Wash's Words: the e-files

Trying to make myself feel better or distracted from the disturbing trigger I had this morning which sent me into a PTSD spiral of fear and paranoia.

Here is a little taste of what the Wash I knew and fell in love with (before his cancer) was like.


May 29th, 2008

10:03 PM Kevin: BSG re-imagining, so much better than the original.

10:07 PM me: bsg?

  corry, comp slow

 Kevin: It's fine. Battlestar Galactica. Hipper, darker, edgier, deeper, so much cooler.

10:08 PM me: ah never seen it

10:09 PM Kevin: You might like it... I think I have the first couple seasons lying around here. Though everyone I know is just waiting for the DVD of the last couple seasons.

10:10 PM me: don't know if i have time to add another series to my attention, but maybe an episode or two

  whats it about

10:11 PM Kevin: The last people of mankind struggling to survive while hunted by their former creations.

10:12 PM me: robots or clones or aliens?

10:15 PM Kevin: Robots... r at least they used to be.

10:16 PM There's a miniseries premiere that kinda explains it.

  And then the rest of the series raises questions about it the whole way through.

10:18 PM me: ah

10:19 PM Kevin: Plus a huge amount of interesting questions about humanity, what it means to be so, what it takes to get to there, are people with our motivations actually human....

  It's a very rich tapestry filled with iron and allegory. Rare to find in television.

10:22 PM me: hmm'

  what network was it on>

10:23 PM Kevin: SciFi

 me: mmmm

  :)

 Kevin: Might be a reason why you woldn't have watched it.

 me: prolly

  i get the good movies and mini series on dvd

10:24 PM Kevin: It's one of the best series to own... like ever.

 me: haha

  you sound like me and firefly or robin hood

10:25 PM [have to include coupling and buffy since i own the complete series of those too]

6 June 2008
                    Kevin: That you're wierd. Not the standard, not conforming. You're wonderfully                 unique, and I've never met anyone like you. Doubt I ever will.

1:18 AM me: Damn. That's like, the nicest thing I've heard all week.

 Kevin: Well, I'll endeavour to best it before the week is out.

 me: i'm telling you, i don't know how to take compliments. it still weirds me out.

1:19 AM oh gads man. i'm perfectly happy not having an ego. you don't need to help me develop it :)

 Kevin: Who said anything about ego. It's just pure, objective truth.

1:20 AM And I'm really glad to have you around. Grinning Ear-to-ear happy.

1:21 AM me: but it's a truth i cannot see, so it's hard to accept. like, an abstract concept- infinity for example

  hahaha

  i've been singing a lot more at work.

  -apparantly

1:22 AM My being around makes you that happy? Hmmm.

 Kevin: "You're not angry with me are you? You always say 'apparently' when you're really angry"

 me: You do have a nice smile, must admit

  ............ *facepalm

  i really do say that a LOT

1:23 AM my aunt nicknamed me as a kid, Miss "Apparently"

 Kevin: And thanks, Love! :D Yup, ear to ear again.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2:07 AM
Kevin: I really enjoy making you happy. I've always held back until the right woman comes along. Doesn't happen often, and when it does, it's something extraordinary.
Like now. With you.

1st July 2008

 Kevin: That I find a lot of fun, due in no small part to it being with you.

10:25 PM me: haha

  you as well

 Kevin: I Love you.

 me: i love you

10:26 PM Kevin: It's never been like this with anyone else.

  And I like it a lot.

10:27 PM me: good

  just enjoy it then

10:28 PM Kevin: That's my plan. And I cherish it so.

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.

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.

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.

ECCC episode IV: A New Hope

There is too much for one, or even two posts from the last week. I will have to do a poor job of just summing it in brief.

I was happy. I was happy this past week, in a way I had not been since 4 years ago when Wash and I took our little trip to Vegas and got married.
Those few days of, and the two days of 'Honeymoon' we had after were my happy moments. The happiness in his face, our joy, and our utter faith and confidence that we (might have some bad and good moments) would be together from that point on, for decades, until we both died in our advanced ages- hopefully together.

That is really the only thing I could ever be mad at him for; he broke that promise. He promised, he swore to me he would let me die first.
I cannot be mad though, as he did not ask for it. He did not ask for cancer, and he did not ask for an early death. He did not ask to die before he ever saw 30 years go by.


So, it was a difference. 4 years without really having a smile, sustained joy. Excitement.

Meeting new friends was more wonderful than I think I'd felt it at any other time in my life. It is like an emotional puzzle with other people as pieces, all coming together to create a feeling of 'completion'.

Seeing some "old" friends was a true joy as well. I had a chance to bond and become much closer to someone Wash was quite fond of, and cared for. Well, he did that with all his friends, true, but I recall him saying many times over how much we all had in common- he expected us to be the type of people to remain close and good friends for our adult lives.
Having had a longer chance to meet and talk with her, his lovely Brother, I have to agree.
It was a feeling so lovely, so happy, so light!, to be able to talk to someone else who knew my Wash BEFORE the cancer. Who knew him as the person/man I had fallen in love with. It was easier to remember the happy times we had BC and to share them, and mostly to laugh.

