w00t w00t booyah

SNARK MODE=ON

I'm more than a bit out of sorts tonight. I'm going to call your attention to two passings of close, dear ones - not of mine, but in my circle. Dear ones of dear ones, as it were.

Shelton Jackson. AIDS.

Jennie Sutton. Cystic Fibrosis.

Half my age. Younger than Cliff when he left.

People mention what fighters they were. How terrible it was they 'lost the battle.'

As if.

Guys, having a disease process? Isn't a matter of a fight - because it's not, and it never will be.

You don't get to fight. This isn't a battle. You don't even get to defend yourself.

You get handed something to endure and deal with. You get something that doesn't care, doesn't even throw a punch at you - before it steals everything in your life, and then takes you life without batting an eye. It's insanity to even consider you will get a fair shot. A fair fight? *laughs*

This drives me nuts, because it implies that if you don't 'win?' You failed. You didn't do something. You didn't get help from the Right People. You were - unlucky. You can fill in the blank. Shoot, go ahead - co-op God. For good or ill. It's done. You know what it sounds like, you've heard it.

Here's your warning. You do this around me, you're going to get it.

You get to work as hard as you ever have - for vanishing returns. Maybe no returns at all, but you do it anyway because you want out of this nightmare and that's the only way that looks promising. You live in an acute awareness of being that is both a curse and a blessing. You wish you could have the day of a lifetime - because it could be your last, and tomorrow could be worse - and have to deal with the reality that this day has more suck (and no money) in it than anything else, and you can't. But you endure it - hoping tomorrow will be different. But today, you enjoy the sunlight. The rain. Whatever you can grab - because this is your time, the only time you are going to get. And you know you must make the most of it. It's all you'll get. Vitally aware.

Vitally aware you're getting the short end, but you make the best of it. It is what it is.

Fight. Fight what? Something that sits on your chest, sucks your blood, kills you from the inside out, short-circuits your nervous system, plays with your body chemistry like some science project from 6th grade, what? Oh yeah, that'll work.

Shelton did something wonderful. He told everyone what it was like. He took it in, hoped for the best and just did what he could. Hope's Voice. Dear God.

There's little braver than enduring a transplant, in my book. To consider it, do it and when it stops working? To consider doing it again? And why?

She failed the saving throw on the genetics. Yeah, I'd give the whole mess the finger. Cliff certainly did often enough.

I remember the absolute smugness Cliff had on his 35th birthday. He'd made it. He wouldn't see two more birthdays - but he'd made it to 35 when everyone said he wouldn't.

Fight. You wish. You manage to endure and survive these things, if you can. That's all.

Let me tell you something. This ain't no dress rehearsal. This is all you're going to get. One day, one hour, one moment at a time - and when it's gone, it's gone for good. It's not coming back for you to try again, this moment. Not ever.

So don't be surprised if I'm willing to do whatever I must to avoid being unhappy a single moment if I don't have to. Regret, sadness, whatever - those things are part of a healthy acceptance of life and its realities. But if depression rolls around? No. I spent too much time there already - and I know too much now to ever go back there. I don't deserve it. Nobody does.

And it's a fucking lie. Test those boundaries, push that envelope - it'll give. Promise. You won't die - of fail, embarrassment or panic. Hang in there, grab on by your fingernails and don't let go. Look for what is true and unchanging - the rest of the world is no more perfect than you are. Things fall down. It's okay. You deal. You move on. Let it be. It'll be okay, really. Trust me. Trust yourself.

I want to live my life in near exhaustion - every day as full as I can make it, curious about what's around the corner and willing to give it a go, even if I fall on my face. Like nobody's watching (and really, who is?). Hard to hit. Always in motion.

I'll never feel sorry for you if I see you need a shove back onto your feet more. Come on - your life is calling, can you hear it? Are you listening for someone else to relay the message instead (don't)? Get up, pay no attention to that bullshit hiding behind the curtain whispering threats. Deal. Cope. Work. (It's all just work, didn't anyone tell you that?)

You don't need anyone to tell you you're awesome. You just are. Accept it, tuck it close to your heart of hearts and never forget it. You're the first one to know this - nobody else can make it stick if you don't hear that from the bottom of your soul.

Strive. Get out in front and make it look like a parade. Fake it. You'll make it, eventually. No other choice - if you keep at it.

But this is IT. No do-overs, no going back to make changes. No rewrites.

Do your best.
Clean up your own messes.
Be aware of your impact on others.

People rock. You rock and you don't even know it yet.

Now get to work.

SNARK MODE=OFF

Jim made the connection - I didn't notice it right away.

Yesterday, when we got the word?

Cliff's birthday.

I told you that there was a blue baby blanket in this year's fukubukuro bag? Not yellow, not pink, purple or green. Blue.

I left prior gig days before the 10th anniversary of Cliff's passing - when the writing on the wall could no longer be ignored. (Cliff was a big stickler for setting boundaries with employers. You didn't work overtime for no good reason, and you worked to make a living, not have a life. He would NOT have approved of what I went through last summer. Not one bit.)

