Love Letters from Six Years Ago
Pittsburgh, PA Graffiti and Mural 5K Tour, May 2017 : Artist, former NFL player Baron Batch
There's quite a bit in this issue that I've not ever shared with anyone other than a licensed medical professional. Not even my family. From the safety of my 2019 self-preservation mode, the Doha mindset, and a release I've been able to give to some of the trauma of being a young widow, I want to share this with you. If you're not ready to read it, you don't have to... come back to it later, or maybe never... it took me 6 years to put most of this down in a way that makes any kind of sense - as I release it. Today, I look back at the last 7 months as an ExPat. The Corniche on the way to work. I ponder the sunrise over the Lady in the Museum, laugh with some friends in this city, I accept how it is part of my "fresh start" - to see how far I've come in 6 years... and when I think about how long 1000 days of dating and 1000 days of being married to James Riley really was - a long time to be with someone when you really sit and think about it - I'm not sad about it. From our first night-out meet up on a first Friday of a cold January 2008, to our official "date" two weeks later, to one heart separating day in April 2013, I'm happy to have shared a lot of personal time with a really irreplaceable man.
A pipe band friend once told me, "Sure, we knew him longer numbers of calendar days, but just in one aspect... you knew more about his calendar days and more about him than we did, you were his wife..." As I continue on this globe, I see James Riley himself is irreplaceable... but there are pieces of Jimmy all over the globe, and new personalities who make the pain just that little bit less every day. I'm here exploring mostly because of him and the blessings of the "clean canvas" he gave me, and it's time for me to let these thoughts into the wind - because as I promised him, I really am ok. It's time to do a few other things... with a few other people too... and right now, I see time isn't my enemy. It is my friend. Today, I have all the time in the world. It took something completely new for me to see it all.
Move in Weekend, August 2018,
and apparently 20 pounds heavier than what the scale says this week...
Initial thought: Wow!
Secondary thought: Wow, my grief weighed 20 pounds.
So, James,
I didn't go to your gravesite that day.
I didn't want to go up that hill.
I went the other way.
That was us though, wasn't it? Arrive at a party together, divide and conquer the crowd separately, send a wink across the crowd every now and again, a signal to meet up at the bar and refresh a drink over party gossip, bump into each other later and dance our own ways, meet up at the end. I knew the moment I walked out of that stuffy, lilac scented, little cemetery chapel, and onward in my own direction, I was going to have many more hills to climb on my own, a lot of parties to divide and conquer on my own, and it was going to be a tiring experience. To be honest, I was angry we were in that chapel to begin with instead of just going up that hill in the first place. You hated that chapel and I didn't care much for the idea of saying goodbye to you a third time. Once was enough for me, and I already had done that four days earlier. A second time at that chapel. I couldn't do a third at that tree. I hate goodbyes.
I remember our first hello, over two green apple martinis with the cherry in the bottom of the glass, you made me and my art teacher friend Kristin. It was the first time I ever went into that magical bar. I remember you because your eye roll as you walked away took me completely off guard. I came to learn that you hated making those drinks - you always tried to pawn them off on Bobbi or Michelle, and don't try to tell Karen or the rest of us you didn't because you were always up to something mischievous - Bob was always the first to catch on. You were so good at mixing them that one customer only drank those types of cocktails if they were mixed by you (or had the fruit rearranged by you) - the eye roll was just your thing about ridiculous drinks like that.
Remember the last day we went together to put Easter flowers? I remember standing there with you, wondering about goodbyes, just days before you were there again. It is a nice spot. I love that tree too. I just couldn't love it on that day. I did go back, often, and stand in that spot, often with a PBR or a Guinness, sometimes a picnic lunch, remembering the shadow you cast over that ground. Feeling the sun on my face, the wind slide into my hands the same way the wind swirled that day, and the way your hand slid into mine that day too.
I often ponder if you also realized how fast it happened once you were sick - from Day 1 to the end. I feel like one day we were laughing in the yard with a Gin and Tonic (like Summertime in a Glass) and the next day you were gone. Like really, really gone. When I left the hospital that night, I felt a chill that lasted weeks. It was the springtime, then May, June, July, everything getting warmer each day, and even Sally couldn't warm up my hands with puppy snuggles as we consoled each other.
Dog Selfie!
I personally never wrapped my head around it because there wasn't time. I was so present in the moment, I was forgetting to pay attention sometimes. Time became my enemy.
Surprisingly, I realized last week that the time from your diagnosis to the day we parted is the exact number of days I've been in Doha. But time has been my friend here. I have been able to wrap my head around what happened because I've walked new days here, exchanged experiences, had some not-glamorous times too, as I find my own way. I've stopped running away from thinking about what happened. I sit with my emotions in new favorite places instead of taking everyone up on an offer of distraction.
