Day 11, city adventure

Losing a TV show

Last night I scrolled through the DVR list and sort of automatically started playing the latest episode of the cooking show, Cook’s Country. And quickly realized that I didn’t care about how Basque fried chicken is made!

Oh, this is so sad! Cook’s Country and its sister show America’s Test Kitchen were two shows that Marian and I could watch together and talk about. “We could make that.” “Nah, too many ingredients.” But now: I don’t expect to cook an actual entrée ever again. I don’t care about easy ways to make suppers. And there’s nobody to exchange snarky comments with about over-elaborate recipes. So this is the first TV show that I’m dropping because its main interest for me, was sharing it with Marian. Went through the DVR subscription list and dropped one other, Dancing with the Stars. The rest of them I have enough interest in to keep watching — even Top Chef , which is a whole different kind of cooking, a performance art, that I can admire without needing the personal connection.

Anyway, that was last night. Today (12/12/18) I went on

A City Adventure

The plan was to take Caltrain to the City, Lyft to the DeYoung museum, see an exhibit of works by Gaugin, and return the same way. But walking to the Caltrain station I was hit by lots of

Anxiety

I found myself again beset with formless anxiety—that feeling you might get when you realize there’s something undone, or overdue, or mistaken, but with no specific object or reason. I knew I was doing what I planned to do; knew it was a viable plan; knew I was ahead of schedule. Whence the fretting?

And realized that what was missing was Marian’s agreement in the plan! Here’s how it is with partners: One says “I think I’ll do thus-and-so Wednesday.” And the other, “We were going to such-and-such that day.” “Oh, well, maybe in the afternoon…” “When will you be back, I need the car by…” and so forth. Every activity gets cross-checked and tweaked to be sensible and efficient. Before, if I were to set off for the city for a day, it would be with the comfortable assurance that I’d shared the plan with Marian and her practical mind—the mind that had so often caught me in simple oversights—agreed that my plan made sense.

Don’t have that now! Rechecking all my intentions, I carried on with

the Adventure

Which all worked smoothly enough. I’d actually spent five minutes reading up on Gaugin before I left and learned more from the very nicely arranged and documented exhibit. But, meh. Not a fan of his paintings, except for one or two of the later ones, like Reclining Tahitian Women. But I kept wandering through the other galleries and quite enjoyed the room full of big landscapes, California and Hudson River School, and was quite amazed by some of the huge carvings in the collection from New Guinea and the Solomon Islands.

Had a nice lunch in the café and started back. On the train home, Maria from the Neptune Society called to say that the death certificates will be ready tomorrow. So tomorrow I need to get them, then visit the Social Security office and make that notification official. According to Jean, when she reported Bill’s death, she was given the option of choosing which payment to continue receiving, his or hers, and obviously you pick the larger, which in my case, would be Marian’s.

I have also uncovered an ancient IBM Life Insurance policy that might or might not mean I have $5000 coming from them. Not clear, but I will also be notifying them tomorrow or Friday, once I have the certs. in hand.

Day 9, plowing through the to-do

Monday 12/10/18

Forgot to mention that when I met with Jean on Saturday, she gave it as her firm opinion that there was no point in seeing Marian’s ashes scattered. “She’s not there,” she said. So that cinches it: I won’t pay for a “family scattering trip” but rather let Marian’s ashes be scattered anonymously. I sent an email to Marian’s cousin Darlene to that effect, as she and her partner had been interested.

This was only one item in a long to-do list, which I just plowed through today.

Some of the items: plan a trip to the DeYoung museum for myself to see their Gaugin exhibit. This is a step in my “do stuff” program. I figure to go to the city via CalTrain and Lyft, and will probably want to do that often, so I needed a Clipper card, and to print out the CalTrain schedule for reference.

Monday is the day for watering plants. Marian watered our extensive collection of houseplants every Monday for decades. In June, before the big operation, she handed that job off to me with careful instructions. I’ve been doing it ever since, but the number of houseplants is declining. I eliminated three ferns from the bathroom that I’ve never liked.

And I feel a lot of responsibility for our prize plant, the 7-foot “ponytail palm” in the huge pot. How to get “Beau” (beaucarnia recurvata) settled in a new home has been bugging me for months. Hopefully it’s settled now; Liz, a niece of Jean’s who is a landscape gardener by trade, has said she’d be glad to take him. She’ll be around next Sunday to pick him up.

