Yes, Men Do Cry: A Journal

By Gary Fish

One mans personal journey of grieving the loss of his wife written over a period of 3 years

January 11 2002

Oh Booby, Booby, Booby. This explains it all. I want you back so much, yet fully understand this is a fantasy. It must be my way of handling (or trying to) my pain, thinking of the good times, wanting the good times, knowing that now they have to come from what I make. Round and round we go, its an intriguing web we weave ourselves. The web breaks, so we have to spin a new one. This I will continue to do until I make a web so strong that I will feel safe, feel confident with myself.

March 2 2002

Still feeling as though Im just floating like a feather in the wind. Like the feather I dont know where I will land. Its as though I have no control but I know for sure that this is not so. Im in complete control; it is me allowing myself to be in this state. I want companionship so much, but Im scared, I want to touch, explore, and feel someone. Selfishly for my own needs but its something I need to happen because I have to justify to myself that I can love again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479776160

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Copyright © 2013 by Gary Fish.

Library of Congress Control Number:          2013900401

ISBN:                  Hardcover                         978-1-4797-7615-3

                            Softcover                          978-1-4797-7614-6

                            Ebook                            978-1-4797-7616-0

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

INTRODUCTION

THE JOURNAL

LOIS’S EULOGY DICTATED BY HER

APPENDIX

Dedication

For Lois (Booby). Thanks for the memories and a great twenty five years and two great kids. You are not forgotten.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I would like to thank Marilyn and Bob for being so patient with me. They just listened as I repeated myself and leaned on them, but at least we got to drink some nice wines. They were my rock. Terry and Fran, thank you for being real friends as I know how hard this has been on you, Fran, and you have had to grieve your own way. Thanks to my mate, Dave. My kids Dallas (and Ang) and Nathan, I love you both. Your mom would be proud of you. Finally thanks to Liette, who enabled me to take the final step to the light at the end of the tunnel.

INTRODUCTION

The following journal is a documentation of how I coped with the loss of Lois (Booby), my wife of twenty-five years, on October 18, 2000. She was fifty-two years old and was the proud mom of our daughter, Dallas (Girly), and son, Nathan. The journal was written over a period of three years from November 2000 to October 2003, at first daily and, as time progressed, weekly, then monthly. It is a personal journey of the grieving process I went through. Yes, there are many books on grieving for women, but few for men. Many might not understand what I went through. There is no official ending as one does move on and accepts what is happening. Does one get over the loss? That is something only you can answer. I have moved on with my life, but I never forget.

I have no idea why I started writing the journal. Everything written just flowed, including forty-eight-plus poems. If you ask me today to write or create a poem, I couldn’t. There may be grammatical errors throughout as I am not a writer. It is how I felt, how I survived. As you will see, we are far stronger as individuals than we realize. There is repetition, but obviously, this is part of the healing process. Like Hemingway, I also had a place where I could write: the Sylvia Hotel overlooking English Bay in downtown Vancouver, Canada. I felt safe there.

There are many great counseling groups out there, but because of the macho man syndrome, men appear to prefer grieving in the privacy of their own home. I think that grieving for the primary caregiver begins unconsciously at the time of diagnosis. Why we don’t see this is because we are so focused on what is going on and do not understand what is happening; above all, we are scared and in denial.

Lois and I met on Valentine’s Day, 1975, and were married on May 23. She, like me, must have seen something that made us take that step so quickly. She was a caring, determined, and courageous individual who had a great sense of humor. In short, I like to think our relationship was a love story with a feisty heroine who was more than a pretty face.

THE JOURNAL

November 5, 2000, on my way to New Zealand to see my mom, brother, and sister.

Well, so far, Booby, this is the shits, but I know things will get easier. I can’t stop thinking of your birthday, September 4, 2000.

What a great evening it was. This was the day when I look back and realize that she was accepting what was happening to her. How do I know this? Well, Lois was a person whose appearance was very important to her, especially in front of others—everything had to be just right. She didn’t want to be a party pooper, so I convinced her that I could pull it off by having her birthday celebration at home and that our friends just wanted to be with us. So what if the spread I put on was not up to Lois’s standards? They would not mind. When she said okay, I knew she must be feeling worse than she was letting on to me. I prepared the best arrangement ever of snacks imaginable. Lois was so embarrassed. Hell, how could I have gone wrong with crackers, meat, cheese, olives, and pickles? They looked great to me. Everything I suspected about her pain and just feeling terrible was confirmed 100 percent when she made her entrance in her PJs. Yes, if you knew Lois, this is one thing she would never have done around friends—but she did have her makeup on with that ever-present lipstick, looking as good as ever.

It was a great evening. Lois lasted about one and a half hours before she told our friends she was tired. They all left except Terry and Fran, who just wanted to be with their best friend. Fran didn’t want to accept that Lois was dying. On the surface, Lois looked so good, but she was hiding how she really felt, especially in front of Fran. I finally had to tell her that Lois was lying when she said she wasn’t in pain. Terry and Fran finally left, and we went to bed.

What happened next was purely Lois at her best. It was what she was—one hell of a lady. We went to bed, and then, out of the blue, she said, I want you to make love to me, maybe for the last time. That was the last thing on my mind. Just cuddling her hurt, but she said she would be okay, but she might cry. We made love, but afterward, I could only cuddle her for a second because her body was hurting. We lay side by side. She cried. That was the last time we made love.

