my name. You whispered my name in my ear. There's only one way I would ever tell anyone my name. There's only one time I could.

River: Hush now. Spoilers.




I am watching Silence in the Library and Forest of the Dead and thinking of just how ironic that story line truly is to me.
Those were the first episodes of the new Who reboot I ever saw. Shortly before we got engaged. Wash begged me to try the show, knowing I loved the classic Doctor from before.
I fell for Donna and her frustrations at dieting in a virtual world.
I fell for River as a strong and not helpless female character.
I fell for The Doctor, for his dedication and tenacity. 

I had already fallen for my love, my Wash, my TimeLord. 

I miss you, Sweetie. 

Pandora

I quite dislike how monitary woes can bother me while I am trying to learn and grow and focus on myself. 

Also disliking that I have to battle my utility company when I return home, and that I have no idea how to pay rent, phone, or Internet when I return. All things I will need for job searching. Even affording a bus pass right now is beyond my means. 

I am trying to not worry, but failing. 

I just want a break from this constant stress I have been dealing with the last 4 years. 

I am not "starting over" I am thrown back and have to find my way, uphill, in the dark, through thickets just to get to A starting point; a new one. Because I will never be able to be "over" my husband, and I never should have to- or be told to. I am having to change my ENTIRE life, still dealing with the literal and figurative baggage of Wash. 

I want to get to a healthy place. I want routine and structure. I want to share our story, my story, his; with everyone I can. 

I am sick of being thought of as an "invisible" widow due to my age, or the children we tried for and could not have, or the length of my marriage (which should not be ANY factor at all, but apparently is). I am tired of being told that I am "still young". I am all too aware of my age- in a physical sense and in terms of how much I have *lived* in my life. 

I want peace. I want to truly be (fully) happy again. I want to not think about the horrid debt I am in as what Wash passed along to me. I want to remember the good. 

I want to learn to trust again. I am terrified of that, but I desire it. 

I miss the simple things like hugs, holding hands, sharing a meal- or at least not cooking for one. 

I want comfort. 

I want Security; even if that alone comes solely from my own self. 

It is hard work, this; Widowhood. 

It is hard, hard, and often sad work. 

I want to smile again and mean it, often.

I am starting to get some of that here, in Tzfat. I will have to deal with the rest when I return to my other desert home. 

I am thankful for the love and strength he gave to me, and every day for the friends and caring ones who support(ed) us, and my own self. 

I dream about the day I will wake up happy again. I have to Hope it will come at some point. I have nothing else but Hope. 

I am Pandora, clinging to the last bit in the Box. 

Tzfat Journal 2July

So, Monday we had a great class on the Tanya in the afternoon which was intense, but really challenging in a good way. Dinner was light, but good: salads with potatoes (sweet potatoes boiled in an oil based pepper sauce) and chicken. I went out after out last class of the night which was an impromptu class on balancing the good and bad intentions and urges we all have to become closer to G-D. I went walking first with another girl, and we did a circuit of the whole top of Tzfat, then I came back and reviewed notes with two of the other girls. We discussed some things from the weeks before I got here, so I learned a bit more background. After that I went out with 3 other girls and we hit the "foods street" and had some pizza (sauce was VERY sweet, but the cheese was soooo good) and just talked. I learned a lot about some of my classmates, and I had a good time opening up about my own past. We then stopped to get some ice cream (Parve for everyone not me, because I did not eat meat, so no need to wait on dairy!) and I tried a few flavours-all good- but settled on "Israeli Coffee" which was a mix of espresso and cardamom.
We did another long walk to help digest and burn some calories and ended up checking out a little store (pretty much like a tiny Circle K) down the block. Ran into some really... pushy/flirty Israeli guys, but thankfully we just stayed in the store until they left. Nothing to worry about.
I ended up back at MA a bit after midnight, and only read until 2am or so. An early night for me!
Today (Tues) we were supposed to leave for a local tour at 9am, but our guide was running late. So, we ended up actually heading out after 10. We stopped by the grave of Rab. Y. Ben-Cairo and stayed to pray there. It was a moving experience for me. It was unlike any other meditation I have ever had; I felt so still and so able to focus my entire mind on just one prayer, one thought of Peace, and I felt so quiet on the inside. I hope to repeat this again before I leave. From there we went up a local mountain (really just a bit further up than the main city of Tzfat) to Yavnit Mount. It was like being in Northern Arizona. Pine forests. The smells up there were just so wonderful and clear. There were flowers blooming, and birds, and so many butterflies today! We took a long hike up to a few different vantage points and were able to see the valley below Tzfat, the hill that borders the Sea of Galilee, and the hazy south part of the Golan Heights where the Israel border ends. Further on the walk we were able to see into Syria, a portion of Lebanon, and just past a bit of mountain; Jordan.
We ended by visiting the graves of two local Tzaddeken who are buried in a cave more than 2800 years old. There is still a portion of the retaining wall left up from the Roman invasion in 70-74CE. (I have plenty of photos I will send along, do not worry.) The cave was not terrible deep or long, but very cool temperature wise, and was lightly maintained by the Israeli Antiquities Department. It was a truly hard to describe event. Standing in a place that people had visited to pray at for almost 3000 years. Mind blowing.
We also saw the border guards' station (in front of the retaining wall are the IDF barracks) which has been a defence outpost for almost 2000 years straight. Currently it is managing the "iron dome" which protects the border and border cities like Tzfat from missiles. Our tour guide told us about the bombing going on over the last 20-30 years: including having a SCUD missile land in her backyard! Literally. Blew out parts of the kitchen, left huge holes from shrapnel, and shattered 22 windows and the frames. They had a shelter and her children were all playing in the front yard, so no one got even a scratch. I cannot even imagine the moments of terror that would produce.
The last class before lunch today was on the "Song of Songs" and how even those who have just begun to study are blessed by G-D; it is the fierceness of the heart to learn Torah, not just the actual studying. Pretty interesting. We have another class on the same topic on Thursday.
For lunch today we had grilled eggplant/aubergine with a sweet turnip/potato like vegetable. Also a salad of quinoa and mixed fresh vegetables with a tasty vinegar based dressing. I went across the street and also picked up a plum, nectarine, and mango to munch on for today/tonight. The fruit seller is quite nice and knows all the "girls" at MA and is quick to speak English to those of us not fluent in Hebrew. The foods there are just so varied and amazing; it is like the Farmer's Market across the street from my home! They also have prickly pear cactus pads and fruit, but it is called "paddle cactus" here. No saguaro, of course. The fruits are all in season and grown in the country. I saw a bunch of fields as I was coming in to Tzfat at the end of last week: corn, sunflowers, wheat, and of course, lots and lots of grapes.
Classes this afternoon will be more Torah reading then another Tanya class; which I am really loving so far. The same Rabbi who teaches us Tanya also teaches one night in the evening at a local synagogue, so as far as I know plans are for about 6 of us to go to the "extra" class he teaches on Wed evening. It is very dense material, with so much meaning in every single word, not just the overall sentences and stories, but I find that type of challenge to be something my brain really feels good about thinking on. Then after dinner tonight we have another Farbregin (Jewish joke- we will Far-Bring-It-On!) which will go from about 8pm to perhaps midnight or even later. I will likely call it an early night though and try to get a bit more rest after doing so much physical work in the last day and so.