I also paid a few bills: ’tis is the season for insurance premiums, four of them that all come due in December. Today I paid the homeowner’s and the big one, the California Earthquake coverage. And again had a little spasm of grief. Marian set bill payment at the Stanford Credit Union, so each of our recurring bills could be paid with a couple of clicks. There it was, “earthquake insurance” as an item in the list of payees. Just fill in the amount and specify when the money should be sent, all thought through and neatly prepared.

Here’s another. Two years ago, for reasons I don’t remember, Marian ordered a couple dozen bulbs for miniature cyclamen, and planted them at random spots all around the front yard.

They are peculiar little beasts: the flowers come up from bare ground in September (and Marian saw them this time). Then the rosette of tiny leaves comes in as the flowers fall off. The leaves get thicker all spring and then disappear in late summer. And unlike some of our attempted plantings, these have settled in and thrived.

Walking in from the car today I saw how all the leaves had popped up in the past week, and somehow that just tore me up. Still does as I write this.

Day 8, Sunday make and mend

Last night I ignored the several worthy movies still on the DVR (Three Billboards, The Post, etc) and instead remembered that a few weeks ago I’d started to re-watch my boxed set of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, getting through the first movie. Thought I’d take a look at the second; watched the first disc (90 minutes) before I yawned my way to bed. I don’t think I’ve seen the second and third movies since I saw them in the theater. Anyway it held my attention pretty well. The CGI Gollum is a delight to watch.

Sunday 12/9/18

Today it is exactly a week since my wife died. (You know, I should have designated that “Day 0” instead of “Day 1”. Then this would be Day 7. Well, too late now.) For the first time I went to the same coffee shop we went to on Sunday mornings for many years. Not exactly a mistake to do this, but I was feeling pretty emotional while parking, walking in, and ordering. I don’t want to avoid such trigger occasions! I need to walk through them, re-experience them in the new context, so I can reclaim them for my new circumstances.

For the past year, in fact, Marian had us avoiding that coffee shop (the PA Cafe in Midtown) because it has become so successful with groups of friends who sit around big tables and talk at high volumes. I was a bit earlier than usual this time, but by the time I left it was, I admit, getting unpleasantly noisy. Next weekend I’ll go to the place we frequented the last six months, which is much quieter.

At ten I drove to the Computer History Museum to lead my first docent tour of the new life. I didn’t expect any emotional distress, because this activity has always been something I did alone. And indeed there were no upwellings of grief to spoil my presentation as I led a dozen Comp. Sci. students from UCSC through the place. Of course there was nobody at home to ask how it went. But that was after.

I noticed that a number of events I knew were coming had disappeared from my Google calendar. (Side-note: for decades we posted upcoming appointments and events on a physical calendar on the kitchen wall. Earlier this year, with so many medical appointments to track, I finally set up an online calendar so we’d have this info in the laptops we both used. So much more convenient; should have done it ten years ago.)

Well, but where had those events gone? Doh! of course, I’d shut down Marian’s calendar and unlinked it from mine. What had disappeared from my calendar were all the events she had posted to her calendar. So I went through and re-posted the concerts she’d booked, and all the basketball games, which had been her domain.

Then I caught up a little pending maintenance: there is a set of small, nesting tables, more Danish Modern, two of which had developed loose joints. Glued them. Going to do some more leather recovery, too. This Leather CPR product is doing a world of good for the old green cushions. I need to finish the first pass, and will probably do a second.

Tomorrow I must start work on some of my more substantive projects. But it’s the weekend now, ok?

Day 7, and some musing

Saturday 12/8/18

Awoke at 7am, the latest I’ve slept so far, and the first time I’ve had eight hours’ sleep. That’s good. Weighed myself; 177.6, which means I’ve lost a couple of pounds this week. I remember two weeks ago telling Marian I was down to 180 for the first time in a long time. And when I saw them Sunday night Dennis and Toni commented I seemed to have lost weight. Stress, the weight reduction plan for widowers.