New Favorites: Pier for Doha Skyline, Corniche Road Commute View, Lady in the Architecture
I am still, and will always be, so very proud of your strength, your courage, your determination to not go down quietly. You fought every new pain (there were a lot of them), every new symptom (there were a lot of those too), every medication side-effect (I lost track of the number of those). You fought for Sally and you fought for me. You fought for your family and your friends and your very own peace. You fought... and your strength of fight has been my strength these years since - as I'm on this side of the party and you're on that side. Divide and conquer.
As sick as you ever were, you were only every worried about us. Worried about everyone else. Worried about Sally. Worried about me. Worried about him or her. When you gave me a cold-crystal-blue-eye stare one night out of nowhere and told me that it would be ok for me to move on, get on with living, have a life, love again - I choked back a gasp and tear, held your hand, and said "No, no. I'll be ok... eventually... I'll be ok."
The night you said this, I now recognize that you weren't doing this to make me sad... you were doing this to let me go. To give you the peace of mind to be able to let all of this go. It was your acceptance.
P.S. I Love You: The Last Letter (don't watch it, or do, or whatever but it's Harry Connick Jr. reading and well, there's something about that too)
Your eyes and your face changed through the months you were ill. Sometimes it was you, your face, you talking, your voice, your ideas. Sometimes your face was a completely different shape, even your eyes weren't yours, and your words were angelic, futuristic, knowing - as if you had been given a glimpse at something or some place any of us have yet to see or go... but you always came back to me and Sally.
The February day I came home from work, you weren't there, and your car was gone - scared the bajeezus out of me. You left a Google Map of World's End State Park open on my computer and I dropped to the floor, frozen. Even Sally came over and sat by my side - the two of us blankly looking at the screen, neither of us really breathing, until you shakily walked in the door with a McDonald's bag balanced against your cane because you wanted a cheeseburger just one more time. Sally jumped up on you and nearly knocked you down. "Jerkface," I called you. "Jerk. Face," I cried. "Who does that? Who leaves a map like that open." You laughed. "Someone looking for a place to take a Dogfriend for a Swim. There's few places where you can take your dog for a swim. Sal's never been swimming. I hoped to take her someplace," you said. I cried more... You laughed more. You held me as I sobbed and you scratched Sally's head and reminded the two of us you were stronger than that - and that is the memory I kept with me and keep with me now. You were stronger than anything - well, just one thing not - and we were stronger because of you.
You would be proud that I eventually asked for help. The licensed medical professional is also a young widow, which helped me, because I didn't need to speak words, I sat with her and she softly whispered, "I am sorry for this," and I believed her. I believed everyone who said it, yet something about her personal wisdom and understanding, the fact that she reminded me I was missing a piece but yet still intact, she inspired me to hold onto my hope for tomorrow, how many ever "tomorrow" I would need... and reminded me never to give up on myself. She said I had made it far in life before this and the fact that you helped me through it meant that I had your strength now, and combined with my own strength, I could help myself now. I wasn't done "getting far in my own life" either, so not to ever, ever, give up hope. Expectations of life will change and that will have to be ok. Just breathe. Stay hydrated. Breathe more. And keep going.
So, I did.
I took a good look around.
Took a big breath.
And got myself going... with you scored on my heart.
Qatar reminds me that I have come quite far since leaving you that morning as you went up one hill and I walked the other way. Not just geographically either. I'm different. I'm different from having been through our experience. I'm different for being here in Qatar. Everyone at home always said I was a little bit different, and I accept my difference now. I can look back at "that girl" and smile, because she gave me "this girl".
And I like this girl. (me!) Lots. (yay!) She knows how to define herself without using the word widow. She figured out her own thoughts and ideas and what she will and won't stand for in time. She is able to define herself, using strength as a starting point.
(Dave Matthews: That Girl is You and When I'm Weary).
A friend of ours told me one night over drinks at Jack's that my strength and understanding and calculated spontaneity - "This is why he loved you." I might never know all the reasons you loved me, but I know enough of them. (Apologies to "new guy" if you're reading this, I know you'll understand because you'll have met my aloof heart) I'll love you forever, James A. Riley. Being a widow is just a part of me and a part of who I will always be, but it no longer is my definition. I now define myself outside that term.
I adopted healthier lifestyle habits and I don't drink quite as much anymore. I learned how to cook and cook quite well too. James Beard. Alton Brown. Jacques Pepin. Julia Child. Thug Kitchen. Eat Figs, Not Pigs. The kitchen as my thinking place. I took to yoga like those rubber bands you would wind into a ball and bounce around the kitchen for Sally to play hide-and-seek. I ran (from what? "Away from myself yesterday") and I now take spinning classes. I swim, and not always on a raft with a cocktail. I got myself put together, set off, and kissed pieces of earth in places I only read about in magazines. I laugh more while I'm out here on the globe. I felt heat from fire, ran my fingers and toes through sand, water, snow, and ice, in places I only dreamed I would see in person. Walked in sandstorms and snowstorms and stood in wind that holds you up when you lean. Whispered into cracked building windows on empty, maze-like, ancient streets. Laughed in pubs with strangers and new friends. Run my fingers over 1500 year old bricks, walked wooden and rock steps just as old. Hugged 1000 year old trees. Stood on a Meridian line. Climbed paths as old as time and the number of sunrises seen at the end. I've crossed physical and metaphorical bridges. I have kissed men in crazy global pin points, and I plan on kissing more too (pin points or men, ha! You decide!). I've laughed until the sunrise. I've listened to new languages and picked up words. I've eaten cuisines of food I can hardly pronounce. I'm in a new life decade.