I am sleeping very well, and I have 3 or more girls who are all taking turns to help me learn to read and speak Hebrew. I plan to go down to a store tomorrow on my break and get some "kid" workbooks to help me practice. The food is good, and I am trying to eat something new/different each day, and saying "yes" to one new thing each day too. I am often getting out of my comfort zone, but that was a reason why I came. I might be scared or nervous, but I am here to do and learn and experience as much as I can in the time I have here. I am getting more used to the schedule, which means it feels like the days are starting to pass a bit faster. I am not sure yet if this is a good or bad or neutral thing.

I will be sending along photos from the hike today, and when I am back I will go over them all in detail. I also took a short "panorama" movie today too; the view was just too beautiful to leave to still photographs alone.

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.

Catch-Up

I'm 'back'.
Though, I never really left. I've just not been sleeping much at all for the past almost week and I often cannot write after staying awake for four days.

I read a book series for myself. It was nice to have something I wanted to read, wanted to finish. I don't think I've had a "fun" read since Wash died. I have some books and novels to catch up on.

So, aside from the reading.

Things have been good and things have been tough.

The hard stuff first.

I have lost about a stone (14lbs) in the last two weeks. Not for really trying, or stress, but mostly due to lack of food. This is hard to be honest about, which is likely why I have not said anything, but I don't really have money to get food anymore. SNAP (either due to Arizona State frak-ups, or Federal [Congress] Frakery) has been reduced for me, and with no income, I'm trying to eat on about ~$20.00 for 7 days.
I have no grocery stores I can get to by myself or walking, and I have no funds for a bus pass, since they increased the rates back in March. I have the CVS and the Farmer's Market. Both have a small selection of foods, and both are pretty expensive compared to national brand grocery chains. I do have friends who take me to one of the stores a few miles South of where I live, maybe once or twice a month, but I'm still on a stretched budget. So, I've been averaging about one "meal" a day.
This I am sure is contributing to my tiredness.

I have a lovely friend who is also an animal lover who has been helping me to buy cat-food so the kitties are taken care of. I have a lovely reader here who sent litter as well, which we are all-ALL- very happy for. (Thank you, K.)

But, I have about $36 to my name, and $4 in SNAP food benefits to last me until well into next month. Which is hard. It is hard to be 26 years old and having to ask my mother for help to buy toilet paper, and peanut butter. I have not had much of any luck with finding a short term, or part-time job. Most business close or get smaller for the summer when all the students and SnowBirds leave, and the few who remain, or who move here in the summer before school starts have seemed to taken all the open jobs around here.
I am worried. I have no idea honestly how I am going to pay rent, electricity (it's in the 100sF now. Would you like to live in the sun with no A/C?) or my internet; which is mandatory for me now, as I'm doing some things to get ready for college this summer.