But he always thought working hard was the key to everything.

I just got news that has me floored.

New boss at new gig?

He and his wife pooled their frequent flyer mile accounts and got us our tickets. All I have to buy is Xander's one-way back. Hotels and train tickets. Taxi cab fare.

STUNNED. Someone make me an icon. There are flies buzzing in and out of my slack jawed mouth right now.

The flights are even nonstops, direct.

I know how to say thanks in Chinese - Cliff taught me. So far, it's the only Chinese I know. He learned it when he was working with the Taiwanese on missle projects in the 70's and 80's.

I know when Cliff's been by. Shit happens. THIS kind of stuff. (Let alone being insanely lucky on a regular basis. Stupidly lucky.)

BUH.

Jim made the connection - I didn't notice it right away.

Yesterday, when we got the word?

Cliff's birthday.

I told you that there was a blue baby blanket in this year's fukubukuro bag? Not yellow, not pink, purple or green. Blue.

I left prior gig days before the 10th anniversary of Cliff's passing - when the writing on the wall could no longer be ignored. (Cliff was a big stickler for setting boundaries with employers. You didn't work overtime for no good reason, and you worked to make a living, not have a life. He would NOT have approved of what I went through last summer. Not one bit.)

But he always thought working hard was the key to everything.

I just got news that has me floored.

New boss at new gig?

He and his wife pooled their frequent flyer mile accounts and got us our tickets. All I have to buy is Xander's one-way back. Hotels and train tickets. Taxi cab fare.

STUNNED. Someone make me an icon. There are flies buzzing in and out of my slack jawed mouth right now.

The flights are even nonstops, direct.

I know how to say thanks in Chinese - Cliff taught me. So far, it's the only Chinese I know. He learned it when he was working with the Taiwanese on missle projects in the 70's and 80's.

I know when Cliff's been by. Shit happens. THIS kind of stuff. (Let alone being insanely lucky on a regular basis. Stupidly lucky.)

BUH.

The boss just offered to check his frequent flier miles for us, if we need help getting to Taiwan.

It's official. Cliff's been here. I've mentioned the incredible, no-other-explanation-possible luck I've had since he passed.

Here's a prime example.

By all rights, I shouldn't even have a job right now. And THIS is what I have.

STUNNED NOW.

This weekend, it's seven years. That's hard to get my head around - because to my poor head, it was just a while ago. A small one. Really small. Tiny, even.

I flew back to St. Louis on one of the few flights left before Lambert stopped being a TWA hub, Jim picked me up in the U-Haul truck and we carted him and his books -and his snow shovel- to Ontario. We listen to "Route 66" and grin as we go over the locations in the song - we went through them all. (Not on the route itself, sad to say. I think it was I40 most of the way....)

It was a blast and I'd love to do it again. The drive, that is. The mad dash across five states in three days, two nights. One in Oklahoma City (and glad to do so, we got to see the memorial) and the other in Flagstaff (which I think is gorgeous).

I mentioned it at lunch today, and I got the same snuggle I got seven years ago. I actually had to cut it short because I had to get back to work -

Stability is something you don't actively take for granted. Frankly, we're pretty boring if you want to know the truth. caitlin thinks we're cute. I enjoy hearing that - and maybe we are.

It's easy. I had hard, once. I had hard, bitter, mean, angry - and loving - once. Would it surprise anyone that my late husband - the difficult one - trusted me more? Compare them? I thank God every day I the two men I married didn't arrive in my life at the same time - because I don't know if I could have chosen between them. I think about it every day - because I miss my late husband. Every day.

And Jim doesn't begrudge me for it. I don't compare them. One never falls short of the other. Maybe the real indicator is I don't number them. I don't have a first husband, a second husband. I have a husband - and a late husband. This is my second marriage, and if the name didn't clue you in, I'll be happy to explain it to you. I'm not going to forget.

My husband loves me for this.

Low-maintenance? Never. He has very well-defined patterns and needs, wants and dreams - and needs my attention, compassion, skill and love just like the difficult one did. It just looks easier. And this one takes care of me with so much more skill, without even thinking hard about it - but he knows I reciprocate in kind. Very little gets done at times without throwing for it. (Dishes? We tossed for them twice this week alone. I've lost both times. ^_^)

He's still learning - we both are - but at least we know that's an ongoing process.

Seven years. It was supposed to be harder than this. I just got him here, I swear it.

*lights the good incense* May I never take it for granted.

This weekend, it's seven years. That's hard to get my head around - because to my poor head, it was just a while ago. A small one. Really small. Tiny, even.

I flew back to St. Louis on one of the few flights left before Lambert stopped being a TWA hub, Jim picked me up in the U-Haul truck and we carted him and his books -and his snow shovel- to Ontario. We listen to "Route 66" and grin as we go over the locations in the song - we went through them all. (Not on the route itself, sad to say. I think it was I40 most of the way....)

It was a blast and I'd love to do it again. The drive, that is. The mad dash across five states in three days, two nights. One in Oklahoma City (and glad to do so, we got to see the memorial) and the other in Flagstaff (which I think is gorgeous).

