My longtime girlfriend Linda passed away on June 7th. I've pretty-much been stuck ever since.
She passed away at home, in her sleep, from congestive heart failure sometime between 3:30am and 11am that morning. I found her body when I went to take in her morning cup of coffee.
This wasn't completely unexpected. Linda had surgery to install a heart pacemaker in December of 2019. In April and May of 2023 she had two ultrasounds which revealed that her congestive heart failure was getting worse.
After Linda was notified by her doctor about this, she started getting her affairs in order -- though that wasn't the way I saw it at the time. She started calling old friends, close relatives. She had her car hauled away, feeling that she couldn't drive anymore. She gave up cooking. I had to cook for both of us, which was a real adventure for me.
Linda had already told me that without my help she would have been in a nursing home for her last year. I didn't think she was in *that* bad of shape, but she told me two years ago that I was in denial about her illness, and she was right.
But though her energy level was way down and some days she wasn't even up to leaving the house -- even for doctor's appointments -- we still had some good times all the way to the end. Our last weekend together, we went out for hot dogs twice, and I knew she always felt better and her mood improved if she could get out in the sun.
We stayed up very late a couple of times talking, those last couple of weeks. I told her how much she meant to me, how she was my whole world, how she rescued me when we met 7-1/2 years ago after I'd given up on women and love.
But though we could always talk about anything, she wouldn't talk about what she was thinking and feeling those nights in May when she couldn't sleep. I know she was scared. She said once that if she started telling me what she was thinking, she might never stop. And she'd been telling me since March that she thought she was just waiting around to die.
I have lots of guilt that I couldn't do better for her, that I couldn't see all the things she struggled with, that I couldn't help her as much as she needed. I did my best, but there's so much I didn't know, couldn't see.
I also feel guilty because I was writing my ass off the morning she passed away. I peeked in on her a couple of times that morning and she seemed fine as she slept. But somehow I think if I had checked on her sooner, had realized what was happening, maybe I might have been able to help, and maybe she might still be here.
I know by her facial expression when I found her that she wasn't scared, she didn't fight, she just drifted off. And I am grateful that she was at home, where she felt safe and warm and cared for. She would have hated being in a hospital, and by the end she was pretty fed-up with doctors.
Her passing away has left a hole in me that I'm only now starting to be able to handle, 5-1/2 months later. I barely thought at all for the first six weeks afterward, and when I did it was all negative. I had a panic attack in mid-July, my first in more than 20 years. I was stressing too much over bills and missing Linda, and I fell right into it.
The EMT's who talked me back down to normal gave me some good advice about how to handle my new life a little better, and I have been living on their advice ever since.
They recommended getting out of the house, getting out into the sun, going places with happy memories, doing more things I like, enjoying what I have, focusing on happy memories -- and playing lots more happy music!
I have done all of those things since, and they've made a big difference.
But the biggest difference is I started walking at least three times a week as of August 1st. For awhile I was walking every day, but was then advised by someone my age that three times a week is probably enough.
There's a walking trail along the bay downtown here in Port Orchard, Washington, where I live -- and my circuit along it totals around a mile. So I've been walking that path at least three times a week since August, and it's done me a world of good. I know I'm in better shape physically, the sunshine and fresh air and exercise does wonders for my peace of mind. And it makes me feel like I'm doing something positive for myself.
Linda and I talked about walking all through last winter -- but by the time the weather here got decent enough for us to try walking last spring, Linda was too weak to try it.
So I'm doing it for her.
The only person who would be more surprised than me about me becoming addicted to walking at age 64 would be Linda -- and the first few times I walked back in August, I could hear her laughing in delighted disbelief inside my head.
I still talk to her -- when I'm walking, when I'm driving anywhere, and especially just before I fall asleep.
I think she visited me once, the night after she passed away -- when I was crying like a baby and was at my absolute worst. I think she touched me and made me feel better -- because suddenly my despair went away and it felt like the sun rose up inside my head.
It's been a couple months since I've heard her whisper in my ear, but I know she's still out there.
She's the best friend I ever had.
My good days are slowly getting better and easier, but my bad days are still pretty bad -- and I am not thrilled about the dark, gloomy, cold, rainy winter coming back so soon to western Washington. I feel like I never really wake up unless the sun is out.
I'm not playing much music and I'm writing very little, but I'm trying to do better. I have all the time in the world to play music and write now -- but I don't want it.
I read a little, I stare at the TV a lot, I talk to friends on Facebook (where I've also posted all the stuff you've read here, and a bunch more besides -- I've had a lot of support from my Facebook friends, God bless 'em) ... but I know I'm not the same, not even half.
I don't know who reads these posts anymore, I don't know who I'm talking to -- especially since it's been at least five years since I have posted here regularly. But there's a chance I may start posting here again, if only because I can speak even more freely here than I can on Facebook.
I have no idea what the future holds for me, and I wish I had even half the energy and enthusiasm that I did when I first started blogging about music and books way back at the end of 2008.
But I'm still here, I'm still writing, I'm still carrying on. Just at a lower, quieter level than before.
I plan to keep on doing it.
So that's what I've been up to lately.
Until next time....