Wash had no life insurance. Neither of us had even health insurance when he was sick!
Side note: our appeal date for AHCCCS was originally on Oct 28th, 2009. I had applied in August when Wash was ill and I knew he needed a real doctor, not a undergrad student at the college health center, and we were denied. I often try not to think how many more weeks or months I might have had with him if the tumor was removed 3 months sooner than it was.
No funds, no insurance, no savings. The bit we had went to our wedding in March of that year; and the whole thing was done for under $1000. Once Wash was not working, not able to work, from the tumor none of us knew was there, my savings were gone to pay rent and food. His parents, before they blamed me for his illness -and death- did help us that summer. I remember Wash crying so much. I remember being told by his father that "this was the true Wash, you're seeing his real personality coming out. He is lazy and unmotivated." Which, really, was entirely untrue- however it was correct in that those were the symptoms of his tumor manifesting.
I try not to be angry about that summer. None of us knew what was really going on inside his brain. The tumor growing, killing healthy cells, pushing his brain- swelling inside his skull. He was not able to be honest with me, or his family, or his friends, or the few campus doctors he did see. None of us put it together until he was in the hospital on Oct 26th.
I try not to think about how it could have been different.
I often fail, but I try.

This May marks 3 years of me being "unemployed"- as my State and the Federal government do not recognize being a fulltime caregiver for your spouse as "employed". Though it should be. Caregivers at home help keep the patient's Quality of Life high, and help keep Medical care costs down by not needing a bed in a care-giving facility. Those of us doing it for the people we love though, we are not paid or compensated. Even though most often in a situation where one partner/spouse is needing the care and the other doing it; neither of them often has income, or enough, coming in. Try living as a terminally ill person with special dietary needs, medication costs, rent, and electricity on ~$800/month. Or less. Often less.
It's hard. It is hard to say to someone who is dying, "No you can't, we cannot afford it."

I've been doing a lot of processing of my feelings, obviously. Which lately has included a lot of tears. I'm not fighting it, and it hurts, but the pain seems to dull more quickly when I don't fight it.

Moving more to the good, now.

I got some sleep last night/this morning. [5am-2pm]
As I was lying down last night, I smelled him. On our-my- pillow, and his bear Hoban. That was a great comfort to me. Maybe that helped. Or, maybe I just hit my wall of not sleeping more than 3 hours since last Thursday.

He would have been so happy and excited for me.
I got in to my college programme. I'm doing fundraising to cover the costs; like the down-payment for classes, and uniforms, and airfare. I am also applying like mad to every scholarship that I can. I am working hard on this, because this is for me. I have not done anything for myself since Wash was ill, even before.
I took a holiday in late spring of 2008. I married Wash in early 2009. That is really the only things that come to mind over the last 5 years that were in any way "for myself".
I want this. I want to go back to school, at least, in this small way. It is a summer term, so just under 2 months long, and not as much pressure as re-enrolling for a whole school year, or even a normal term. That might still be too much for me right now.
But this? This is perfect.
It is an all women's college. Dorm life. A town about the size of where I live, in Tempe. Lots of gardens. Outside classes. Peaceful parks. More so, it is in Israel and is history I can study and touch. This is a chance for me. This is a chance for me to find something inside myself. Some passion.
When I was about 8 years old, I read a novel (the third in a long, and still continuing series) that moved me and impressed on me so much I still re-read it yearly. A strong young heroine, adventures, dangers, and in this book- a trip to Israel. Archaeological sites and digs, and reading in original Hebrew and Aramaic words written by human hand thousands of years ago.
To me, that was the epitome of excitement. A small fire inside me started when I read that book, and I knew in my lifetime I wanted to travel there. I wanted to have a chance to walk in the Old City. I wanted to read those words written so so so long ago. I wanted to smell the air; so different I imagine from anywhere else I've been.
I have that chance now. More. I have a chance to learn for myself. To seek out the direction to continue on.

There is no "moving forward" or "moving on" from my husband's death. It will always be with me, and a part of me. But, I have been able over the last few months to heal enough to begin to see the world with me in it instead of mourning the loss of the we. 
This is a large and important step, and I am recognizing that.
My therapy team is also quite encouraging in this, as are my family and all my friends.
I like to think they are happy to see my desire to do something-anything- again. In a way, I am too.
There is still a part of me that wants to just sit in my closet, hold his TARDIS urn, and cry. Forever.

I'm growing to see that not only is that closer to impossible, it gives me no quality of life. That, he would mind.
School, though? Things being different, him being alive, both of us working, he would take me out to celebrate and encourage me every step of the way on this. He is the cheerleader inside my head. Much cuter than Teri/Ferrell though.

Things going well and I can raise the funds, get scholarships, and take care of all the other details? I'll be in Safed by the end of June and back home sometime in August.

