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.

Veni domum

I was gone this weekend out to Gold Canyon for the wedding of two of Wash's fraternity brothers.

It was beautiful and moving beyond words I have right now. I'll process some and write more.




It was also my first wedding I've been to alone/without a partner/ since Wash passed.
So, a lot of emotions.


I had a really good session for about 3 hours on Fri morning with Hospice grief services. It was helpful in many ways, and I have some reading resources to explore, and I'll have a standing appointment either weekly or bi-weekly. Which, again, is better than anything AHCCCS provides.

So, I thankfully have a few new tools to help me process some of my emotions from this weekend.

Thank you all. I'll catch you up in a bit.

Happiest Pi day of my life

Vague

I woke up this morning feeling weird and off. Neither cat slept with me; Leto enjoys his "perch" of the cat-bed on top of the laundry hamper.
The work comes along, slowly.

I ran into my landlord's father the other day while I was taking out the trash. English is perhaps is 3rd language, but he came over and gave me a hug and said he hoped I was well and they loved me as a tenant, and loved my backyard garden, and they (his wife and his kid, my landlord) missed Wash; he was a good person.
It was a nice reminder and good to hear.

My neighbours behind me have taken up on my style and have put up solar lights exactly like mine in their backyard and hanging from their shade/covering. I take it as flattery; my place looks lovely in the evening, and they must have appreciated it.

I had to take today off of really sorting or organizing. After doing the bedroom yesterday; perhaps the most emotional thing, it was a bit much.
Also a shirt of his I found at the bottom of the hamper under the canvas liner. I thought I had emptied the hamper months ago, but that shirt escaped me.
The pillows only faintly smell of him now, but that shirt was like the scent right around his collarbone, the smell I chase in my dreams. The smell that reminds me that when I wake if I keep my eyes closed I can pretend for a second or two longer he is not gone. That one.
It's only been a little bit of sobbing today. Thankfully. Nothing keening or racking.


There is an oddness and stillness within the house. I have to say house, because it does not feel correct to say "home". I've lived here longer than any other place as an adult, but without Wash, it just does not feel like a home. Home ceased being singular to myself (and Aelphie to a degree) when we got engaged and moved in together. I knew many many years ago that with the way I live and prefer to live, and can function... it is not something that is really compatible with the way the vast majority of people prefer to live. I lived on my own, by myself since I was 17. I moved in with Wash right around my 22nd birthday. He was the first person I ever could see myself or could consider moving in with. He accepted me, completely and totally. We had our growing pains the first couple of months, myself getting used to living with someone else; even thankfully under the fulfilled condition I laid out of needing a place with two bathrooms. He had always lived with other people. Wash was an extrovert and someone that I think was easy to love, easy to live with- for the most part. The incidents and adventures he had with all his roommates were told in the form of happy stories, jokes, things that might make myself twitch and scream, but he would only laugh at. That was Wash.
So it quickly became home with Wash. We would be married. If we moved for school for either of us, we would still be together, in a home, even if it was in a dorm room. That was the plan. We could handle renting places for a few years, get established, we even agreed we could deal with a child while renting for a few years before wanting to have our own [SF] home. Wash, being the Architect, had of course already filled two or three notepads with his designs for our future home; how it would be built, the material, the layout, how he could even expand additions on to it for office space, or workshops, or extra guest or children's rooms. He designed a greenhouse for me as well; he wanted me to have the garden of my dreams.
Home became wherever we were together.

Sometimes, often, I talk to his TARDIS urn. Probably at least once a day still. I never expect nor receive any contact back. It is not the same though. It is not his energy that is left around. His things, his memories, my memories, but not his energy.
Once we moved in, once we said our vows, it was to the end. To death.

He promised he would let me go first. He did not often break promises. He really was a 'man of his word', but that time, he broke it.
I did not ask much from him, but told him that I did not want to live out my life waiting to die after him.

I am happy for the recordings I have. For the videos he left for me. The cards he gave me long ago, the notes I still find around the rooms, tucked in books.
There are still days, many day, where I wish I could call his phone and hear his voice. Where I wish I could hear which messages he saved of me telling him I loved him. All of them? Many? I wish I could hear that voice. I wish I could understand why his phone service was shut off the day after his death.
He was not on my plan, but had his phone from his days long long ago in California.

It does not feel like 2013.
It does not feel "right". Things are changing. Some against my will or wishes, some things instigated by me for my own good.
Some nights it becomes about the simplest of things. Remember how it felt to hold hands.
Remembering what it was like to be lying down and staring right into each others eyes. He had soft, wonderful eyes. Happy, large, clear eyes. He was often smiling, but his eyes held most of his expressions.
I remember the texture of his beard. The colours in his hair. The shape of his ear and neck. How his hips drew in just slightly but down to firm thighs and great legs- be it a bit pasty.

