Category: A Moment in My Life

A Moment in My Life – Wednesday, October 14, 2020

I had a wonderful phone date with my friend, Lil, last night. It was amazing how similar our life paths turned out. She was my first childhood friend who lived down the street. I met her through my mother, who befriended Lil’s mother through their daily commute. Lil is four years older than me. Now, that doesn’t matter, but when we were kids, four years was a big deal. I idolized her. She was super friendly and didn’t mind hanging out or being nice to a kid. She grew up to become the most popular librarian in Vancouver. I love books and libraries, and growing up thinking she had my dream job. I moved away when I was nine, but we remained friends via letters. As of last night, our relationship graduated to phone calls.

Since Shelter in Place, I’ve been having more phone dates than ever before, but it wasn’t until last night that I appreciated the value of a phone call. It was marvelous talking with Lil and getting an instantaneous response from her compared to waiting for her letters. That’s what locked it down for me. I don’t think I want to go back to letters with her. We covered so much ground in the 2.5-hour phone call that we could in half a year of letters.

We compared notes on our initial loss experiences, which led me to remember how my life changed in a flash. I felt like a superhero who suddenly lost her superpowers forcing her to live her life as a mere human. Not that I was a superhero but rather the extreme transformation part of it that I compared.

Years ago, as my family headed to the front door after visiting with me, my older sister said, “Your blinds are still open.” I shrug my shoulders, not understanding what the big deal was. “It’s dark out,” she added. I told her that I usually close them when I went to bed. She lectured me on the spot as big sisters do. I continued to do my thing, though. However, all that changed. After Mark passed, I felt the vulnerability of my sister’s warnings. Since then, my blinds might be closed before daylight vanished. 

Once upon a time, I went out walking on the trails nearby—alone, fearless, invincible—against friends’ cautioning me not to walk the trails alone. Then, one day, in my new status quo, I couldn’t get myself off my front porch to hit the walking path. My feet cemented into the ground beneath me. Every single nanite raced through the corridors bumping against each other and the walls within me in panic like they were trying to escape a fire. None of them wanted to hit that trail with me. I relented and went back inside.

Yesterday, there was a long line heading into Trader Joe’s. The guy ahead of me struck a conversation. Nice guy. That reminded me of when I used to hand out my personal business card with all my contact info. Again, fearless against friends and family, cautioning that I shouldn’t give out all my info to strangers. I have often done that, and it was always fine. Yesterday, as decent and friendly as he was, I questioned giving out my contact info.

What changed? I am still who I am. Live where I live. Everything around me the same as it always was. What changed? When I shared all this with Lil, the answer came to me—Mark. When he was here, he was my strength, my courage, my comfort, and my buffer. Giving my contact info out was harmless because I was married. There was no question there.

Not that anybody would know anything from whether my blinds were opened or closed, but I did. I know that I’m alone, and that adds insecurity to the equation. Just like going out on the walking trail alone. What changed there? I used to go walking alone when Mark was at work, so all things were equal for what it was worth, but the difference now was that I’m alone—for real. In the past, if I ran into trouble, I could call him. Now, if I ran into trouble, he’s not anywhere to help. That’s the difference.

I warned Lil to keep her cell with her when she does things around the house because she is all alone now. I hate living paranoid, but this is being realistic. I realized this when I changed the smoke detector’s batteries. Of course, after Mark passed, that’s when everything needed replacing. I lugged the 10-foot ladder to the master bedroom and got up onto the second step from the top to just reaching the smoke detector. That moment taught me I needed to make sure my cell was with me at all times in case I fell or got hurt. You never think about things like this until you are all alone. 

Some things family and friends taught me. Others I learned from trial and error. All converting me from the superhero I was to the meek human that I am. I don’t like being this new me, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’m no superhero. I’m not that brave, but I miss the old me. I miss being fearless.

A Moment in My Life – Tuesday, October 13, 2020

I still see myself stoop over a cane hobbling along next to Mark as we take our morning walks through the park when we’re in our eighties. That’s a dream instead of a goal now, but it is what it is. It’s such a lovely dream, though, wouldn’t you agree? That’s only one of many visions I continue to have in my mind’s eye. Some memories. Some dreams. Some broken goals. Some regrets of things we won’t get to do together.