I'm living.
Meridiano di Trieste, Italy. It me. I was there.
I've got my real life back, James.
See? I promised you that night. I'm ok.
(JoJo Moyles: Me Before You: Will's Letter. Don't watch it. or read it. or do, whatever, your choice. But there's a letter Will sends to Clark, and well, yeah.)
The first time I met you out with the Pipe Band Guys was for wings at Cosgroves after a parade in 2008. I wanted to use the ladies room before going in - but when I turned the corner, you - at 6 foot plus tall, full military regalia, kilted, giant ostrich feather hat, blue coat - came out of the men's room, all gorgeous and stuff in that suit and bumped right into me. I since think of the other unique people I've met by legit bumping into them, kismet and stuff like this - and I thought if I hadn't met you prior to that smackdown, then this was my guardian angel telling me to meet you right now... it is funny to think my guardian angel was telling me to connect with you, because I'm sure you, James, are my guardian angel.
James A. Riley, you gave me my life back. From the first day I met you in 2007 with that martini, then again at the "second first time I met you" at a German Band rehearsal, and in every other "giddy-up" moment - you are Exhibit #1 filed under "God gives me who and what I need, when I need them and it". Your persistence, courage, charm, humor, and never-doubted love of me (I still giggle after yelling "AAAH!" right before something comes crashing down, and hear your moan as you came in to see what I crashed) sets an example for me in my life. I am a renewed person for our life together and my traits are stronger from your renewal. Thanks, Jimmy.
But, Jim, tonight, I have to go. I'm shifting. I'm going now, Jimmy, and I'm taking you up on the promise that eventually I'd be ok and I'm ok because of you. (And the little poop-monkey Sally H. Riley - what's this H? Why Hungry, of course! Sally Hungry Riley, Executive Chef of the Riley Estate Kitchen!) I thank you for this dreamy Qatar... I'm in a dream job, with a dreamy life and a dreamy set of #bestlifeeverfriends, a bookshelf full of travel journals, travel guides, maps, a blog full of adventure stories and memories - and I am the best, awesome, hopeful, most authentic, original me. I lost her somewhere, but she has been revived and returned, signed sealed and delivered, by James A. Riley and Sally H. Riley, dog friend esquire.
I'm off for a night in Doha, a place which has given me so much of my life back as well, with people you'd enjoy and who would enjoy having known you too. Dinner that you'd enjoy, a walk along the water that Sally would splash in and people she'd bark at as I haven't seen any squirrels in this neighborhood but there are cats... did I tell you about my Alice in Wonderland Cheshire Cat? He's fabulous. I am going to have many good laughs tonight with these friends who are part of my present and my future and who accept how my past led me here, and that an adventure waits in every sunrise. No matter my global pinpoint, I always feel the sun on my face, look for the blue sky (it is a different hue in every place), and wait for the wind to tell me, "what next, my friend?".
I have to get going, because life is waiting. I know I can go without worry that I'll ever forget any of "us" because during spring break, having cocktails on a rooftop bar with a view you'd stare at in awe, someone was telling a story about a presentation at their work. I was only half listening, at the time I had drifted into my own thoughts. In the story, the projector screen broke, with the sound of a "ping", and when he said that word I snapped back, frozen.
The lock that went "ping".
I forgot that story.
Before I fretted about what else I forgot, a flood of memories came back over me and I was happy to laugh at you and your shenanigans and the adventures you had before we met and the adventures we had together. Reminded me that I too had adventures before I will meet the rest of my life and I will have adventures in whatever becomes a new life as well. I don't have to worry anymore that I have to hold onto every single minute of us so I don't forget. There's always going to be something that reminds me of you. I became so busy trying to hold onto the memories and making new memories at the same time, my brain didn't know what to do or think. I have let go and found acceptance. And, just as you knew when you found acceptance, I know that no matter where I go or travel or see or do or who I meet and the memories I make with them, I'll always remember you.
"There's always something there to remind me."
Because I let go of "trying not to forget", I have free hands to explore and live and love again, because I'm not holding on FOR dear life. I'm holding on TO dear life.
I have to go. My life. It is waiting. It's time.
What time is it? It's eventually, just as promised.
And I'm ok, James. Just like I promised.
Thanks, Jimmy.
See you on the globe... but for tonight - Doha.
Slàinte.
Dear Cecilia, I can explain.
Annabel Kaye, I make no apologies.
You get one life, so no excuses.
Never give up hope for love, and life, and adventure.
Your Uncle Jimmy loved life too much to not live it every day.
Get out there and explore, girls.
The Globe is a fabulous place...
Love always,
Aunt Casey