I am also working on a few projects to hopefully get some of the novellas/short stories Wash wrote and illustrated published. The cancer could not take his creative imagination from him, and perhaps knowing that his works, his passions, were "alive" in a way, being read, being appreciated, will help me. Knowing that he is not forgotten.

That is where I am at.

My belly might be hungry, but my self has Hope to feed on again.

More To Come

Well, there are a few logistical issues to take care of, and a few scholarships to apply for, but it looks like with some help and luck, I'll be in Israel this summer for a college programme.
I am aiming for 6-8 credit hours to earn, and as my school is in the North part of the country, I also hope to be able to visit Jerusalem while I am there.

There is a lot I need to get done, and a lot of support I will need to get through this, but I am excited to be back in a learning environment. Learning and knowledge make me happy.

Thank you Friends, for all your support, prayers, wishes.
I'll have more information in a few days to share.

Here it goes...

Tomorrow I have a video interview (my first!) at 10am.

With a college admissions coordinator in Israel.
I hopefully will find out if I have been accepted into a summer college programme.

Before I go off on premature plans, or more information, I will say this.


I am scared.
Terrified.
Anxious.
Filled with trepidation.

I am also hopeful.
Hopeful I have friends near and far who can help me with logistics.
Hopeful I might get in.
Hopeful I might begin to find the "me" that was given to "we" when I married.
Hopeful this might be a good change for who I am and have been.
Hopeful this might let me start walking again. Looking forward.
Hopeful I may again remember passions, and desire for learning.
Hopeful I could survive (short term) without my cats, my only Companions left.

Hopeful I can adapt to the potential change, the new-ness, the shuffle of my routine.

Hopeful I might make new friends.
Hopeful I may even meet another (young) widow.

Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers tomorrow morning, if you would.

I am hopeful if everything can come together, this might be what I truly need to find life, and begin to see where my own will go.

I have not been able to think about my future for 4 years. It is daunting, but I am growing to see it can empower me.

Down the Rabbit Hole I Go!

NC-17

I had a quite interesting dream this weekend. I don't feel the need to get into deep details about it at the moment, but Wash was there with and for me. I've felt a bit better overall since then, and am getting a little more sleep.

Last week at my Hospice therapy I was asked to try something for a bit; "talking" to Wash. Out loud. Not like he was/is alive or dead, just as if he was next to or near by me.

It's odd.

I do it with GaiusWash, but that is just in my head, and I know it.

What I noticed pretty fast off; I don't speak anymore. Not really. Literally days can go by without me saying physically a word to another person. I sort of wish that disturbed me more than it does.

But, back to the dream. It was filled with old comforts, symbols of happier times. I feel like there is a point to it, a message. Likely coming from inside my own head, but still important.
I cannot really describe (and I've been trying all weekend) how it feels to be dreaming of one's dead beloved spouse, and being physically close with them in a dream one is aware is a dream... and to have said dead spouse miming that it's "ok" to be close to someone else.
I honestly really have. But, there at last my vocabulary fails me utterly. Because I cannot describe the feelings or sensations, though I do recall them. I can only say it felt like having a tiny, but heavy piece of guilt taken from my heart.

It is an odd sensation to having my internal monologue interrupted by my (dead) husband. He agrees. Which, as it is coming from my own head, of course.

I still think this is a weird "coping tool". But, I said I would give my therapy a real honest attempt, so I am.


I wish I had firm big news. But, trying to make contact with a country 9 hours ahead of my time zone is a bit hard logistics wise. So, it will be Tues before I have real word.
I am nervous. There is so much opportunity for me and yet so much to take care of here in AZ in the next 4 weeks if this is to happen. Everything becomes unknown and scary. But the entire future is unknown and also scary.



I spent some time on Saturday re-reading this blog. I read it in reverse timeline; it felt like a love story with a happier ending. I know exactly how much time he had. 2009 me did not. There was more Hope in the unknown then.


I am left to question. I am left to stand alone.


It feels a little like waking up from a long, long, long, long sleep with a terrible horrid and wonderful dream I remember, and as I wake realize the dream was reality. But the exhaustion is still there, the pain, the dust and cobwebs settled down on the bed on top.
But I am slowly waking, and moving, and breathing again. Still have days of tears and sobs, but also days where I have to start thinking of my own place in society. My own personal value. What I am worth, really? What do I give? What do I leave?
I am not Buffy, Kara or Faith. I reject the idea that my gift is Death, that I am the one to lead to the End.
I am real. My life is often a mirror to the sad and horrid scripted things we entertain ourselves with, but my life is only scripted by me.
I suppose I am now realizing that I don't want it written with a short end.


Saturday I was out after end of Sabbath and walking to get some milk and eggs to bake a cake. At the same cross-street where the bicyclist had been fatally hit back in May of 2010, I was witness on Sat to another car on bicycle accident. I literally watched the car plow right into the cyclist. Honestly, with the way she hit him and how he fell, if he had not been wearing a helmet, I have no doubt he would be dead- or on the way to it. I stayed and gave the Police a statement. Then once I knew the kid was going to be ok, I continued on to get my milk and eggs. [The cake turned out wonderfully.]
I was walking and about 50-60' from the intersection corner when it happened- on my side of the street.
I just remember running towards the kid lying in the street.


