A Scrap of Fabric

Dedicated to Bunny Goode, July 13, 1945 – May 25, 2016

It was just a scrap of fabric, as best I could see. A scrap of fabric jammed into a pile of scraps on a shelf full of fabric pieces of all sizes. If the scrap had fallen to the floor I probably would have been tempted to just throw it out.

After almost 30 years together at that time, I knew better. You do not ever throw out fabric scraps, no matter how small, no matter how tattered. I still have vivid recollections of our early days together when, in an act of sheer stupidity, I tossed a bunch of little pieces of fabric into the waste basket. How was I to know that I had just ditched a complete pattern? Not only a complete pattern, but an original design pattern!

Back to the fabric scrap … I’m standing in Bunny’s studio, just shooting the breeze, when she asks me to get this scrap from the seven-foot-high bookcase with 9 shelves that served as her fabric waiting room at the time.

Obviously, I can’t find the piece at first. I mean, how am I supposed to find an 8” square amid what seems to me to be 10,000 different pieces of material? Patiently, she directed me to the proper shelf, the correct pile and the bottom 3” of the pile. And there it was, this little scrap of fabric, white-on-white with a pale design, that is smaller than a man’s handkerchief.

But I don’t think the grill decal from a Mercedes Benz sitting next to the scrap would be considered “normal’ studio contents, and that wasn’t the strangest thing you’d find in there, believe me.

And, of course, fabric was everywhere. It’s impossible to focus on any single point in the room (ceiling included) and not see fabric. So, I think you can see why I was so impressed with my ability to actually locate the scrap without Bunny having to get up and get it herself.

(For those of you who are not artists, or in a serious relationship with an artist, you’ll never understand this next thing.) Bunny takes the piece of fabric and starts to stare at it. Holding it in her hands and staring at it. Like the idiot that I had, over the years, proven to be, I asked, “What are you going to use that for? A dress of something?” You could see the incredible self-restraint she exercised. You could actually see her shoulders slump down, mired deep in the knowledge that she would never be able to explain it to me, since I’m not capable of even a single creative thought … “I don’t know yet” she said. Her body language clearly suggested that I beat a hasty retreat from the studio. Wisely, I yielded to the implication and bailed out.

Over the next week or so I noticed that the scrap moved from place to place. First, it was on Bunny’s cutting table, a mandatory work surface for the serious doll artist. This table was much higher than most, designed for her 6’ frame so she didn’t have to bend over so much. Then the fabric appeared on the weirdo ironing board, made a trip to the top of the TV, back to the ironing board where it was pressed, and even went into the living room.

Bunny always had a spot in our living rooms where she would stuff assorted doll body parts while we relaxed and watched television at night. These spots would be loaded with stuffing, needles of all varieties, strange looking “stuffing tools” that included a hemostat, a screwdriver with the head broken off, dolls in various stages of creation and even a special color corrected light that cost more than a monthly mortgage payment. When friends came over they would just have to deal with the “doll spot”, and if they didn’t like it they could just go home.

At any rate, there was the fabric scrap. My first inclination was to say, “Did you ever figure out what to do with that piece of fabric?” But I had learned my lesson and just ignored the whole subject. That scrap sat on the arm of her chair for three days, and every once in a while I’d see her pick it up and stare at it. Just hold it in her hands and stare at it.

Bunny was in a blazing burst of activity. If you’re in a relationship with an artist, you know what I mean. Artists have these periods of intense productivity, where they can bury themselves in their work and produce breath-taking results. Then just as quickly, they will come to a screeching halt.

Well, this was a hot time. Bunny was absorbed in the process of creativity, and the results of her efforts were showing. Beautiful stuff, even to a lame brain like me, was appearing. I was taking some pictures of the newly created dolls when I noticed the scrap of fabric, neatly folded in a small square, strategically positioned back next to the Mercedes Benz grill decal. I could tell it wasn’t there by mistake, it was deliberately put there for a reason. But again, genius that I had become, I ignored the entire topic. No questions asked about the scrap. No questions about the Mercedes Benz decal. Nothing that could ever be construed as even the slightest interest about any of it.

The creative storm died down and she was now in a period of quiet reflection. During these times, Bunny always needed to have some motivation to spark the creativity. That motivation might be as simple as a photo in a magazine or the label on a can of paint at Home Depot. This time, though, it was the small piece of fabric.