I mentioned it at lunch today, and I got the same snuggle I got seven years ago. I actually had to cut it short because I had to get back to work -

Stability is something you don't actively take for granted. Frankly, we're pretty boring if you want to know the truth. caitlin thinks we're cute. I enjoy hearing that - and maybe we are.

It's easy. I had hard, once. I had hard, bitter, mean, angry - and loving - once. Would it surprise anyone that my late husband - the difficult one - trusted me more? Compare them? I thank God every day I the two men I married didn't arrive in my life at the same time - because I don't know if I could have chosen between them. I think about it every day - because I miss my late husband. Every day.

And Jim doesn't begrudge me for it. I don't compare them. One never falls short of the other. Maybe the real indicator is I don't number them. I don't have a first husband, a second husband. I have a husband - and a late husband. This is my second marriage, and if the name didn't clue you in, I'll be happy to explain it to you. I'm not going to forget.

My husband loves me for this.

Low-maintenance? Never. He has very well-defined patterns and needs, wants and dreams - and needs my attention, compassion, skill and love just like the difficult one did. It just looks easier. And this one takes care of me with so much more skill, without even thinking hard about it - but he knows I reciprocate in kind. Very little gets done at times without throwing for it. (Dishes? We tossed for them twice this week alone. I've lost both times. ^_^)

He's still learning - we both are - but at least we know that's an ongoing process.

Seven years. It was supposed to be harder than this. I just got him here, I swear it.

*lights the good incense* May I never take it for granted.

We're getting through August, and you know what comes after that, don't you?

September. No, really.

And September 18th, just a date picked out of a hat. That's the day Cliff died.

But we're talking about Jim. Yeah, I know. But I look at Jim and see Cliff's hand in it.

Yeah, yeah, I see the look on your face allll the way over here. Stop it.

No, they never met. And when I first met Jim, that was the hardest thing to get my head around. They'd never known each other, but they both knew me better than anyone else in the world...but they'd never known each other.

That's not supposed to happen. Well, it does and I'm weirded out over it -

But let's look at Jim for a moment. silverkun knew Cliff - knew him well, as he was on that short list of people I could call at a moment's notice as an extra pair of hands, who did overnight duty at Cedars-Sinai, and many other things while Cliff slowly faded in his last days. (Which took three years to accomplish. It was a very long time, when you measure times in minutes and hours.)

Jim is this big (6'4"), bluff Germanic fellow with the most incredible aquamarine blue eyes I've ever seen. They are so brightly colored, and so blue, they are the first color you see in dim light when everything is grayed out. He sings, dances and loves the same kinds of music I do, remembers every joke anyone ever told him and can deliver them on request, does a whole repertoire of voices, reads almost as fast I do, and as avidly; will go to Barry Manilow concerts willingly, loves Star Trek more than I do (and that's saying something) and plays more games than I would ever allow myself to be interested in, and it's been a nice change.

How the heck did I meet this guy?

This is what he looked like: jtbell2@hotmail.com. That's all I knew about him. I was sitting at home one afternoon, feeling a bit sorry for myself for the first time since Cliff had passed and wondering what was going to come of me, living alone like I was. It had been almost a year since he had died, things had settled into a pretty stable routine, and I had finally caught up on my sleep and "me" time.

First time I really had come to terms with 'this is it, I'm likely to die this way and it would take days before anyone would notice I was gone. And what is it with all this stuff and this house with three bathrooms, anyway? Sheesh. One person. SHEESH.'

I shook it off, and went web surfing.

Could have been female. Could have been 19 years old. Or younger.

But the guy who I sent an email to over his website turned out to be Jim.

Cliff and I were complementaries. Nobody could beat us as a team at Trivia Pursuit because where one was soft on the subject, the other one was a master at it. We were in a study in contrasts, and the relationship was a difficult one because of it.

Jim? Complementary to a fault. As if he had been picked out for me.

And there are days I still shake my head over it. I told you about the flowers I ordered for Cliff's funeral, didn't I? The ones that never got delivered? The florist was so aghast, they sent me a food basket to compensate me and so forth.

On top? Cliff's favorite lemon cookies.

Cliff hated flowers. The little shit didn't want them. But he did send me a message.

I have a little Talent - not much of one, but I do get reminded I do have a little of it. I was always aware of my father, who died a month shy of my seventh birthday. VERY aware of him, until I was in my thirties and found out he had died by his own hand, accidentally.

Cliff, I was only aware of for a day or so after he passed. It was like the coldest champagne you could imagine, effervescent and VERY fast-moving. Only for a day or so - and when I visit his grave at the cemetery, I can get an impression of him. But I do know where's he's been, when he does check in. Shit happens.

I've had unbelievably good fortune since he passed - scary good, you really want to know. As long as I've been willing to work hard, I've gotten the rewards for it. You really can't say that's the case for everyone.

And I look at Jim, marvel yet again at the incredibly good luck that brought him to me - and I do my best to enjoy every bit of him.

Such a gift I was given. And I know someone else is pleased, too.