Seems I can't just "turn it off", that part of me. I see someone in trouble, in need, I am the person who runs TOWARDS.
Not often, but times like Saturday night do make me reflect and wonder if I am really "done" with the medical field. I was never wanting to work on living patients anyway, and it all became too much after Wash passed. But, I can't just turn it off. I don't think I have it in me to stop helping.
Maybe his death has not pushed me quite all the way to "Evil Genius" member of the Evil League of Evil.

I am working on me. Myself. No longer a "We". The single, lonesome "I".



He was worth it. Even in pain, in tears, I never waver or doubt that.
Wash was worth it. So much more than I could give.

I still say "I love you." out loud. That much I never stopped. Not "loved". Current tense. I still tell him that before I go to sleep each night. I may not speak much, but the last words each night after my Shema are "I love you."
Whenever in Time, Wherever in Space, I love you, Wash.

Like a rainbow

I am not touching the topic of Mother's day with a 40' pole right now. Moving on.


This week, with a lot of encouragement and support from my friends, local community, and most family, I decided to apply for a summer college programme abroad. I would be gone between 4-6 weeks, depending on how I can set things up before I would leave.
I am hoping to find out soon if I was accepted (it's a very selective Women's College) and if I can qualify for some scholarships to help out. I would still need to raise funds to go, but...

This is the first time since Wash died, and certainly the first time in perhaps the last 4 or so years I have felt like I desire to go back to a college environment and learn. Since Wash was sick with brain cancer, I have felt zero desire or goals to go back working forensics. To go back to bones, and skulls- of which all morph into his- to go back to Death, really.
No. I've spent too much of my life already in and around Death.
This is a chance at something new.
This is a chance for me to do some self-exploration.
To see what knowledge still excites me, what stokes my personal fire.

I can earn credits that can transfer back to the US. I can be in a (temporary) new place. I can clear my head, focus my mind, distract the pain in my heart.

Now, I'd have to be accepted first. I have to make sure my house here is taken care of, either house/cat sitting or subletting. It is one thing to go away for a month, it is a negative thing for me to come back and not have the home I have been living in with my husband since 2008. This much I have already talked to my Hospice doctor about. Now, there is a hope that perhaps when I come back I will be stronger personally to really start to not just sort through, but figure out where Wash's things and stuff will go. I have about a dozen packages I still need to send to his friends of his things. But, I am still letting Future Tashi deal with that, as right now I see a mountain of his clothes that will never be put back on his body. Fabric with a faint scent of him. Fraternity and Drama/Theatre shirts. Dress clothing.

His custom ties. Those I know what he wanted done with, how to get them to his friends, but it does not make it hurt less to do.


I had a moment last week. I was having a conversation (in my head) with someone, and my narrative said- "When I was married..." not "...I am married."
I think this was the first time my brain has phrased it for me. My world stopped last year, but things move. The Earth still spins, I still age, my cells grow and die, plants flower and die, and lives just move.

I had a Phoenix ComicCon brochure come to my house. Addressed to Wash, of course.
It was like a punch to my chest, all air gone out of me in a second.
It really sank in, Wash will never see another 'Con. I will never get to dress up or Cosplay with him again.
I am the one left. I carry the burden. I carry his voice, his desires, but in a way he will never see.
Too much emotion overwhelms my system and I just emotionally shut down. It hurts less that way.


Back to topic. I need to make sure my cats will be loved after while I am away (if I am accepted.). Leto really has not gone more than a day or two without human contact his whole life. He is a Comfort Cat, and he wants to be where he can get pets, attention, and love from other humans. Aelphie I am also worried about. She really only ever bonded with myself, Wash (after some years), and a great friend from college - and his sweet cat. I don't know if leaving her at my house, with me gone, is good for her, or if it would be worse to move her somewhere for a month where she can have more attention and less Leto/kitten escapades.
I worry about the TARDIS urn. I worry about leaving it, I worry about moving it. Anxieties and worry.
The cats are the closest thing to children I will ever have. Leto is the only living connection left to Wash- that is not me. (in my house)

I worry if I can raise the funds to go, to cover airfare and the costs for my home as well. It will be more than 7 more years before I will be able to get a loan, or not need a co-signer for anything. That puts me in an odd place for a 26 year old. Even harder trying to get really any job to get me out of the house, earning, paying bills. Part of me hopes this trip might help with that though, making new contacts and friends, or even just being able to say that I've done something in 4 years besides caregive (unpaid, thanks Arizona!) for my husband.

This is a chance to do something for Tashi. Not 'Wash and Tashi', not in his memory or honour, but for myself. Who I am, without him.


Wash always supported learning. We had a plan. He was willing to work to pay for me to finish my schooling once he was graduated and had done his Taliesin internship. I was willing to work and wait for him to finish. There was a plan, we both supported. We had even planned that if we had a child while I was in Grad School he wanted to be the Work From Home Dad. He wanted me to focus on school, and my desires. This I know. He would have supported me in this. He would be happy I have at the least, applied.