After a leisurely start, spent an hour doing more reconditioning of sofa cushions. Then went out to shop for groceries. This was a little eerie because although I was at the same store that I’ve used a hundred times before, I wasn’t there for the same things. All I wanted was a little fruit, some pickles, and some zero-cal sodas. The shopping wasn’t preceded by a planning session with Marian, deciding what we’d cook for the coming week. This was one more instance of what I wrote about a few days ago, that every familiar action now is stripped of its former context. Like a play being performed on a bare stage, with the set and props whisked away.

These ordinary actions will continue to feel eerie and misplaced until, I suppose, I have done them sufficiently in the new, solo bachelor context to make them familiar again. It reminds me of when we quit smoking, cold turkey, after having been heavy smokers for decades. The cravings would come as you did some familiar action that had been linked with smoking: have a cup of coffee, want a cigarette; finish a chore, want a cigarette; etc. The cravings didn’t go away until you had done each trigger action enough times without the cigarette to make them familiar.

Another musing occurred to me while I was zoned out in the chair at the blood center yesterday: that we constantly validated each other. I’d come in from a run, she’d say “how was the run?” and I’d say “good” and she’d say “excellent.” She’d finish updating the bills and I’d say, “good work.” “I started the laundry.” “Good!” “I changed the bed.” “Good for you, thanks.” Any little thing accomplished or achieved by one, the other would administer a little validation pat.

Well, that’s over. Got to be self-validating now.

Went down to sister-in-law Jean’s place to set her up with Marian’s iPhone. She trained touch-id for her finger and we tried out the timer, the maps, the camera, and the Lyft app. She’s fairly computer-savvy and will probably pick it up.

Now I have an afternoon and evening to fill with no social engagement. Wonder what I’ll do? Think I’ll start with a nap.

Day 3

Tuesday 12/4/18

It seems incredible it has only been 2½ days since Marian stopped breathing. I’ve accomplished just a ton of stuff in that time, busy busy busy. But first, a few words about

Grief

It just comes on at unpredictable times, then passes off. Something reminds me of our life together — as when, yesterday morning, I passed the local ice-cream store and suddenly remembered she always ordered mocha almond fudge flavor — or it will be nothing at all, just a sudden uprush of pity and regret. And the eyes prickle, the throat constricts, the voice, if I’m talking, becomes thick and broken. A deep breath, a shake of the shoulders, and it passes off.

So these little fugues, every couple of hours or so, are the metronome to my days. But in between them, today I was

Making Arrangements

Walked to the Y on Ross Road, did my little round of exercises, walked back in plenty of time to strip the bed and put the linens in the washer. Then drove to San Jose, to the office of the Neptune Society, where Maria led me through reading and signing all the papers that have to be read and signed in order to get somebody cremated and scattered at sea, all proper and legal.

There’s a decision to be made: do I want to see the ashes scattered off the Marin coast near Angel Island? If so, I have to reserved a spot on a sailing of their “family” boat for $495. Or I can just let it happen anonymously on their standard scattering cruise where nobody witnesses the operation. That service is included in the fees we paid back in 1997 (Marian’s signature on the contract, from back before her handwriting deteriorated…)

I’m on the fence about this. Do I want the finality of this little ceremony? Marian is gone; the ashes won’t be her in any sense. I’ll consult with her sister, see if she wants in.

Housekeeping

On return, Suli, our cleaning lady for many years, had arrived, and had already guessed from the rearranged furniture what had happened since her last visit two weeks ago. But we shared a bit of a cry. “Oh, I hoped I would see her one more time,” she said.

After Suli had finished and left, I sorted the rest of the laundry and got that going. And put the sheets back on the bed. And called a two of Marian’s insurance companies. Oddly, the drug benefit company said they would be informed by Medicare, and would process the termination then. The other, AARP medicare supplement, didn’t say that, and processed the change at once. Whatever.

Finally I reverted Marian’s phone, an iPhone 6s, to factory default and then installed Uber and Lyft apps on it with new accounts. The plan is for Marian’s sister Jean to use that. She’s not had a smart-phone; and I’ve offered to let her use this one, while keeping it on my T-Mobile family plan. It would probably cost me money to go back to a single line plan anyway.