I never had a bucket list. If I did, one thing on there would have been taking an extended overnight stay at one of our favorite haunts like Bodega Bay Lodge, Valencia Hotel on Santana Row, or Mission Ranch in Carmel Valley. Every time we’ve been there, I always said that I wanted to go back there with Mark and stay longer, so I could write while he relaxes and enjoy his downtime. It wasn’t the right time to write then, and there were always other more interesting things to take in than to sit over my keyboard and tap away. I always write everywhere I go, but it wasn’t creative writing. I wanted to write about the setting where I was and the local feel. In passing, I told Mark that I wanted to return there to stay longer to savor the surroundings. We never did that. We never will now. 

It is what it is. In hindsight, I realize that I did the right thing by enjoying my time with Mark wherever we were. That was way more important than being at the location buried in writing a story, which I can do at any time and from any place. In that way, I have no regrets except the unrealized dream.

Losing a loved one is never easy. They leave a mark on you that changes your life and the person you were far better than you could ever imagine. Thus, their absence rips your world apart in the same unimaginable way that rocks your foundation from under you. It guts the core from within you, leaving emptiness where sunshine, beauty, love, and smiles once were—now, all that’s there is a deep, dark, cold void where every day you attempt unsuccessfully to stitch the wound close. It’s a daily battle that only those who have walked the path knows so well. Every day is different. Some days, more stitches adhere. Other days, maybe not a single stitch. The important thing is to try. Every day brings new possibilities, healing, and closure. 

It’s a constant battle, but so is life for all of us. I was surprised that someone was surprised that I wasn’t lying on my couch, crying my eyes out after Mark’s passing. Sure, I was sad and was mourning his loss, but what purpose would it serve to lie around crying my eyes out all day and all night? Would that change anything? No. All that would do was to keep me in the dark place and made others around me uncomfortable. There is only so much one can do to help someone who is hurting. A few people asked me if I was angry at God and told me that it was okay to be angry at God. They were surprised that I was never angry at God. I was disappointed but not angry. What can I do about any of this? Nothing. Being angry wouldn’t change a thing, but it would destroy me. That’s all that the negative thoughts and feelings would do—destroy me. They would keep me looking through negative eyes. That’s giving in to the devil. I’m not in control. God is. He gives, and He takes away. That’s the whole equation.

I had a friend who suggested that I move away because there are too many memories where Mark and I lived together. Why should I move? She said so that I could forget him. Why should I forget him? I don’t want to forget him. If anything, I am trying hard to remember everything about him and us!

Last year in Seattle, when I met up with my friend, Aud, she was surprised that I was so perky and happy. Since this was the first time we saw each other, she was going to offer her condolences when she greeted me, but she held back until I brought up Mark. Then, she shared why she held back. She didn’t want to dampen my mood by bringing up a sad memory. I’m glad that our date together wasn’t overshadowed by mourning. Instead, we were able to share our thoughts and feelings regarding my loss. 

My friend, Lil, said she has been in and out of depression over her father’s passing a year and a half ago, which brought me to write about this today. She was his sole caregiver, so he was her life. Once he passed, her whole world fell apart. She was once the easiest going, most joyful person I know, so it’s hard to imagine her in depression. Losing a loved one can do that to you. Another friend, M, who was the first widow from my school days, is still in depression and mourning after her husband passed nine years ago. 

M reached out to me after Mark passed because her shrink told her she needed to do that. Her shrink told her she needed to help me along my new path, but she was still in such bad shape that I ended up trying to console her and gave her suggestions of how I was coping. She shot down every suggestion I offered her by saying that’s what her shrink told her she needed to do. In the end, I realized that M had no intention of leaving her mourning. She wallows in self-pity. That explains why she’s still in mourning after nine years. 

Every day we wake up and breathe again is a gift from God. Our life is not a dress rehearsal. It’s the real thing. Whatever we do with our life matters. There are consequences in our thoughts, decisions, and actions. For that reason, I chose to reframe the negativity and replace it with positivity. A mind is a powerful tool, and by doing this one thing has helped me make it through each day. Like, many of you know, the 17th of each month is Mark’s Angelversary day and is the most challenging day for me, so I honor his memory with his favorite foods. Mark was all for merriment and food. I know every month he’s smiling from above, anticipating what food I would honor him with that month. It brings smiles to all those who support me in this effort, and I know to Mark, too. 

Tonight, I have a phone date with Lil, and I hope to lift her up and do what I can to help her walk through her new journey. All I can do is be her friend and pray that she’ll be okay. As for M, I can’t help her. Nobody can. She’s already made up her mind. I’m sad for her, but I’ve learned that it is—to each its own—how we handle a loss. Others can only do so much to support, comfort, and be there for us. For me, I don’t want to be a burden to anyone. I don’t want to be known as the wallower and have people run away from me when they see me. I chose to be the best person I can be and live my life the best that I could. I vowed to honor Mark’s memory with love and positivity because that honors who he was, then I will have no regrets when I see him in heaven.