This feeling? It is not Depression. It is not Grief. It is like a horrid hybrid monster of the worst of both of them. It sneaks up in the quiet and calm before sleep. It strikes at a song, a moment, a memory.
It fills the nose with smells that trigger memories of happy or sad moments. There is no control. There is no bargaining to stop. It does not listen to pleas or rationality. It rears up, an angry wild stallion. It runs deep inside, pounding hoof beats to match broken heart-beats. It is tears at a kitchen sink that do not come from onions. It is a weight so heavy the body literally drops. It forms a Compassion, a desire to not wish it on any other human; though most every single human will experience it. It is the pain and darkness of a mile underwater, a place sunlight does not- cannot penetrate. It is the creeping darkness that whispers over and over and over- the worst broken record- "Is there really any Hope left?"

This is the feeling I have and fight every second, hour, day. I do not think English has a word comparable.
I wonder who else is aware of this? Who else knows this feeling? Who else knows this is what I am living with?

There is a lot for me to ponder lately. I have been trying to focus on the positive ponderings, less on the negative ones. It is a battle. Every day. For me, time does not ease up. Time allows no real respite inside my head.

That is where I have been, Dear Readers. That is where I am.

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.

May Day

May is National Brain Tumor Awareness Month.

Time again to post the first story of how we came to find Wash's brain cancer.
Please Read.

To learn more about Wash's brain cancer, GBM, visit SaveWash 


I'll have a proper update later on.



Share the warning signs. Be aware. Reach for help if you need it, or know someone who does.


I don't want anyone else to die because they were sick and could not afford a licensed Doctor.

Doves Cry

I am angry.

I don't know if this is a passing thing, a "phase" as it were, or if this is my new state of being.

I have a small cold. I'm not certain how my low grade fever is effecting me.



I am angry.
I am angry there is no space for me.
I am angry there is no safe place for me to talk, to someone.
I am angry that Hospice has to be considered part of the "safety net".

I am angry at my friends, the people I love. I am angry and love them at the same time. It's a painful contradictory feeling.
I am angry at life. I am angry at the inherent unfairness. Of it all.

I am angry that every week I see more friends have birthdays that place them at or right next to my age.
I am angry that every week now someone new is engaged, married, or pregnant. In about 6 months I suppose I'll be angry at all the births around his death date.

I am angry at myself and society. I am angry that I will never be pregnant again. That I will never carry life, that my husband will never live on. That I have no more family with his death. He was my family unit, and now it is singular, and I'm angry that I had so little time with him.
I am angry at the milestones I have and will miss.

I am so angry at society for telling me I am worthless if I do not reproduce.

I am angry at society for telling me I am worthless for being poor. I am angry when people say it is my own fault, my own choices. I am angry when someone implies Wash wanted or asked for terminal brain cancer. 

I am angry at myself because I cannot be fully happy for my friends.
I am angry at comments about couples trying to get pregnant for under 6 months, and how upset/sad/frustrated they are. I am angry when those same people then immediately get pregnant.

I am angry that I have no one to talk to.

I am angry at my best friend for dying, for leaving me. I am angry at myself for that very thought. For not being happy he is not in pain, like he wished.


I am angry when I stare at his TARDIS urn every day and night and wonder if anyone else remembers him?

I am angry that he died before so many wonderful things.
I am angry he will never see the Doctor Who 50th Anni. special. Or be part of it in some way, which he would have; if he had not had the cancer and was still alive.

I am angry at being told I have to change so many things.
I am angry that so many things will change and have regardless.

I am angry that I can remember the last hug I had from him, that I remember it was the last.

I am angry that I have to live a future without him. I am angry that I wake up every morning, and he does not, will not.

I am angry and it feels like a hot weighted stone upon my heart.

I am angry that I feel so utterly useless.
I am angry how disposable I feel. I am angry at the daily implication that my existence is worthless- or worse, costing of others.

I am angry, and so sad.

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.

Hard Words

It's been a while since I've felt comfortable enough, or had the precise words to explain what is going on in my life past the physical details. [Foot not fully broken/fractured, still fraked up for a few weeks.]

Births, marriages, engagements, deaths- too many, pregnancies, jobs, new locations.
This is the excitement and progress of my friends and family.

I am happy for them. I have far more hope for any of them than I hold for myself.

Roger Ebert in one of the short notes he sent to me said that it was alright to write about the horrid parts of life. The nasty parts of cancer not shown in those films with a happy ending. It is ok to share the utter desperation, the desires, the lowering of one's self on the chance for mercy from a world that holds no "fairness".
"Truth is not always a happy ending." R.E.

How very true.


This post might hurt. It hurts to write, and I'm sure for some it will hurt to read. Cancer and dying hurts too. Living and knowing the one person you loved, who loved you back, is gone and will never ever come back- hurts.

"Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." - W. Goldman [The Princess Bride]

When we got married slightly to this theme, that quote meant something so different to me. Wash inscribed my wedding band with "As You Wish" on it.
It's quite amazing how much foreshadowing our relationship has without either of us really picking up on it. I had him nicknamed "Wash" within weeks of us dating. We both knew what happened to Hoban in "Serenity".


I am not "stuck". I am however, mad lately. I'm mad that people around me who have not felt this pain feel it is appropriate to tell me how to deal with my pain. I'm mad that they think there is some magic number of weeks, months, or time that can pass before I should be where they want.
I'm mad that people want the Tashi "back" that does not exist anymore.
She's gone just as surely as her Wash. Never coming back.
I think that acceptance is slowly happening.

I'm mad at myself for hurting at someone else's happiness. I am utterly confused at how it is possible for me to feel so happy to see friends get married, or have a child, or get hired at their dream career, or become pregnant- and so mad at my own life for being deprived of that.
I had 4-6 weeks of marriage before the cancer began to grow in his brain.
Twice we almost stayed pregnant. Twice we both held onto Hope that in some way (biologically at the very least) Wash could continue on. Twice it ended in blood, pain, and tears.
Leto the cat is now the only living part of Wash I still have, or can hold.

I find less and less to talk about, socially. I have little I can relate to with my peers.
The Widow's support group is also made up of people in pain like me, but all so much older. All who had time or a chance at a life with the one they loved. They had children, reasons to wake in the morning and function. They had homes they built up together that they could get comfort from. Years, sometimes decades of memories to hold on to. To recall. To soothe.

I am mad at the people who suggest that because I was "only" married for a short time that I can/could/should "move on" now. That 6 months is enough time to "heal".
I am mad at those who imply I will have or find love again. I had it once. I found him once. I gave my heart and soul once. Who are they to know my intentions? Who besides my own self should say if I even desire to love again?

I am at the age where so many of my peers are married, engaged, pregnant, or having children. Over and over I see milestones I wanted to have myself, and cannot.
I will never have a new birthday card from my husband again. I'll never hear him sing to me that I'm his "Queen of Argyle".

I have pain. I have sorrow. I have tears. I have little Hope to share.
I have a large space to carry pain, to support others. Some days I wake as Atlas, carrying the weight of the world upon myself, and not questioning why I do this. Why I carry this burden.

I am hurt that Cancer keeps stealing people we love. I am tired of this. I am 26 and so tired.
I carry Hope, but it is not a weightless burden.

Hope is painful. Hope does not protect the heart. Or the brain. Hope is irrational, one of the confusing parts of being human I am still trying to comprehend.

When I began this written record I chose "Learning to Hope" in the sense of Hope for my Wash. For his future, for his fight, for us. Now, I think the Hope is for me. How to keep wanting to Hope, when I know so well how much it can hurt. How the nights are spent either awake, afraid of the silence and dark, or sleeping restlessly in a dream of chasing someone I can never catch.
Hope that someday life will become desirable, not just passive, waiting for the moment I breathe out but not in.
How do I continue on, when I still hear him in my head? When I can still read his stories and words? See the world from his eye in his photographs.

He is gone but save a digital footprint of his existence.

And, yet.
Yet...

He is the Gaius to my Six.
Whispering in my ears. Touching my hair. Standing in his kilt. Kissing my neck. He lives in me, in my brain, in the memories he shared and gave to me to hold. I cannot begin to imagine how one can "get over" that.


This is my pain. My grief. My anger. My sadness. My soulmate. My timeline.
My life and future to mourn.


Yes, I still hurt. I can smile, but I ache.
I feel a need to hide away from the happy world. From the lives others are living. I am not living. I exist right now.


Is this the trade-off? Is this the start of my re-payment? A karmic debt I owe?
Is this the price of love? Of the short, but fully complete happiness I once had?

I think I am still too young to say that for certainty. I think I am not omnipotent enough to say that for certainty.

If this pain is the start of the price I now pay, I owe.
I owe this pain, and I own it.

I gave my self and my heart up to him. I willingly gave it. I gave him everything I could.
From 2008-2012 I had his love in return. I had him. I had unconditional love for all of me. I had more than a friend. I had more than a lover. I truly knew Hope, in a painless sense, then.
I had his love.

If this pain is my price, it is mine.
I would do it all over again, in a hummingbird's heartbeat. Knowing the pain, the tears, the sadness, the blood, the loss. I would do it again.
He was worth it. 4 years, or 40 seconds. His love was worth it.
It does not ease the pain, does not put a balm on my wounds, but it is the truth.
I would put myself through every bit of this pain again, for him.


I can wish my story had a happy ending. I can wish it was a different type of cancer, a different disease, a life of health. I can write that we struggled, but overcame and lived happy forever until we both died on the same day, decades after our marriage. I can write we had children, and grandchildren. I can write we both had perfect dream lives.
But I write truth here, not fiction.

There is no "happy ending" in my life. My love story is a tragedy, not a happily ended romance.



