The Other Nine

Way back in the formative years of my sales career, the Bunny had a saying for those times when I would go on an appointment with a prospect, make all the necessary and appropriate points in my sales presentation, but for some unknown reason my prospect didn't simply "roll over" as I had been conditioned to expect during my training classes. "Babe," he would say, "they don't have the same script as you do."

Usually I would spend the next several minutes griping and complaining and creatively expressing my frustration to my exceedingly patient husband; but in present day, when a similar scenario crops up... hearing his voice in my head saying those words to me, I can't help but smile.

Ever since the Bunny and I first got together and continuing on beyond his death, I have been "challenged" by members of his family. As conflicted as I've always been in trying to establish the parameters of my relationship with these people, every new negative altercation pushes me further and further away from the place that speaks to "the Bunny would want us all to get along..." While that may be true in a certain sense, I also believe that the Bunny would not want me to be the recipient of such hateful behavior as I've had the misfortune to experience from a few of them - and now, with the Bunny's presence no longer an obstacle I often feel like one of those new sorority pledges that suffer through hazing for a week, hoping to be included in the group. Except in my case, that week never ends... and it's becoming crystal clear that I will never be included. I will always be an outsider.

It's been eighteen months since the Bunny died, and periodically I receive paperwork in the mail regarding the disposition of the Bunny's estate. As his spouse and Trustee, all of that junk rolls down and stops at my feet, forcing me to deal with it. So the other day, I received some such paperwork, having to do with the portion of the Bunny's pension that was intended for his ex-wife as part of their divorce settlement (the Bunny was seperated when he and I met; when the course of our relationship became evident, he went ahead and officially filed for divorce).

The letter indicated that the company required some additional court paperwork from the ex in order to release her portion of the Bunny's pension, as per the preliminary divorce information the company had kept on file. Now, since the divorce, she had subsequently remarried and moved out of the country, so I guessed that they were sending me a copy of this paperwork because of the company's inability to connect with her.

I consulted with my attorney. I was technically under no obligation to take any action; according to the terms of the letter, if the company did not receive the requested court paperwork in a certain amount of time, the pension benefit would be released to the Bunny's estate. In other words, me. But when I thought about it, this had nothing to do with me. Thus... conflicted.

I finally decided to send the ex an email, explaining the details of the letter and what the company was requesting, why they were requesting it, and the contact information of the benefits representative should she need to talk to somebody for additional information. I kept the tone purposefully cordial; I closed with the statement "Hope all is well with you and yours."

I actually didn't expect a response, but boy, did I get one.

Acknowledging that she was entitled to the pension, the ex immediately followed up with "I will not be pursuing or responding to this matter" and that I could "have the money" as she was sure I would find something to do with it. She goes on to accuse me of believing I "am the only one entitled to his life and his death" and made sure to point out that I "was only in his life for a blink of an eye."

"I will never pretend that you mean anything to me."

Never in my wildest imaginings could I have expected this kind of hateful vitriol as this woman so seemingly effortlessly and gleefully spewed at me. What the HELL!!?! But there was a good side to all of this. That conflict from before? About the relationship? Gone. Resolved. That door was slammed shut, for good. And I'm okay with that. The Bunny would approve.

Was I upset? Sure. But just for that day. Two weeks or so have gone by, and my life has moved on. Past that moment, and past a miserable woman who clearly has her own demons to battle. The last thing I heard was that her current marriage was in trouble. Coincidence? Hmmmm.

But once again, I hear the Bunny's voice in my head... and I can't help but smile.

Peace.

The Face Of Fear

So, last night my son blew past his "scheduled to be home" time and no phone call to give me a heads up. He showed up an hour later, but that was a most excruciating hour for me, given that my mind tends to create all sorts of morbid scenarios about what may have befallen him... I didn't used to be like this; I used to trust more in the concept of "God watching out for him" and believing that he'd be okay - but frankly, I think back to God not watching out for the Bunny, and then Liz - two people that I would have never conceived would be gone this early in my life, even with my overactive imagination. So, needless to say, all bets are off where expectations of "what could happen" are concerned...

