Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum,
bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let the aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead,
scribbling on the sky the message, “He is dead.”
Put crepe bows ‘round the white necks of the public doves,
let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East, and West,
my working week and my Sunday rest,
my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever. I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
for nothing now can ever come to any good.

—W.H. Auden

1-2-3-4

So, yeah. I just watched the video for “1-2-3-4” by Feist for the first time. I loved it. Silly me; it made me cry.
I watched it and I thought how much fun it was and how Bram would have loved it and then I was very sorry that he never got to see it.
He also never read “The Stand,” by Stephen King. It’s one of my favorite books and I read it once a year. I could never discuss it with Bram; he didn’t want me to spoil it. He intended to read it; he was just waiting for the perfect weather. Yeah, it’s a weird excuse, but if you know Bram it makes perfect sense.
I read way faster than he did. He was not a slow reader; I’m just a crazy speed reader. When we were dating, Bram worked at a bookstore. When books didn’t sell at the store, they were ‘stripped,’ the covers sent back to the publisher and the bodies of the books tossed. Sometimes Bram would snag a few of these coverless books and bring them home. OH! They were terrible books! We’re talking about books that didn’t sell…
Bram and I would grab one of these terrible books, a pack of smokes each, enough change to buy coffee, and head to Perkins. We were college students; we didn’t have much money. This was our entertainment…
Since I read faster, I would start. I read the first page of the book, front and back, and then ripped it out and gave it to Bram. He would the read the same page and set it in a pile when he was done. The waitress would refill our coffee and take away pages of the book as we finished them. We would often stay there until we’d finished our packs of cigarettes, reading horribly written books and complaining and giggling the whole time.
Later, when we were making more money, Bram bought me books. Some of his friends chided him for not giving me more “romantic” gifts, but Bram loved me; he knew the way to my heart. He bought me tons of books. And every time we had to move, we would all bitch about moving all those heavy books.
I read for about an hour every night before bed now. Bram and I used to go outside before bed and smoke and talk for about half an hour. I miss those conversations. I also have a hard time sleeping without Bram in the bed beside me. Reading books Bram bought me is the closest ritual I have now to those bedtime talks.
I think I will read “The Stand” again now. And when I go to bed and have my nightly chat with Bram, I will share it with him.
I miss him so terribly. It is a huge gaping hole in my soul that I don’t think will ever heal.

teeth

My teeth are rotting.
I always used to have good teeth, no problem with cavities, although I did have to have eight teeth pulled at age thirteen cause my teeth were too big for my mouth.
I guess I really never spent much time looking at my teeth; I kept them clean and moved on.
The thing is I don’t remember even cleaning my teeth for weeks after Bram died. I know that sounds pretty gross, but I was in such despair. I’d get in the shower and not wash; just stand under the steaming water…
And I don’t remember eating much either. I know I drank a LOT of Coca-cola, and eating things that Nick and Monica made me eat. I also remember vomiting up many of those meals. I couldn’t keep anything down. I lost a LOT of weight, and very quickly. So HEY—severe trauma is a great weight loss plan! I’m still having trouble keeping food down. To be honest, I don’t remember eating much of anything from the time Bram died until I moved to Grand Forks.
Once I got into the good house here, my mind seemed to clear up a bit and I finally looked at myself in the mirror.
My hair is suddenly quite grey. I guess I shouldn’t say suddenly: I’ve been dying my hair to cover the grey since I was about 25. But not taking care of the touch-up dye jobs for ten months certainly revealed my true hair color. My hair is also crazy long and full of split ends and I haven’t been to get a professional cut in over a year.
So I look in the mirror and see all this long frizzy grey hair and I think, “When did I turn so old?” And I look closer for wrinkles and besides the crow’s feet at my eyes (which I’ve always kinda liked) I see two deep lines running between my eyes, from frowning nonstop. And deep lines running from the edges of my mouth, giving me a perma-frown. To erase the frown, I bare my teeth into a huge fake smile. And I see it. My teeth are rotting.
My first thought is of Bram. He can’t see me looking like this! How have I allowed this to happen? I always kept myself looking nice for him. He hated makeup and over-styled hair, but I kept my hair colored and trimmed. I tried to watch my weight so he’d still find me attractive, even though he said he’d love me even if I were fat enough to roll around town. But I wanted to look nice for him, so I stayed neat and clean…
I think I should cut my hair, and I have even pulled out the scissors to do it myself, or looked up stylists in town. But then I have this crazy thought that I can’t move beyond or reason myself out of.
What if I change my appearance? Will Bram recognize me if--when--we meet again?
Now I know this is crazy. If Bram and I loved each others’ souls, and the soul is the eternal part of us, won’t we be able to recognize one another in the afterlife? What if I live to be 100 (please god don’t let it be so)? I’ll certainly look different then! AND. I just explained that I no longer look the way I did the last time Bram saw me.
So, color and cut the hair and fix the stupid teeth.
But I can’t seem to do it.
Since Bram died, I have developed a severe mistrust of doctors and I can’t seem to make myself go see one, no matter how bad I feel. Apparently in my mind dentists are doctors, too. And they might misdiagnose me, leading to my untimely death. But every night I pray to be released from my Bram-less life, so an untimely death would be a good thing, right?
Or maybe I want to stay unwell and unattractive because I don’t deserve to be alive when Bram is not?
And what if a miracle happens and I suddenly am able to will and wish Bram alive and he were to find me looking like this?
I know that I am perhaps more than a little crazy without Bram to point out the illogic in my thinking. He centered me and now I can’t think myself out of my puzzles.