He loved to bother me by surprising me in the middle of something to quickly give my nose a wet kiss.

I've moved my pocket-watch to the bedside table. The soft ticking is comforting. It reminds me of Wash, of his heart-beat.

I have to check the office closet, but it looks like I'm missing some key pieces to my bed frame. This now is a bit of an issue as I'd like to sleep off the floor now that Wash rolling or falling out of bed and hurting himself is not an problem to consider.

Time does not make it easier. Not at all. Time reminds me of the future I/we had imagined.
2013 was the point where he should be done with school and into his Apprenticeship. 2013 was going to be my point of finishing my undergrad triple, or starting grad school with a specific major. 2013 was going to be the year we started to make solid plans for long term; looking at careers, looking at places to settle, to build our home, a place with good school for the kids we wanted to try to have in a couple years.
It's not, though. 2013 is the year I'm a widow. It's the year I won't be traveling to Taliesin with Wash for his school.
2013 is the year that I wonder if I will have an anniversary; does it still count if the other party involved is deceased? Is it still my anniversary, or was it my/our anniversary?
2013 is the year I travel alone, because I am alone now. I don't have a husband, a companion.
2013 is the year I wonder if I can watch the shows I/we loved, without it being too painful to enjoy.
I'd like to catch up on Doctor Who, but I literally don't know how without him. It feels as wrong to me as waking up alone in my bed. Same thing with Blood and Chrome. It is hard for me yet to figure out how to enjoy something when all my mind can think of is how much I wish my husband was not dead to see it; to have his fanboy and geek heart enjoy something. Because he lived for certain shows. He loved me, this I know. But he lived for the moment Kara was screaming from the brig "YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!"
He lived to text me "Morning, Starbuck. What do you hear?"


I miss having an (amateur) astronomer as a partner. I miss being woken up for 15 mins to walk outside to enjoy a full moon directly overhead. Large, and bright.
I miss that on evening walks, he always knew the stars and planets.


It's only been 5 months.
I still miss the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

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. 

Soaring

More to come.

Smiles

Ending my day with a nice note.

I finally found the storage drive that Wash had loaded all our photos on. I have not seen it since early 2009.
So, I found a lot of wonderful photos that we took in 2008 when we first met and got engaged.

Before the cancer.

Very different smiles than at the end of 2009.

It felt like seeing the person I knew and fell in love with all over again. Without actually having him around this time.

It's bittersweet, but right now I have to hold onto every memory.
Remember every smile, every laugh.
Remember how much he said he loved me.
How he said he was happy.

How we planned to spend the rest of our lives.

I go to bed every night hoping to dream of him.

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.

Civic Duties

Not a Bus Strike or brain cancer can keep Wash and myself from our Civic duty to VOTE.

If I don't participate in the Electoral process, how can I even think to voice outrage or support?

In other news, I have awesome friends. Some girl friends got together to get me a nice tea brewing set inside the mug (with lid!) AND- they got me motherfrakking compostable tea for it! This is how I know they know and love me; not only the tea, but they know I love gardening and got me tea that would serve me well after I drank it. I am in love with my MFCoAW.

Also, some friends of ours (Roseanna, Hi!) sent us the coolest gift set; soaps from the oldest apathocary shop in the US! Wash got a set of soaps that former Presidents used! (scent wise, not a old used bar.) So, he can now smell like Washington, Ike, or Kennedy! I am fascinated by the history of it, and the scents are really nice too! Wash is adoring the idea that he smells like a former President.

We are both excited for tomorrow. 3 years married. Considering everything we have overcome together, I think it is amazing. Some days I feel like we have packed 3 decades into 3 years, then again, we have to.

Wash is getting some help in the afternoon to make dinner for us. I'm still hoping for some cool things in the mail for him, and still hoping on the off chance he will get a "Firefly" type congrats. A big part of why he has fought against this cancer (that he really can't "beat") has been for me. Much like everything that I do for him, for his smile, for a memory he can remember; he has fought to stay alive in part, for me.

He sees something so special and good in me, he has fought death to stay by my side this long.

I think that is a pretty special gift for any day, let alone our anniversary.

I'm a very lucky person, even on the bad days. I have still had 4 years together, 3 years married with the love of my life. With the other half of my soul. The person who resonates so deep within me that I will go through hell and back to have him even for one more day.

Frak cancer.

Frak brain cancer.

Frak tumors.

Frak chemo side effects.

Frak doctors who don't think he is worth "saving".

Frak insurance companies that think he is too expensive to keep alive.

Frak the drama.

Frak the bad nights and bad mornings.

Frak the tears.

For 3 years I have had the honor to be married to the person I love more than myself.

For 4 years I have known the man who changed me, and believes in me, and loves me.

It is bittersweet, but I am happy and thankful for every memory- happy or painful.

Happy almost Pi day, indeed.