That scrap had found its way back to the work table. I saw it lying there, perfectly flat and square, right dead smack in the middle of the table. Later that day I saw her staring at it once again, and then again later in the evening just before bedtime.

That night she was up working, she said she couldn’t sleep. By then I could recognize the beginning stages of another creative burst, and Bunny was in one of them. She said she had a new doll idea in her mind that she just couldn’t shake, and she wanted to get some of the ideas into form. She was sketching out the new design … It seemed like there were hundreds of pieces of paper all over the floor.

For the next several days, all her efforts were dedicated to this new doll. I knew enough after all those years to stay out of her way and let the creative juices flow. And then, it was done.

This doll was beautiful, in my own opinion one of the best dolls she ever designed and made. As I focused the camera to memorialize the piece, there it was … a small piece of that little scrap of fabric.  It wasn’t the main fabric in the doll, but, to my amazement, that small scrap of fabric grabbed my attention and held it. The fabric piece was just an accent to the doll, but it fit in magnificently, a soft contrast to the rest of the color scheme.

It was just a scrap of fabric, as best I could see. A scrap of fabric jammed into a pile of scraps on a shelf full of fabric pieces of all sizes. And that’s what makes the difference between an artist and the rest of the world. I would have thrown it out. Bunny created a work of art.

You can subscribe to my blog by logging in at the link provided for desktop viewers at the top of the blog, or by sending a "Subscribe" message to egbassga@gmail.com for mobile users who cannot view the link at the top of the blog.

Georgia

We drove south, Maddie & me, headed for our new home in the tall pines of Georgia. Car full of basses, clothes, dog beds (oh, yeah, beds ... Madison doesn't like to walk too far without having the option of taking a nap), a few kitchen appliances that I'm using as a cheapo-dowry of sorts (of course I love you! Here, have a mixer ...) and that's about it. There will be one more move of things I need to have with me in Georgia, including some more basses (duh) and another dog bed or two (again ... duh), but basically the majority of my worldly possessions that I care about, except for my daughter (no, not a possession in the literal sense, but you know what I mean), are in Georgia.

Now, this doesn't mean that the Jersey within me has disappeared, not by a long shot. A few things that reflect my inherent Jersey-ness:

• "You don't need to use your hands so much when you're talking", this from Sheila's dad

• I have to stop being so self-deprecating ... that grows old down here, fast

• When someone says,"We'll, isn't that just so sweet", they rarely mean it

• Double negatives "Now, you just don't know no better" sound illiterate with a Jersey accent ... Best to leave that to the Southerners

• You do pump your own gas here, and no amount of time spent sitting your car waiting for someone else to do it is going to change that

• Being impatient at food stores is frowned upon

So, Maddie & I moved our stuff into the house, creating immediate chaos. Bella, the resident dog-in-charge, was quite gracious and settled in pretty quickly with Madison being there. Bella would have preferred to play more, but Madison has her own little Jersey attitude that she needs to lose and wasn't immediately receptive to playing with a dog 20 times her size. I talked to Maddie about her being less "Jersey" but I don't think she was listening.

Bella

It's also a lot, ummm, slower down here. I took Sheila's car for an oil change and wash this morning. All I could think was, if this was Jersey all of these people would be fired for being too thorough. In Jersey that car wash would have been sold as "full car detailing".

Luckily for me, Sheila has the patience of a saint and put up with the disruptions and mess. We've settled into a pretty comfortable routine after a surprisingly short period of time, just additional evidence that somehow, in the middle of all of our collective craziness over the past year, our being together is working out really well.

I will continue working remotely for AWT Environmental, my employer for the past nearly 20 years. As of right now, it will be a lighter part-time schedule for the near future. In a way, while I like the idea of being retired, I also like the idea of keeping up with the company ... they're more of a family than a job.

All in all, things are going better than expected, and our expectations were pretty high to begin with. Our next venture will be a trip back to Jersey in November for my niece Katie's wedding. Sheila will get the entire Goode family onslaught in one shot ... pray for her ...

Sheila & Me

Moving In Together

My girlfriend & I are moving in together. Well, more accurately, I’m moving in with her. Once we made the decision to live together there really wasn’t much of a choice about how we’d get that accomplished; she has a beautiful large home in a secluded area in the Georgia pines, and I live in a nice, but crowded, area of New Jersey. I could fit my whole house into hers … twice … and still have room.