A Moment in My Life – Friday, October 9, 2020

I stood small in the windowless, dank, and cold space where the endless iron-grey walls wrapped around me like an icy cold blanket on a freezing night. The foreboding charcoal ceiling raised the hairs from my skin. Listen—deafening silence. The silence feels like slow motion if you could see it. I can’t see it. I can’t see anything except the darkness. Darkness for as far as my mind’s eye could see. I don’t like being in the dark. I can’t see. I can’t hear. It feels like one of my recurring nightmares, but my nightmares were always out in the open. This is different, like nothing I’ve experienced before. I’m in a box. I look but, there are no openings in the seamless walls. I call out, but I am deaf to my voice. I can feel. I feel cold. Scare. Alone. Lost. So alone. So scared. Trapped. I can’t think. I can’t remember anything. I can’t remember anything that Mark used to say or do or like. I can’t remember him. I can’t remember us. I see the slow-motion driftwood taking the hints of what used to be farther and farther away from my reach. I’m stuck in the perpetual darkness. 

Panic raced through my core. I don’t want to forget. It’s bad enough I just lost my husband, my best friend, my soulmate. I can’t lose his memory, too! I had to do something. What? I don’t know, but I instinctively grabbed my notebook and began willing my mind to think, to remember, to recall anything and everything I could muster from my memories of Mark. Things he said. Stuff we said to each other. Pet names. Silly things that lovers say to each other. Things we enjoyed together. Places and foods we liked. I was in a frenzy filling the pages that became easier and fuller as I let the pen glide across the page. With each word that appeared on the page, I felt the dark room slowly lightened and less foreboding. Even now, I still see that room like an old scar, but it no longer has a hold on me.

I told my friend about this many months later, and he gave my worst moment a name. He said that it was PTSD. I didn’t believe him at first, but it plausible, and I have nothing else better to describe it. Now that I’ve experienced PTSD first hand, it is very real. It can be extremely damaging. I could’ve left myself there for who knows how long. I know that if I didn’t pull myself together and get out of my rut, I might as well kiss my life goodbye. I know this life is not a dress rehearsal. This is the real thing. Whatever we do has consequences. I am a survivor. In that way, I do whatever it takes to put the pieces back together. I wake up each day, do whatever is the highest priority for that day, put one foot in front of the other, and push through my mourning. I know Mark prefers celebrations over mourning, so I pledged to honor his memory with positivity, which helps me make it through the most challenging days.

I know different people handle situations differently. We can’t resolve all the situations by ourselves, but help is all around us. The first line of support is the people we know. I talk to everybody. You never know who would inspire you with just those words you need to hear. We don’t need to bear our troubles alone. Even if it’s just a mild case of the blahs, reach out to someone. They’ll brighten your day. If it’s way more significant than that, here are some resources that may help: 

https://www.cbs.com/shows/the_talk/news/1010009/mental-health-resources/

PTSD or any mental traumas could happen to all of us. There’s no shame in recognizing that. I thought ‘No, Not me!’ but it was, ‘Yes, You!’ I’m glad I know the truth now.

A Moment in My Life – Thursday, October 8, 2020

“Was I there?” came up a lot during the time my sisters and I visited together. It was a rare moment when my two sisters volunteered, out of nowhere, their recollection of events that took place when we were kids. My younger sister, Susie, started it off by remembering the homemade oatmeal my mother used to make for our breakfasts. She did? That was news to me. I don’t remember ever having oatmeal growing up. Susie reminisced the way Mommy added the eggs on top, and the evaporated milk then the condensed milk in Mommy’s recipe. Eggs? There were eggs in oatmeal? Evaporated milk? And, condensed milk, too? My stomach was churning inside from the richness.  My older sister, Menie, chimed in with her version that differed from Susie’s. She uses whole milk instead. Whole milk? I virtually had a dairy-intoleration attack from hearing them talk. Their renditions of Mommy’s recipe may differ, but the two of them agree this was comfort food, and that they both made it for their families. 

Both sisters recalled our parents making breakfasts for us every day. I told them that I remembered having breakfast on occasion and only on the weekends. We all remembered Daddy sometimes making waffles on the weekends. I shared that I remember this one Saturday vividly when Mommy made pancakes. Susie interjected that she didn’t remember Mommy ever making pancakes. Menie agreed that she didn’t remember Mommy making pancakes, only Daddy making waffles. Then she asked, “Was I there?” Good question. I don’t know where everybody was.

