Five months today - A letter to Marcie

So, today marks five black months since I lost the one person in my life whose true-heartedness, beauty, intelligence, independence, sweetness and depth could completely enthrall me, and did.

To my beloved wife,

I have been trying to open my eyes and wake from this nightmare, now in its sixth month. Perhaps that word seems strong, but after 14 years of you, such a sweet, long dream, the profound absence of you is so very stark.

I hope to share, again, what you gave me. I do not know if you got all of this before you passed, and I now am so grief-wracked that I cannot remember clearly what I shared. All the more reason to do so again, freshly, I guess.

You defined so much about me. You encouraged me to continue in what I did that you loved, and you brought me around on anything you didn't. I could not refuse you, though it was never easy to lead me to change, I know.

Your gentle admonitions, calling me to reflect on my gentler ways, softened and warmed my warrior heart. Your drive to seek goodness before riches, and to appreciate what is free (and to free oneself), directed my work to higher purposes. You inspire me to be a force for good.

Your loving and attentive touch healed so many wounds in me that I cannot begin to list them. You taught me that some of those wounds, once closed, should never be reopened. I will try to uphold that outlook without your constant and sweet reminders. You teach me to forgive, a lesson I will try to not forget.

"Honey, don't cast pearls before swine," you said.

I don't know how many times and in how many situations you used that line to remind me that I should not pour myself into fruitless or unappreciated efforts. I still struggle with that. But even when I do toss them, your voice echoes the maxim.

You used to draw my attention to the simple beauties around me, the leisure and the ease of our life together, no matter how I wanted to build it up more. You teach me that simple pleasures are more lasting and dear in their absence than wealthy indulgences.

Your life affirmed to me how family, though precious, is almost always the source of the worst pain we can experience. The things you put up, and the dignity you showed while doing so, amazed me. You were a noble and strong example I will try to emulate.

I know you said you want me to get out and find my way in a world without you. I don't know if I can.

I do promise to draw on all the strength you have given me, all the lessons we learned together, and all the memories I cherish of you to get through just one more day, or hour, or minute, or second. Maybe something will turn, maybe it will not.

Either way, whether for a happier tomorrow or the last of them, I carry on, still thoroughly in love and absolutely crushed.

Right now? Marcie, I wish I could touch something more of you than a box of your ashes and a picture, because what I need now most is your soothing caress.

Your Husband

Soothing the beast

It has become more and more obvious since Marcie's passing that she served as a check on my wild side. It was most welcome as I am, at times, far too fierce.

When I cam home upset by work, or the world in general, and wanting to go out and take on the whole damn mess, she could almost effortlessly calm me down, soothe me and put my mind on other things. She knew I needed it.

Her calmative effect on me is sorely missed.

I find myself holding my ground and digging in where I may have let things slide. I am also running a bit wild and telling people what's on my mind, regardless how appropriate or not.

It's all "Damn the torpedos!" all the time.

She calmed me with her love, with her simple caring for me and her gentle demeanor overall. I try to reflect on what she would do or how she would react to how I want to deal with situations.

I guess she's still helping, but I feel that hard edge on me sometimes, and I wonder if I am simply supposed to be that way. I hope not.

The doves

Marcie and I always had a large assortment of birds that came to expect seeds or nuts or other favors from us. We gladly obliged. The birds not only enthralled Seamus, but also brought us no end of joy.

Our favorites were the mourning doves. Gentle and sweet, their calls haunt the dawn and dusk at times in San Diego. You can hear it here. They whistle when they fly off very prettily.



I had no idea before I posted this that the males were the ones who deliver the sad signature song. I believe they truly do mourn.

"Hard Sun" Video Tribute to Marcie

Here it is, Marcie and I getting married, this time with a song that reminds me of the guiding and stabilizing force Marcie was for me. Truly, she was and remains my muse, my lover, my soul mate, my guiding light and, to a degree, my source of hope.

I will try to cut through the pain and write more about this on a deeper level this weekend... I have another video tomorrow to share that tells more of her.

By the way, Eddie Vedder was Marcie's rock crush. She loved the guy. I think he has the best voice of all the grunge rockers and certainly has the most staying power. Anyways, that's the artist singing here.

Toughest Post Ever

I finally finished a passable digitization of our wedding tape. It has been nothing but tears working on it. I hope you enjoy it, tears or not.

I'll try to post something substantial on our wedding trip some other time. For now, just know Marcie, who wanted nothing to do with a big wedding, got her wish. No "bridezilla" moments and no outrageous spending or gift collecting. All she wanted were love, privacy, and two in defiant testimony of sentiments they held for each other.

I was sick the whole time with flu, my voice cracked at the ceremony, and I was so very deeply in love I thought I would drown. I had no idea that i would be one of the lucky few who never quite surface. I do now, and I am forlorn even more for it.

I will post another version to the tune of "Hard Sun" sometime after I buy a copy of the soundtrack to "Into the Wild." It's the perfect length to match the video.

Sometimes I don't think I can keep on going. It will be six months on Saturday. I feel as if it was just yesterday that I held her in my arms, or even last night.

Easter without

Marcie and I had our own reasons for celebrating holidays, and our own rituals. There were presents at Christmas, candy for the neighborhood kids at Halloween, and all of the standard fare of American holidays. But we also had special traditions.

Easter had the advantage of always falling on Sunday. This meant that we had the morning together usually, then the evening was spent with relatives, hers or mine, depending on the year. But the mornings...

Easter morning usually meant a delicious breakfast and some languor. That time of ease always made the holiday tolerable, no matter the evening destination.

We always brought each other cards and candy,usually See's. We would exchange those gifts and others, and generally reflect, sometimes over mimosas or screwdrivers. Oh, yes... drinking a bit sometimes was in the plan, usually well before noon.

Without fail, we spent the balance of the morning of the first holiday of spring in bed every year.

Last year was a little different. We spent the time in bed simply napping. I remember she wanted peeps, the marshmallow candies. I bought her some. She may have just wanted to taste them one more time, but she did not say as much.

I held her, hoping for a better Easter this year, when our languor would be of a more lively sort.

Needless to say, it did not feel like Easter today. I was not good company for my father, who met me for breakfast, though I tried.

I was just caught up in her, dazed all day. No matter the distraction, a pounding workout with probably way too much weight, a vegetarian chili that took hours to prepare and cook, numerous little tasks, they all failed.

All I could think about was kissing her lips from around a chocolate creme egg from See's, something we made into a tradition after she kept half of one on her lips one morning at our little loveshack downtown on Ninth.

We kissed and it went everywhere from there, and Marcie said "Okay, so next year, that will be my signal that I am ready," she said in the afterglow.

Some years in lingerie, some in her skirt or still in pajamas, she would wiggle a piece of her chocolate egg from her lips when she caught my eye. I looked forward to that signal all Easter morning for thirteen years.

Now, it's just another something we won't get to do together again.