Still plenty of time then, for

Entertainment

About 4 weeks ago, while I was sitting in the audience at the Pear Theater waiting for the play to start, I checked my email (as one does) and saw one from the Fox Theater in Redwood city announcing a concert by Jake Shimabukuro. Knowing he sells out quick, I managed to get two good seats before the lights went down in the theater. A week or so later it was clear that Marian’s strength had declined such that she wouldn’t be able to attend using her walker, but the theater assured me she could come in the wheelchair.

Well, that didn’t come to pass, and yesterday I contacted our friend Wally and asked if he’d like to come. I left early in order to get a quick supper at the Five Guys burgers next door to the Fox, which was fortunate since traffic was a mess. I know how traffic is, on a rainy evening at 6pm; yet it always comes as a surprise. Anyway I did manage a quick bite, met Wally, and attended the concert.

Jake is truly a master and for this tour he has teamed with two other virtuosi, Dave Preston on guitar and Nolan Verner on bass. Still, I thought the concert was a little bit long and repetitive. The absolute best moments where when Jake stood alone and played a standard, acoustic ukulele. His ability to pull sophisticated, complex counterpoint out of that tiny instrument is amazing.

So home to fold the last load of laundry — including Marian’s three favorite tops; another grief spasm — and write a blog post.

Day 1 – de-invalid-izing

Sunday, 12/2/18

In the morning, in the hours waiting for the hospice nurse to come and “pronounce” Marian dead, and the further hours waiting for the mortuary crew, I hung out in the kitchen, notifying people. I wrote the final journal entry on Marian’s cancer blog. Posting that automatically informed the many people who’d registered to it.

Then I went through my Google contacts list, then got her laptop and went through her contacts, cross-referencing and making a list of everyone we knew who hadn’t registered to the blog. I wrote up an email based on the journal entry and BCC’d that to those 20-odd names. And I made a few phone calls to close relatives.

But with the removal of the body, and nothing more to do, I moved around the rooms, and it felt — stuffy. Over the months of increasing illness we’d accumulated a thick layer of “invalid stuff”. A walker. A commode (horrible thing, she hated using it even more than I hated emptying it). A wheelchair. An oxygen machine. Elder diapers (“insurance pants”, we called them). And medicines everywhere, in the bathroom cabinet, in the bed table, in the kitchen.

I opened every window in the house and turned the HVAC fan to “circ”. Then I rounded up every bit of invalid stuff and corralled it in one room. Anything that might have value for someone else, I stacked in an island in the guest room, but a lot of stuff that didn’t, went into the trash. Illness and feebleness and stinks — out!

I collected all her meds, 30-40 pill bottles and tubes and boxes. They made a fat bundle in a plastic grocery bag; I’ll take them to the clinic to deposit in their medicine discard bin. (And now I just remembered there’s another little cache to get.) Eventually I was shivering (the air coming in the windows was about 60F) but the place felt cleaner.

Transition begins

Monday, 12/3/18

As noted, this is a blog about the experiences of an older man, newly widowed, adjusting to life as a bachelor at age — shall I be coy? Naw. Age 76. A healthy 76; after all, I ran my usual 4K jogging route this morning without stopping.

Just a day ago

Let’s get real. As I write it was just over 24 hours ago that the extremely polite men from the mortuary contracted by the Neptune Society carefully and respectfully wrapped Marian’s body and wheeled it out of the house where we’d lived together for 45 years. She loved this house and more than once said she wouldn’t leave it alive, and like most things she said, she was right.

Her end was not at all unexpected; she and I were in no kind of denial about her diagnosis, or the reason she was being cared for by hospice nurses, not regular doctors, or the steady deterioration in her strength.

I’ve had several months to think about and pre-plan my transition to codger-hood — since her diagnosis in April, really, and more intensely since the oncologist said “there’s nothing more to do” back in September. I’ve got quite a list of policy decisions and possible actions to take during this transition — a transition I expect will take more than a year, or might never end.

One of the early decisions was, “blog it”, and I set up this blog weeks ago. (I was delighted to find that “codgerville.net” was available.) No, I didn’t tell Marian I’d done it. We did talk about my future as a bachelor, and she had several very sound suggestions. But it seemed a little presumptuous to take actual steps.

In hindsight, an amazing amount of stuff has gotten done in that 24 hours. On the principle of not making a blog page too long, I think I’ll break off here.