 

         Jersey Porch

Georgia Porch

Of course, there were many more factors other than the house to consider:

• I’m retiring, and she’s not quite there yet
• She has grandchildren (and a daughter/SIL) living across the street. I have no grandkids
• Her whole family (another married son, sisters, parents, more grandkids) lives in very close proximity (by GA standards). My family is pretty scattered and scattering even further as I type this
• She loves her, well, everything, in Georgia. The house, the area, her life there, while I am fairly blasé about NJ. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been a Jersey guy for a long time, but this state has its share of issues and I’m not sorry to be leaving. I will miss my daughter, but she can come visit as often as she’d like … I’m publicly offering to pay for her flights, so there will be no excuses
• It’s drastically cheaper to live in Georgia
• My “real” job has always been as a musician. The jazz music scene here in NJ area is quite poor, but the Atlanta area is actually quite active. That gives me room to go back to what I love to do; teach, write, arrange and do some recording. Those possibilities exist down south, but not here

After those points were considered (for about 13 seconds), the idea of Jersey life together was pretty much squashed. That was fine with me, I’m ready for a complete change after the past several years. I’ve grown more disillusioned with everything that has been happening in my life and, in truth, the only thing that kept me here this long was Bunny’s business, which obviously came to an end when she died.

During our recent “living together test run trial #1”, we selected some space in the home for me to put all of my junk. And I’m really not bringing much stuff down, just my basses (yeah, there are a lot and they do take up space) and music studio equipment, a few computers that I’ll be using for my “I’m Going To Write A Book Someday” work and for some part-time consulting I’ll be doing for my didn’t-I-just-retire job. We went through the house and selected some spots where I can be out of her way while she works (she works remotely, either from home or occasional travel), as well as keeping my Jersey junk out of the way of family and company.

My furniture and other worldly possessions will remain in the Jersey house for the time being until we figure out what to do with all of it. Really, I’m not very tied to any of it, no emotional bonds or anything like that, so as far as I’m concerned it can all be sold, donated, tossed, stolen, whatever.  I’ll have my basses, my clothes, my computers and my dog … I’ll be moving in with a beautiful soul who is opening up her life to me to share with her … I’ll be leaving behind some dark and unpleasant memories of the past several years … Not really difficult choices to make, huh?

While it’s a done deal, we’re still proceeding ahead with “living together test run trial #2” to take place at the end of the month. And then a longer, final “living together test run trial #3” a week later, which is most likely a “lockup the jewelry, the Jersey guy is here” warning call to the neighbors.

Really, these “trials” are just for our internal chuckles. There is no question that we are a very good match, no question that this will all work out wonderfully, and absolutely no question that spending the rest of our lives together in Georgia is the exact right thing to do.

But there better be a good pizza joint nearby ….. and it can't be a Domino's, either

Bringing The Family Along

I just spent an extended weekend with my girlfriend (yes, I’m using the “girlfriend” thing regularly now) at her home down south, sort of a quasi-trial run (trial run 1 of a potential 3) (maybe trial run 1 of a potential 4) (or possibly trial run 1 of a potential 2 … things went very well …) to see how we would actually get along if we were living together. There was never a big doubt that all would be good, but, hey, as we all know, the bouncing ball of widow-dom can go just about anywhere.

So we spent an extended weekend living her life, doing what she would do on any normal Friday-to- Tuesday span. That included visiting her ailing parents a couple of times, going to see the grandkids playing baseball and other organized activities, a fascinating trip to the local food store (something that garnered quite a few chuckles since apparently southerners only refer to them as “grocery” stores and not the Jersey default “food” store), a dinner out at a local, very freshly made, restaurant (really excellent!!), cooking at home several times, going to a party for a work friend, doing laundry … in other words, living her life.

  

                           Jersey - Food?                                      Georgia - Food?