It was good for me to see his friends and the other people he adored/loved who carry on his passions. Who love certain parts of architecture as he did.

Perhaps that is one reason why ECCC was so comfortable for me; instead of utterly terrifying.
It was a giant center filled with people very much like myself, and even more like my Wash. There was familiarity there. A sense of remembrance; not having ever been to Emerald City ComicCon, the exact layout was not familiar; but the people, the CosPlay, the games, the booths... all images that I recognized.

I went down at one point to the lowest low convention room/basement/lower basement.
Also known as the "Gaming Rooms".
..........
[Insert Table/Card/Dice/LAN gamers growling at yet again, being stereotyped even within the 'geek' Subculture, and thrown in the 'basement']

One person I spoke to suggested, perhaps only partially joking, that the elevator button just have a sticker with "Dungeon" put over the Lower Level/Basement button.

However, I wanted to see if I could find anyone who way playing Warhammer [40K or Fantasy] or a table-top game, since I play a bit myself. Mentally, it felt like Wash would also kick my ass or haunt me if I was at Con and did not check things out.
I am glad I did.
I met a exhibitor there who introduced me to a new Table-top game [Fanticide] which my friends ended up buying for me.

It is a pretty cool game to begin with; but more so, it is compatible with other TT sets. You can buy specific models for the game, of course, but you can also use anything else you already have/own.
For me, this is really the best I can ask for.

I can have a (new) game to play with some of *my* W40K sets and minis that I kept, and the local Games Depot took Wash's old stuff to be donated to their game room, for all others to play with. [Outside of what he Willed for his friends to keep]. I can go down, play on the terrain that Wash and I made, but not the *same* game that we played. It will not have those same memories, which are mostly keeping me from doing any W40K playing myself. It is too hard, when all I can think of is him as a missing partner.
With a new game however, I am excited to learn the new things, to build on the knowledge that Wash gave me by teaching me these kinds of games [slightly different than the D&D stuff I did a LONG time ago].
I'm excited about playing this new game.

I know that Wash would have been pleased beyond words at that.
I'm pleased with myself for feeling I'm doing this more for myself than just for his memory.

Highlights I will address in future posts; meeting specific people/celebrities, panels, Con commentary.


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

I am back home now.
My cats have calmed down, some. Aelphie does not wish to let me out of her sight (like she did as a wee kitten) and if she has the chance, will crawl into my lap.
She is not a lap-cat, either.

Leto has been chirping a lot more, and running around- pretty much acting like a kitten. At 3 years old for a male Maine Coon, technically, he still is a kitten. I am pretty certain he just missed having someone around- all.the.time.
That has been his only life really; as a companion. To Wash, every day for more than the first two years of that cat's life, he was with Wash. Then, me.
I think if Aelphie would tolerate it, he would play with her. She does not, alas.



This has been a very changing week for me. Though I have had a lot of fears, I have learned that I can get through them. Not all the time, or even with 100% consistency, but I can. More so, I tried. I put myself out, I lived as Tashi; and I let myself experience life as Wash would have (wanted).


The past week opened me up to trying again. To See.

There are times still to just be Going Through The Motions, and now I also feel ready to try living again.
That spark in me of love, and life is gone. I know that. He is never coming back. I will never feel that same lifebeat with anyone else.
But I still remain.

My heart still beats.
I still breathe, even when it is hard or I've forgotten how.
My blood still flows, my mind and body; still connected to each other and the world.


Brain Cancer- Glioblastoma Multiforme took my husband, my love, my life, my Wash, our future.
It took from me too, so much I perhaps cannot even list it all.

But I still remain.

I cognate.
I see.

I remain. 

There must be some way out of here

I think it has been long enough that I'm not spoiling this for anyone, but on the chance you have NOT seen season 4.0 or 4.5 of Battlestar Galactica and you even think you might want to; stop reading now.


I'll be at Emerald City ComicCon this weekend.
I'll be visiting with some very wonderful friends, some people who are supportive, caring, and people who love me and wanted to see me happy, do something nice for me.

This will be my first trip alone since I married.
This will be my first trip alone since I was widowed.

This will be my first 'Con alone, or without Wash.

I'm still planning probably on Friday going as Yves from TLG. Sunday, I'll be hunting Walkers in the convention hall.
But for Saturday (maybe Fri as well) I'll be going as Kara "Starbuck" Thrace.
Late series Kara.
Married Kara. Harder Kara.


When we were still hopeful about having a child, 'Thrace' was a middle name we both adored.
Our various electronics are named after Cylon models; we have Boomer, Athena, Anders, Leoben, and Tigh.
Wash saw the ending before I did. I was not caught up yet, and he wanted to see it when it was broadcast.
I remember him sobbing. I did too.

For different reasons now.