Death of loved ones changes a person. I felt it after the Bunny, and I feel it again with Liz. Except the challenge I am trying to overcome is this: I had an internal sense - despite my sadness and angst - that the person I had become post-Bunny was a "better, stronger" person. Post-Liz, I feel like I have swung too much in the other direction. I feel more anxious, more "out of control." I used to feel I had a better handle on things, on those to-do's in my life. Now the majority of time I find myself procrastinating, putting off and putting off and putting off some more; as if my brain is sending me signals that are the equivalent of flipping somebody off. "Yea, so, if you DON'T get this done.. what's gonna happen? Is your life going to end? Well then, fuck it!"

That's my perspective lately. It's like I don't want to start a new project because every day the thought steals into my head: "If I die tonight, this project is going to be unfinished." I don't want to leave things unfinished. It's the equivalent of playing the game "Musical Chairs" - I remember playing it as a child, and the physical sense of unease that the music was going to stop, and I would be the one left without a chair to sit down in.

There's that saying I've come across from time to time "Live every day like it is your last" or "Live like you are dying" but in reality, if one was to truly live like that, it would be a very sad way to live. Living like you are dying tricks you into thinking that nothing you do matters. Like things are hopeless. Like you have no future. That's how I am feeling right now, even though I know - logically, intelligently - that this is not the reality. It's not MY reality. At least, it wasn't before Liz died.

Because I am the morbid sort, I sometimes imagine if one day, when my son is out having fun with his friends and NOT calling me to check in and put my fears to rest, that something tragic happens and his life ends. I can't even process THAT thought coherently. Gone is the belief that "she's been through enough, God wouldn't allow that to happen," now, I'm wondering how my luck's going to hold out. How many more of these events am I going to have to experience, and at what point am I going to crumble? How many different ways can one person be hurt? Let me count...

There's another saying: "God always takes the good ones." Why? Goddammit! If anyone needs more "good ones" it's all of us miserable wrecks here on earth! It's like a company facing layoffs - all the good employees leave. And it's the beginning of the end for the company, no matter how long it takes.

I'm struggling to keep hearing the music. I wonder if this is the beginning of my end.

Touch

I was singing at a funeral this morning, and while I was sitting there - listening to some of the gentleman's family share their memories about his life - I finally realized: death is as unique and unquantifiable as love.

No, I haven't cracked up. What I mean is, to each person, love is a completely singular experience. The object of one's love makes that person happy in ways he or she cannot really explain; and while outsiders could probably observe, "Yup, that guy's in love!" they can't really empathize with how THAT person feels, himself. Internally. All we can do is smile at the visible signs of the emotion, and relate to our own feeling of happiness - if we have been blessed enough to have experienced that type of love for somebody else.

Being a part of that funeral this morning, listening to the family relive the memories of their father/brother/uncle/grandfather... I got the impression that this gentleman was a very significant prescense in the lives of his loved ones. There were several people gathered to celebrate his life - family, friends, colleagues, and even strangers (that would include me, as I did not know the gentleman personally).

I've never been a big "tell stories during a funeral" sort of girl, but I have to admit, it's the stories that connect people together. It's kind of like music. I know that when I sing, like I did for this service, that my listeners connect with me on some emotional level. I think that's one of the reasons I enjoy singing so much; in that it helps to inspire feelings in others. I listened to this gentelman's stories, as told by his family, and I got to spend just a moment in this man's world. How lucky am I?

Since the Bunny, I notice when somebody loses someone they love. Can I relate? Sure. Do I know what that person is feeling? No, I don't think I can. I can only respect that they ARE feeling something - maybe I can't see any visible signs, or the signs I DO see I just can't interpret - but whatever the situation, my hope is that the person feels the connection. It's the connection that is most important. Whether our loved ones are physically with us or not. Even now, I can feel the Bunny in various rooms in my house. The house itself looks different from the remodel, but he's still with me - because I still love him. Always will. And that puts a smile on my face, because I know I will never be alone.

I'm going to close with a post I found on my Facebook page this morning, put there by one of the many connections I have made in my life (thanks Andrew!). I am reminded again how we all impact people - sometimes smoothly, sometimes painfully - and in doing so, the story of our own life is written. I hope that when my day comes, my loved ones are reliving memories of me - and with any luck there will be a few strangers present that I can have a positive impact on too. Icing on the cake.

"We each have a star - all we have to do is find it. Once you do, everyone who sees it will be blinded." - Unknown