We found out some stuff about each other that we hadn’t known:

• Finding the clutch release point in 1^st gear on her car was a bit of a challenge (I’m fairly sure I’ll be replacing her transmission at some point in the future)
•  She gets a bit too much joy in listening to my New Jersey variations-on-a-theme, particularly as it pertains to pronunciation (although even down south the sign says “Publix – Food – Pharmacy”, not “Publix – Groceries – Pharmacy”). I, on the other hand, was a perfect gentleman with her combined So Cal/Georgia utterances – but she’s really attractive and even though I’m from Jersey I’m not “stoopid” (note the Jersey-ized twist?) enough to blow that opportunity for the sake of pronunciation
• We have far more in common than we had ever thought, including a passing interest in quantum physics and other sort-of odd categories (repairing old clocks, getting up while it’s still quite dark outside, eclectic home décor and much more) that don’t randomly crop up until you spend some concentrated time together
• We’re both pretty deliberate with larger financial expenditures, really weighing pros/cons
• We both laugh, a lot, over things others likely wouldn’t find amusing. We also both laugh, a lot, at our own shortcomings

And we also have no intention of leaving our lost spouses behind as this new relationship solidifies. Both of us had relationships that we cherished, and I’ve written in the past how both of us had similar experiences along the way to becoming widowed. We had previously discussed, many times, how we intended to “bring” our departed spouses to this new coupling and over these past several days of “Getting to Know All About You” (borrowing a phrase from Julie Andrews in The King & I) we spent some time discussing that integration.

For us, as newly widowed people, moving into a new relationship is entering unchartered territory. So we’re being careful to let each other know what is important and what is not (“food store” vs “grocery store” is NOT important!), and being sure that our deceased partners stay with us is way up high on both of our lists. We also both carry the horrible stigma of having lost a son before they were 30, and our boys are also coming with us as we kick-start our new life together.

So, yup, we’re bringing the family along with us. We’ve set some boundaries that we both easily agreed upon, and we’re letting some stuff go and keeping some other stuff. Luckily, neither of us is the jealous type, so having a picture as a constant reminder is not oppressive for either of us and routine re-telling of memories (both great and sometimes not-so-great) can be shared without a problem. We’ve decided that there are some areas where it will just be us and not the rest of the family and we both know that might take some adjustment but we’re vowing to work it out.

We can’t take relationships like we had and just cast them aside, but we also can’t let them hold us back from pushing on with a new and lovely life together. We realize we’re blessed to have found each other and that we are so compatible in all of these ways.

And, really, doesn’t “food store” make so much more sense?? Or is that just my Jersey leaking out again?

Counting Days

I no longer say “my wife died (5,6,7,etc) days ago”, now it’s “a few months ago”. And before too long it will be “last year” and then “several years”. When I first realized I was saying “a few months ago” it sounded cold & unfeeling to my ears, as if I didn’t care that much or that her death was somehow much less important now. But that’s not it at all. I think a few things happened that started to change my approach to mourning, and in turn, affected my telling of her passing and my outlook on life.

First, folks are just not interested in hearing the specifics of Bunny’s death; it’s easier to say “a few months” and it’s easier for folks to hear that. Although the actual # of days at first seemed VERY important to me, no one else cares for that type of specificity.

Second, no matter whatever else may be going on, one thing I can be positive about is Bunny isn’t coming back. No amount of praying, crying, begging or onerous date counting is going to change that. So why am I making myself crazy, tracking every single minute/hour/day that she isn’t here? What do I gain from that?

And last, Bunny would have hated me performing such a countdown (countup?) ritual. In my case, and I know not everyone has this situation, we knew this was going to happen. Maybe not to the specific day, but it was clear over the last year of her time with me that Bunny would die. She was never, ever going to get better. So what is the purpose of continuing the pain of day counting? Bunny would be furious with me for doing that.

I’ve allowed myself to come back to the world of the living, a place where people don’t care how many days Bunny has been gone. This is not to say that they have a callous disregard for her, it’s just that they don’t need to know it’s a certain amount of time. I’ve learned a lesson from them … I don’t need to dwell on that, either. Having a laser focus pointed at the past, just to be sure I’m exactly positive how long it’s been since my life went awry, serves no purpose for me, either.

Coming back to the world of living I’ve begun to see things differently. Now, nearly two years after Bunny’s health started that downward spiral and one year of waiting for her to die, I don’t face a dark cloud of looming death every day. While it at first felt selfish, I now realize that my being completely miserable because my wife died serves no purpose other than to feed that misery. I cannot fix what has happened, I cannot bring Bunny back.

So now, in the “few months” since my wife died I have emerged a newer, possibly better, person. I look at the good things that surround me instead of the darkness of my loss. I reflect on the huge number of positive impacts Bunny made in my life and I’m grateful for them, rather than regretting she is no longer able to contribute anything. I have developed a new friendship that is becoming more than just a friendship and I’m starting to smile far more often than I did for the past two years.