Kara had Anders.
I had Wash.
Kara watched as his brain went out, as it ceased to be 'human', more Cylon then.
I watched as the bits of humanity were slowly taken from Wash, his memories. His life.
We had the same kind of "goodbye", though on different circumstances.

I could not go to 'Con as Zoe Washburne. That still, is much too close.
Too many memories for me of hearing a wry laugh, "You nicknamed me in 2008. Did you know back then?"
Hearing my Wash play A.T. and keep asking me, "Tashi, why does my script for Serenity end on page 88, and yours goes to 130? Guys? ....?"

No, too much.

But Kara? I can be Kara. I can be strong like her.

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

Some day, I will attend a 'Con (or two) where I can meet Jane Espenson, Joss Whedon, "The Grand Moff" [as Wash would call him] and Ron Moore and get down on my knees and thank them.
I can thank them for creating something so wonderful it not only brought me to meet my husband, my soul mate, but gave him comfort in the last years of his life, dying of brain cancer.
When my husband could not remember what day of the week it was, he could still recite lines from BSG and Firefly.
When he could no longer run, I helped him to walk. When he could not walk, our friends rallied to help him crawl. When he could not even crawl, it was the worlds of Science Fiction; his favourite shows and characters that carried him home.
From "Firefly", he knew I could still fly true after he was gone.
From "BtVS", he knew we could both fight; hard, strong, and with heart.
From "BSG", he knew I would be there by his side. Imprinted on each other.
From "Doctor Who", he knew it was ok to let go, to leave, and to begin his next adventure after 'life'.
To explore.
To regenerate, but not as my Wash.

He loved the Cosmos, and the infinite possibilities that it contains.
And he loved the way that Science-Fiction brought together all those wonderful ideas, possibilities, worlds, characters, music, colours, shapes, creatures and beings.
That gave his life meaning.

So, I'll be looking out to thank people.
Perhaps, if you, Dear Reader, have the opportunity to meet one of these great creators before I do, you will also say thanks on behalf of my Wash.



'Never give up, never surrender!" - See you at 'Con!

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.

Goodbye, Lee.

Missing my husband very very very much today.
It's one of those 'I can't stop thinking about his last day alive' kind of days.

Any spare bit of love, or support you can send towards me today is most appreciated.

Reasons

Reason 4848474575500299292827 why I love my husband, Wash; he gets a LEGO set for a Star Wars fighter and 15 mins into building he says, "You know, Tashi, with a little tweak, I can make a Mark II Viper!"

30 mins later; "Tashi! If I turn this part upside down it looks like a DRADIS for Kara's Viper!"

....This guy. I love him.

//Guess I need to get a copy of Caprica for him to watch now. We've done BSG twice this year.

It's all right with me

Reasons why I love my husband and his personality?

We're watching a program on some guys who designed a 'prison break' - and one of the convicts is a very heavyset man- compared to his fellow prisoners and most population. Wash is watching the re-enactments and says, "Wow, that guy should have been hitting the Yard more if he was planning on running with the rest of them." About half a minute later in the show the same guy is picked up as he was "too tired" to keep running.

I find it funny that he is still able to be snarky about a show.

The photo is from this Sunday. We had such a good day, it's one of those I will have to hold onto the memories.

I decided very spur of the moment Sunday morning we should have a pic-a-nic day. We got a pic-a-nic backback/kit for our anniversary last year and never had a chance to use it. Sunday was just lovely weather wise, so I said, "Let's go outside, we'll have a pic-a-nic in the park!"

To my happiness and surprise, Wash agreed.

I packed us ginger beer, cheeses (Wisconsin, and not from Koch bros either, natch) crackers, rosemary bread, salads for us, and some fruit. We brought books and games too.

The park was filled with others out enjoying the "spring" air; but the design of Tempe Town Lake is such that there is space for so many people, and you don't feel infringed upon- we felt very secure and private. The water was nice, and there were little kids everywhere on 3 wheels or training bikes. It was just a wonderful day to be a couple, to be people and not "cancer".

We had our friend come over in the evening- the boys replaced our old destroyed door-bell with a lovely new one (it's brass and glows) and cleaned our air-vents too. Then as the "reward" (ha, we love it too) we watched a few episodes of BSG .

For my mum's birthday this week we're going to the Sugar Bowl- it's a ice cream counter that's been around for more than 50 years- my mum used to go as a kid. Ever read "Family Circus"? The ice cream parlour, the pink one? That's based off the real life Sugar Bowl. I've even taken Wash a few times. It's a bit nostalgic, without being too reminiscent of the civil inequalities of the time.

Continuing my good news theme, I am officially covered for health insurance again- yay!- and we are back on the SNAP benefits (food stamps). Now we just have to get Wash squared away with his ALTECS stuff- they are the ones that pay for Respite care and cleaning and such, not Hospice. So, I wait, and let the SW do his job.

It was nice, Sunday. It was nice to pretend, even for just a few hours, like we were normal. Like we could enjoy a day out, putting aside worries. It does not happen often enough, but I have to make the most when it does. These are the memories I will want when he is gone.