Photo is from approx 2004-06 from Wash's Speech Black Book. [Speech and Debators will know this.]
This is his opening selection from "Will the Circle be Unbroken" by Studs Terkel that he used in an Oratory or Dramatic piece.

Afterwards

There is always love in the world.
Even if it does not know you by name.
Even if it does not come with your image.
Even if it travels from around the globe, or across the city.
Love comes from family. Friends. Partners. Soulmates.
Children can love with freedom and enthusiasm that sometimes fades as we age.
There is love for the newly born, and those departed.
There is love for the past, and for the future.

There is love in the smallest of kind acts, and love spread across millions or billions.
There is love from religion, and love from science, and atheism.

It can be hard to see the love around, sometimes. Often when we cannot hear it given directly to us.
But it exists. As surely as there is human capacity to think, reason; there is also the deepest capacity to love.

The largest appreciation

Last day the fundly donation site is open. 
I still have so many medical bills from Kevin, and so many more of my own from my broken bones last year and my own health issues. 
If you can donate anything, it helps. 
If you can share the link and our story, it helps. 
If you can give prayers or good thoughts, it helps.

I'll be filing for bankruptcy due to medical bills this year. Again, anything my caring friends, family, or those touched by the story of AZ driving a young widow into utter poverty can do; it all helps. 

Thank you all so much. 
I was Wash's (Kevin's) caregiver for more than 3 years.
Now the people who care and love me are helping to give care to me, so I can continue on with my life. 

My husband did not survive against brain cancer; but with the love, help, social, emotional, religious, and other support from my circle I can survive this next part of my life as a Widow.

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.

Glass Bone Woman?

Left foot has torn ligaments by my ankle, and a sprained ankle. This alone is 6 weeks of bed/foot rest. Waiting on the X-ray results to see if it is broken as well; from the exam I could have upwards of two breaks in the long tarsals and 1-3 toes might be broken as well.

Let's see;
*Very high intelligence/ Genius
*Picked on /few friends growing up
*Knowledgeable on several subjects, including outbreak/virii paterns
*Had the love of my life, and soulmate die a young, horrid death
*Health issues/ radiation exposure

I just need a crap-ton of money and I'd be a villain right out of a graphic novel!

[or, that is the pain meds talking. who knows?]

Really? Really??!

Full disclosure, I am on pain meds writing this.

So, Fri after services, I was walking to the Pharm that is near the Synagogue and my house. With some awesome friends.
I'm walking down a curb, and my old-ass shoes that literally have the entire treads worn down/through slips. My left foot falls about 4" and I land on it and roll my ankle. I did not fall down though, like I had when I broke my right foot.

So, I was hobbling to the CVS less than a block away at that point, and by the time I got inside was feeling VERY hot.
Next thing I know, my friend is calling my name and I'm on the floor. The adrenaline wore off and the pain made me faint.
Managed to get home and spend the weekend on bedrest, icing my foot.

My doctor knows about it, and I am beyond thankful my nurse was helpful and sympathetic. I still cannot believe this happened again.

I have a full set x-ray of my foot, toes, and ankle area to be done tomorrow. Then, I go from there.

I also know what to look out for if it get worse and I have to go to an ER. I am hoping it will not get to that.

Either way, I already do not have funds to pay for rent, or electricity for this month (due on the 5th) and now I'm adding more medical bills I have no way to pay for on top.
I literally do not even have a credit card to my name to "float" myself for this.

I am worse than screwed in so many ways if I do end up needing surgery. As it stands, looking for work while (best case) I'm in (and WHEN) a walking-cast is going to be even worse than it already is with my 3 year *non-paid* employment gap.
Arizona being a "Right To Work" state and all. And hating sick people, or people who may or do need insurance. Or hating women, and even more so women who want to work.  (Maybe not all of AZ, but certainly the vast majority who is in charge)


I wish this was a great joke being played on me. It's not.


Little acts of kindness I am thankful for:
*My friends coming from another state to visit, even if it had to be cut short
*My friends who are willing to drive me as I don't have a car, or working feet
*My friends who bought me groceries so I could eat this week
*My friends who bought cat-food so the kitties can eat
*My friends who donated a CVS card to me so I could cover the cost of a few needed prescriptions
*My friends who love me unconditionally
*My friends who like spending time with me, and do it. 
*My friends who make me laugh. Who also make me feel safe, if just for a moment.

*Memories of how much my husband loved me and would care for me, attend to me, and love me when I was ill


Without the Hope of something, what is there to hold on to?

Best case, I have complete bedrest this weekend.

Worst case; I broke my right foot again last night/a few hours ago.

I'm not certain if my doc has someone to run the X-Ray machine on the weekend. So, I might have to hold out til Mon. Or, get someone to take me to St. Joes downtown to their ER, rather than spending two days in the waiting room of Tempe St Lukes.

Yeah. I know.


I'll have to talk to my doctor regardless about my bone density.

Everyday there is a new terrible hit to my horrid financial situation.
And I should be easing my stress, not increasing it.
So, shit.

Good not-broken bone thoughts please?