I know exactly how many days it has been since Bunny died, but I’m not dwelling on that any longer. And I don’t want to count that any more, unless someone can give me a good reason why I should.

Ignoring Self-Pity

There is stuff I should be doing today, other than sitting here writing. And I have things planned: finalizing the Life Celebration party for Bunny, my wife who passed away not quite 2 months ago, party scheduled on the 16th; a phone “date” with a new friend with whom I have become quite fond in a short period of time; laundry, which always makes me wonder how a single guy can generate so much laundry over a seemingly brief period; helping one of my neighbors with some light chores (she recently broke her leg and isn’t very mobile); a phone call with my daughter at some point (she regularly checks in with me to be sure I’m okay.) If I wanted to, I could attend a concert tonight but I’m not really sure about that just yet.

You know what’s missing from this list? Sitting in a chair, feeling sorry for myself that my wife died and left me alone.

I’m not talking about grieving; I’m talking about having my own pity party for one. I grieve every single day, all day. One doesn’t live a wonderful 35 year existence with another person and not miss them deeply. But I realized that I don’t need to just sit here feeling sorry for myself and looking/acting pitiful. That foul mood is like a disease on its own, creeping into every pore of your body, crushing your spirit.

A friend/acquaintance lost her husband 5 years ago, somewhat unexpectedly but, truth be told, he was never in the greatest of health and did little to correct that. My friend, 5 years later, is an equal mess to how she was the day her husband died. Perhaps this is how she expresses her grief. We all have differing ways of going through the process, but my friend has chosen to ask for us to feed her pity, not mourn her husband with her.

It’s quite easy to settle into pity-party mode, I most definitely had a touch of that myself the first week or so. Those of us that have found this community understand the crushing loss of a life-love. Some of us may even be angry at our deceased partners for leaving us broke, homeless, stranded … and still grieving. But giving in to self-pity resolves nothing; it’s not motivating, it has no reward, it darkens our very soul, it drives friends and family away.

I’m lucky, I chose to ignore self-pity. I get enough pitiful looks from those who find out in hushed voices “his wife just died last month” … I don’t need to add to that. Grief is not a choice; it comes on its own whenever it feels like it and I have no magic words of wisdom to give to those dealing with it. But I can control being pitiful, and look at what has happened for me:        

• I scheduled and planned a nice party in the memory of my wife and I have no doubt it will be successful.
• I have allowed myself to be open to accepting the idea of a new woman in my life, something I never thought would happen just 2 months ago. And if it leads to nothing, I’m still grateful for the experience.
• I can provide support and assistance to a friendly widowed neighbor when she needs it.
• I have family who love me and grieve with me, but don’t feel sorry for me.
• I function like a “normal” person, keeping a tidy home, cooking, paying bills, doing seemingly never-ending laundry.

And that is just today. Tomorrow will be a new list and I’ll do that, too. And through it all I continue to grieve the loss of the most wonderful person I have ever known, but because I don’t have to fight off self-loathing and pity, I can give 100% of my love to mourning her absence, just like I gave 100% of my love to her while she was here. It’s much better than simply feeling sorry for myself.

Clearing Out an Artist's Studio

Clearing out an artist’s studio is a challenge that only those in an identical situation can understand. We purchased a new home 6 months before my wife died, and the purchase/move was primarily to get her into a newer, better suited studio space. She had just completed a 6 month chemotherapy program and was really dragged out and weak, so I assumed the task of moving and resetting her studio.

Unfortunately, she really never got the chance to use it, as her cancer recurrence was quick and she became bed-ridden for three months prior to her passing. So, after she left us, I was immediately faced with the complexities of dismantling her studio and finding a new home for so much of her material and equipment. Many, many of her friends were aghast that we began to disassemble the studio so quickly, but as I explained to them, I had no desire to make a memorial space in the house. I wrote the following note and posted it on social media:

I’ve been a little surprised by the reaction of so many folks when they see that we’re in the beginning stages of breaking down Bunny’s studio. “Don’t do anything too quickly”, “take your time”, “don’t do something you’ll regret”… all good advice offered by kindly folks who, based on everything I know, only have our best interests at heart. That said, I thought a little background might help to clarify my position on the matter.

September 12, 1981 was the date of my very first “craft” show with Bunny. It was in Chester, NJ, an annual event that, to the best of my knowledge, is still running each year. I knew nothing … absolutely nothing … about craft shows, or exhibiting at craft shows, or for that matter, selling crafty stuff. But I did know that the pretty woman who I was (by then) living with wanted to do the show, so I said “sure, I’ll go with you” ….