So

So.
Somehow my mom got it into her head that I was dating one of my colleagues from work.
I shouldn’t say “somehow.” I think I can recall the conversation that gave rise to this idea, but my mother, being who she is, took it and ran with it to whole new, high and unexpected levels.
To make a short story long:
The department I work in at my university is worried about enrollment and recruitment. I don’t think that’s all that unusual in these economic times, and if our enrollment doesn’t grow, our department can’t grow and then enrollment doesn’t grow…it’s a vicious circle.
So.
We are supposed to go out to the area high schools when they produce plays , watch the plays, and then talk to the kids afterwards about coming and joining our program. The problem with this is: I’m cripplingly shy. Yes, so shy that it’s difficult for me to speak to strangers. Yes, even high school kids. So my colleague Brad volunteered to go with me. We’d partner up.
The weekend Brad and I were supposed to go see our high school play, my mom wanted me to come home and visit her (she lives 3-4 hours away from me.) Relieved I had an excuse to not go get driven crazy by my mom, when she called I airily told her, “I can’t this weekend. I have a date.”
Didja ever see that episode of “Scrubs” when JD has an operatic tenor sing out ‘mistaaaake!’ every time JD makes one? Imagine that here.
So.
My mom came to visit me a weekend or so ago and she asks me how my ‘relationship’ is going. I’m quite confused. My mother and I don’t communicate well at all, but she finally gets me to remember my ‘mistaaaake’. She reminds me of my ‘date.’ Except, in her mind, I’ve told her about several such dates. Two at least, she insists. WTF?
“Mother, I am NOT dating anyone.”
“Yes, you told me about them.”
“No, no, I have not been on a date in many years.”
“Yes, you’ve been on at least two…”
“No Mother. NO dates—“
Yes, you called me and told me all about them.”
“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM! LISTEN TO ME:I have not been on a date in over ten years, unless you want to count going out with Bram while we were married. I have NOT been on ANY dates since Bram died. I do not foresee myself ever going on any dates ever again. EVER.”
So.
Yes, my mom is more than slightly nuts. I know she doesn’t really hear or see me. I don’t mean that as in, she’s in her own little world, near-catatonic. No. She has never really seen ME. She always seemed to see my sister quite clearly and hear her and I don’t know…pay attention to her. After my sister died, that seeing passed on to my niece, my sister’s child. My mom doesn’t SEE me. I can’t explain it. She has always talked over me and rearranged my past to suit her needs. Whatever.
Two months after Bram died, at Christmas, she asked me why I wasn’t feeling better. Hello? My husband died in my arms while the kids and I tried desperately to save him. The man I loved more than anything or anyone in the world…but yeah, I’ll just put that behind me in two months and move on with my life. And I guess start dating again ASAP.
Bram could make my mom hear and see me. I don’t know how. His gaze on me made me shine, become more real to her? I don’t know. I didn’t speak to her once for almost 4 full years. Bram stood by my decision to not be wounded by her any more. He protected me from her. He protected me from many things.
Post Script: When I told my colleague Brad we had been on two dates, he immediately asked me out, because as he said, “Guess what happens on the third date?” Brad is a very nice man and a good friend. But not my Bram. No one is.
Post Post Script: Bram used to point out to me all the time that I preface my stories with the word “so.” He thought it was cute, a quick way of saying, “listen I have something to share.”
SO. Every ‘so’ in this story is for my Baby.

Bed Bath and Beyond

I usually go grocery shopping on Saturdays. Yesterday (Saturday) was unbelievably gorgeous for a January day in North Dakota: 40 degrees! What a wonderful relief from the minus zero temps we've had all winter! I didn't want to waste such a glorious day shopping!
Instead, I stayed inside and played on the internet all day.
I have such a hard time motivating myself to get up off my ass with no Bram here to bring along.

Nick is traveling to South Dakota this week, leaving me without a car, so this morning I figured I better haul myself to the grocery store. I stepped out onto the porch--and it was another beautiful day! I decided to go to Michael's and look for gilt markers to use on my Tartuffe fans. Right next to Michael's is a Bed Bath and Beyond, one of my favorite stores. I decided that after I left the art store I'd drop in to the housewares store.
I haven't been to this Michael's here in Grand Forks, so I went in and started my fact-finding tour using my usual OCD tendencies: I began at the first aisle to my left and proceeded up and down each aisle, carefully scanning the wares.

As I moved past the halfway point in the store, I found I was humming along with the music being played over the speakers and I remembered how you and I used to sing out loud to one another when we were shopping together. It made me smile. And then I wrapped that thought in a tiny little box, put a bow on it, and stashed it in a little closet in my head marked "Things it hurts to think about." As I was closing that door in my brain, a new song came over the speakers: Duncan Sheik's "I Am Barely Breathing."
That door I was attempting to shut crashed open and all my carefully stacked and ribboned boxes fell out. All I could think, feel, hear, smell was BRAM. Bram. Bram loved this song. He sang it often. We listened to this CD practically nonstop while we were dating. Bram. Bram.
The song came to an end and I realized I was standing stock still in the middle of Michael's twisting my hands together so hard my fingers were aching.
I was not crying and congratulated myself on the fact. I bought my gilt markers and left.
And there stood Bed Bath and Beyond. And I stepped toward the entrance. That's when the tears started and I told myself to grow up, I told myself out loud to grow up and go on inside, but honestly all I could think of was we two window shopping in this stupid store and singing out loud to one another until people stepped away from us. And I remember you buying me ridiculously overpriced kitchen gadgets because I had learned to cook for you and found I enjoyed it and kitchen gadgets made us both happy...

Today I stood outside of a Bed Bath and Beyond, weeping and berating myself out loud for not being able to make myself go in.

And I still cannot understand why you have gone.