In my memory, there was only Mommy and me in the kitchen. I was seated at the table, set for the family breakfast, by myself. Mommy brought to the table a plate with a stack of pancakes on it and placed it right in front of me. Being naïve and timid, I mumbled, “That’s too much for me.”

Mother put me in my place with, “NOT ALL FOR YOU!” And this was the only breakfast memory I had to contribute to our childhood breakfast memories. 

Menie reminisced that Daddy used to go to Chinatown first thing in the mornings and bought Susie’s favorite buns and noodles home for breakfast before taking us to school. Susie beat me to saying, “Was I there? I don’t remember this.” Me, neither. Really? Daddy did that? It sounds like something Daddy would do, and I wish I remembered this sweet memory, but I don’t. Instead of that, I shared that I remember when we lived on Hyde Street, Daddy would take us on the cable car, while it was still dark out, and dropped us off at Auntie’s apartment on Stockton Street across from St. Mary’s Chinese Catholic School, and we sat in her kitchen, while Auntie’s family slept. Then close to time, we left and went to school at Commodore Stockton with no breakfast. Menie said, “I don’t remember that. Was I there?”

Isn’t it interesting how three sisters growing up in the same home would each have such compellingly different memories? The commonality was the refrain, “Was I there?” My sisters didn’t talk about our pasts, but for whatever reason, they did this time, and I’m grateful. Now we can begin fitting the puzzle pieces into the blank puzzle board. It’ll take time, but it will be worth it when we figure out the answer to the question, “Was I there?” and more.

A Moment in My Life – Wednesday, October 7, 2020

The other day, a song triggered a feeling that haunted me for days. I couldn’t shake it off. I couldn’t make sense of it, either. Eventually, I gave in to the feeling. I let it take me where it wanted to lead, and it took me to a softly lit room where couples were slow dancing to Air Supply’s “Every Woman in the World.” It was a small room painted pale pink in a small house. I glanced at the faces on the dance floor and didn’t recognize anyone. There was a smartly dressed couple asleep seated on the floor against the opposite wall. I glanced back to the dance floor, and I noticed a girl with shoulder-length wavy black hair wearing a familiar fuzzy pullover lavender sweater with shoulder pads over lavender slacks. When she swayed to the music, I got a glimpse of her face, and it was me from my younger days! 

Who was the guy dancing with me? I don’t recognize him. What was this place? I don’t remember this scene. Who were these people? Did I dream this? It feels familiar, yet I have no recollection of this moment. It’s funny how your mind fills in the blanks if you let it. I willed to have the blanks filled, and slowly the puzzle pieces took form, revealing more and more to me. Ah yes, this was my Japanese exchange student girlfriend’s house on 19th Avenue in San Francisco, where she lived during our City College days. She was a sweet girl with the smallest cutest voice I had ever heard. What was her name? I don’t remember. It’s coming to me now. Her name was Akiko. I met her in accounting class. We became quick friends. I remember thinking she must be well off if she could come to school from Japan, and her daddy buys her a house to live in while she was here. She was down to earth and didn’t act like a rich kid. I liked her. She was a nice person.

It’s coming back to me now like an old movie. This accounting class was like the bar at Cheers. A bunch of us classmates became friends. There was Peter Sun. He and I were tight, and I was his confidant through his girlfriend sagas. Oh yes, they made such a fine-looking pair. Alas, I saw Peter again years later, and they didn’t stay together. Oh well, such is life. There was this engaged power couple in our group, too. They were Akiko’s friends. His name was Norman. Hers was Christina. They were way more mature than any college students I knew. I called them the power couple because they had good jobs. They were extremely hardworking, dressed like successful Wall Streeters, and were always rushing off to their jobs. It was not surprising to find them dead to the world, propped up against the wall at Akiko’s party asleep, while the rest of us partied.

All this time, I remembered my college years were lonely ones with me attending classes fulltime from 8:00 until 11:00, then I raced off to my job at Harcourt Brace Jovanovich from 12:00 to 5:00. After work, I went back to the computer lab on campus to make sense of my assignments. I don’t remember having a social life back in those days, but from this memory, I obviously had a social life and friends, too. 

It’s been decades since the night of the party. Why did I forget it? I had a great time. Why did my mind blank out that whole period along with my friends? Why did we lose touch? I have no answers, but I wonder where they are now. I hope they are doing well. Maybe one day, I’ll find them again. In the meantime, I am glad I found the lost reel of my life. I won’t misplace it again.