For reference, Bunny officially moved in with me July 1, 1981, mostly because that was the end of her lease on her own apartment and by then she was pretty much staying with me all of the time anyhow. At that point we had known each other less than 1 month. I was living in a 2nd story apartment in Stanhope, NJ, directly next door to the Stanhope House, a big rock club at that time. The place was a big shit hole, but it was cheap and large, so when Bunny wanted to move in I said “sure, let’s do that” ….

I had no idea that, within 2-3 days, anything that resembled clear space in that apartment was going to be filled with an over-whelming assortment of “crafty” stuff. I kid you not, I think I’m still handling some of that crap as I go through her studio. Every inch of space was taken over by “stuff” … flowers, fabrics, glues, sewing machines, boxes, buttons, frames, hot glue guns … this list can go on forever. Now, even though we had been living together, more or less, for the past few weeks prior to what I now call “the Occupation”, I didn’t know about this stuff. Bunny said to me, “can we move this chair away from the window so I can put a work table here? The lighting is so much better” … I said, “sure, no problem” …

In the weeks prior to the Chester Craft show I got my first glimpse of Bunny’s work ethic … 3 am wake up because she just thought of an idea, or walking away from the table in the middle of a meal because she just realized how to solve some type of problem she had been having, sitting on the floor with a set of HUGE headphones listening to some type of disco-ish foolishness (Lipps, Inc was a big favorite of hers) instead of getting ready to go out somewhere & dancing/wiggling in the seated position while she created something great … I had never met anyone so fixated on their artwork before. Many, many times I had to remind her to “eat something, just stop working for a minute and eat something”

And magically, this beautiful thing would appear. “Whaddya think?” she would ask me as she showed me her newest idea. Did I tell you yet that I knew nothing about arts & crafts? I, of course, said it looked great … at first, because this really pretty woman had agreed to move in with me so I wasn’t taking any chances, but after just a short while I began to see that the “stuff” that had taken over my living space was being turned into actual art. And, sitting in the Chester Craft Show as a first-time-ever exhibitor, I began to see that folks would pay money for this artwork. Real, honest-to-goodness money.

Sitting in that hippy wonderland in Chester in 1981, with all sorts of trippy artists around us, I realized that I had stumbled onto a perfect combination for a life partner … creative, smart (waayyy smarter than me), personable, pretty AND making cash money! I really don’t remember exactly how much money she made that weekend in Chester, NJ (I want to say it was probably around $700), but I do remember it was surely a whole lot of money to me at the time! We were so broke that we could hardly pay the $250 a month rent on the next-to-the-Stanhope-House-shit-hole, so believe me, that $700 or so was big money! I was an instant supporter of the arts! Keep on selling honey, keep on selling …

Of course, not every show was a winner, in fact, many were not. But Bunny kept going and trying and creating for all of our years together. There were times, many times, that her income really pulled us out of a bad spot. But by then we were a team, and her “stuff” was now “our stuff”, and we worked side-by-side to make the best life possible for ourselves.

So, when I look at “our” stuff in Bunny’s studio and storage areas, I don’t need to memorialize it or turn it into some monument to her greatness … it’s just stuff, not unlike everyone else’s stuff that does this for a career or a hobby. Nothing magical to it at all, the magic lives in the artist, not in the stuff. The picture attached here is a simple piece of fabric turned inside out with a small doll body stitched on it, not yet cut out or turned. It sits on the arm of Bunny’s favorite chair, where she could cut and stuff and talk and watch TV with enough room for a dog to sit next to her (dog in pic included for context). That little piece of fabric contains the very being that is Bunny to me. A piece of her creative process, a piece of her soul being turned into something so wonderful that someone, somewhere would have paid good cash money for it.

You can have all of that “stuff” in the studio, I’ll keep the piece of fabric right where it is, thanks. And folks who get to sit in that chair will get to touch that piece of fabric, in turn touching a piece of Bunny’s soul. You all can have the stuff, I won’t miss it one bit. I’ll just sit here and think about my piece of fabric, “sure, I’ll keep this” …

Starting a Blog

This was one of the very first posts I wrote when thinking about blogging. It was posted on a site call Widowed Village, and excellent resource and place for widowed people to share common bonds. This was originally posted on July 3, 2016:

My wife passed away on May 25, 2016 just a three days after our 34th anniversary and just a few days shy of our 35^th anniversary of being together, surrendering at last to a nearly 25 year battle with cancer. She had beaten cervical, breast and colon cancer over those years, but the final recurrence of a metastatic Stage 4 colon cancer was too severe and too aggressive for her to fight it any further. Cancer might have beaten her in the end but she left that bastard with some pretty good scars and bruises … she didn’t go down easy, that’s for sure.

While waiting for your admin folks to accept me, I’ve been reading through so many stories and remembrances of others here, and I have to say I’m thankful that my situation might be not as dire as some I’ve read. As anyone who is unfortunate enough to have to seek out this site knows, the loss is just staggering, but in a weirdly small way I almost feel lucky with the way my wife’s passing progressed. She was bed-ridden the last three months, but we knew what was coming and were able to really talk openly about how we were going to handle things at the end.  And, at the very end, she was hospitalized for three weeks, essentially drugged out on heavy pain meds so the pain wasn’t horrible and she passed quietly with both my daughter and I holding her.

With one exception (the death of my son at the age of 30) the last 15 years of our marriage were really, really good. Honestly, the entire 35 years were good, but the last 15? They were great! We certainly had our share of spats, arguments and full-out fights during all of that time, but we never lost sight of the love we had for each other. No one ever moved out, or slept at a hotel for the night, or anything like that.  The spat/argument/fight would be grand, we’d make up and then move on.

My wife, Bunny (her real name is Bernadette, but no one calls her that) is an artist (I still frequently find myself saying is, present tense, not was, past tense … and I see that I’m not alone in doing so), an art doll designer and instructor that was a sort-of big deal in the art doll community. She was (see, trying to get better at past tense) well-liked by all, loved by many, just a generally nice person with no pretenses or attitude, and if anything she was downright shy about her accomplishments. I was quite surprised by the volume of contacts I received after she died, literally thousands of emails, texts, FB posts, Tweets, blog posts, letters and cards. It was overwhelming to me; I knew she was in regular communication with many, many folks and groups, but I guess I just didn’t realize the extent of her reach.

Now, a little over 1 month later, I find myself still here, still breathing, still functioning. I have at least 1 horrible moment each day (at least 1, usually more) but it doesn’t feel crushing like it did the first week. I’m focusing on the really great life we were so blessed to have, and I’m so grateful that her ending days were not stretched out over many years of grueling pain. Despite her lengthy history with cancer, Bunny was always active and outwardly healthy in her appearance. It was only the last three months when she was, essentially, bed-ridden and gaunt that the disease was evident. Even in the past when chemo took her hair, she always looked great.  But at the end this 6’ tall Irish/Hungarian descent woman was down to about 100 pounds, a nearly 45% weight loss.

I was blessed for 35 wonderful years to be partnered to the most extraordinary woman I have ever known. I was also blessed to have been able to work with her to make a comfortable life for ourselves by working hard and planning, together. And I was blessed that she was able to withstand the avalanche of cancer cells that flung themselves at her over those years, while she maintained a cheery, positive outlook.

I’m still in disarray without her and I doubt that will ever change. Right now I have no intention of seeking another partner and zero interest in beginning any new relationships, even though I’m a sort of young 65. That might change someday, but I kind of doubt it. You always hear about folks being “bigger than life” or a “huge beacon of light” … Bunny was indeed all of that, and has set the bar so high that I cannot imagine anyone even coming close to reaching her level. But, I could also be wrong about that and I don’t want to purposely close that door, just not interested in opening it at this moment.

You also hear that some folks unrealistically idolize their departed spouses/loved ones, and I don’t want to give the wrong impression that she was without faults … far from it. As an artist she was in a constant state of disarray and her studio was always a mess. Her attention span was, at times, non-existent. And as you might expect from someone with Irish/Hungarian roots, her temper could be quick. But none of that detracted from her appeal to me; quite the opposite, I think it added to the mix.

I am completely broken in spirit now that she is gone, but eternally grateful for the 35 fantastic years we had together. My goal is to celebrate her life and try really hard to keep on moving forward … I know that is what she wants me to do. I write a lot in general, and it seems like it’s more now as I use it as a coping mechanism. I’ve learned a lot just from reading many of your stories and I already feel the friendship. Thanks for giving me a platform to release my feelings.

Peace, Ed