Again, this showed that you cared so much about others, about me coping with this whole shitty ride you were on; you knew how to make others feel good. I will never forget that special moment we had. Well, enough of the sappy crap.

I knew you would have been proud of me, the way I appeared to handle things after you were gone. The celebration of your life was great, and the Beach Grove Golf Club setting was you—class all the way. I’m sure you would have approved of the eulogy (You wrote the bloody thing!) and the two unbelievable letters from Girly and Nathan. Everyone who knew you could tell what an influence and impact you had on their lives. You have given them the strength and independence to cope with anything that they have to face in their lives. They will do okay; I will be okay.

It is true what you said—that you would be on my shoulder. I feel your presence just telling me to keep moving. I’m on the flight to New Zealand. I think that this is the hardest thing so far, feeling I have to go but not knowing why. It was bloody hard getting on the plane. I truly did not want to leave. It will be good to see Mom, Bruce, and Marg, and especially Trish and Ian and Pam and Len. I hope it will give them some closure, but most of all, I hope it will help me to grieve and continue on this new scary phase of my life. I have the kids and Terry and Fran and Bob and Marilyn to help me through this as unreal as it seems. I know you are gone, but I don’t understand it, and I have to do this by myself. I know I’m rambling, but, Jesus, it’s tough; you were my everything. I told you I loved you—you were everything to me. It takes something like this to realize just how important another person is to someone. Sure, we argued and worried about money, but the bottom line is we loved one another. It’s amazing what ten weeks means to twenty-five years of marriage. Our marriage was great; our life was great. We had two wonderful kids and great memories. Not having everything in common was what made us who we were as a couple. Hell, I was a Kiwi and you were a Canadian. Having the same likes and interests would have been boring. We played off each other perfectly, a bit like Burns and Allen, and it was great. You were the lead, and I was there to follow.

From the first date on Valentine’s Day, 1975, I knew you were something special, especially when it took me six weeks to get you into bed. But after that, it was full steam ahead. Remember our little bet. Who would give in first? If I recall, you gave up first about five months later, but only for a couple of days. I think people were surprised that we got married so quick—four months after our first date on May 23, 1975. I didn’t only marry you, but I also gained an instant daughter in Dallas (Girly), who I later adopted—I love you, Girly. But I guess we proved them wrong twenty-five years later. We did have a good marriage, just doing things as they occurred. When you stop to think about it, newly married couples have no idea what lies ahead. They just go on blind faith. Who can describe to them what it means to have a baby? It is great fun making one, but we had no idea that they are a constant worry (a good worry) for the rest of our lives. Having Girly call me Daddy as soon as we were married (at the reception) was a great thrill for me and also for you. Then, watching her grow up to become the woman she is today has been a neat and wonderful experience. Watching Nathan being born on August 29, 1979, was an amazing experience. To see him come into the world from your small body is still unbelievable. Then, to watch Nathan grow into the person he is today has also been neat. He is so different from Girly (except the gay bit). Yes, our kids are gay, but so much the same—both caring and considerate individuals. I wouldn’t swap the kids for anything.

We did so much together, you and me. It makes it harder for me to imagine life without you. I loved to give you things and take you to places. Remember our first anniversary where we went to San Francisco? It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Even though you had yeast, we had a great time. (The yeast thing is something every guy should learn about early on in a marriage as it can put a damper on things if he is a horny bastard.) Our weekends away are something that I will never forget. I think we stayed at all the major hotels in Vancouver. Remember the spontaneous Easter stay at the Bayshore? Girly was staying overnight at a friend’s. We were down there, having drinks at Trader Vic’s when one drink led to another, and you got so turned on, you suggested I get a room. (You didn’t have to ask me twice; you can’t take a rain check on something like this!) I rented a room, and we had a good dirty weekend. Then we went to dinner (you had no knickers on), then we went back to the room and did it all over again. Isn’t being young wonderful? At about three o’clock, we thought we should go home in case Girly got homesick, even though she was staying with her friend. When I checked out, the guy at the desk wanted to know what was wrong with the room. All I could say was no, everything was great, and he just smiled. Cheeky bastard.

Remember the Rolls Royce anniversary? I completely surprised you. There was a knock on the door (you thought something was up), and I told you to answer it, which took a lot of convincing. At first, you thought it was a cop as he was in uniform; but you were wrong, it was a chauffeur. We picked up Terry and Fran. It was champagne all round, then down to Trader Vic’s in downtown Vancouver. (No special room this time!) After dinner, we were picked up again, and the chauffeur said, Once round the park, then up Davie Street to see the ladies of the night and home.

So many neat things came from living at 4901B Linden Drive in Ladner. We established great friends. The first two years were great in that Dallas began school (we actually spent eighteen months in Vic’s—(Lois’s dad)—basement in Vancouver as times were tough, and we had rented out our place. Girly started her first two months of school at Lord Kitchener. When we first moved to Ladner, Sandy (our neighbor) thought Dallas was a boy as she was such a tomboy. Who would have thought? The next stage of our life was when we had Nathan. Jesus, he was such a little bugger as a baby and was always so independent. But no matter what, I wouldn’t change anything.

In 1982, we packed up everything and moved to New Zealand for four years. There was a recession in Vancouver, and as my dad was sick, it seemed a good time to go and let the kids get to know their grandparents and cousins from down under. This was such a gutsy thing for you to do as you really didn’t know anyone in New Zealand. Who would have thought you would meet two wonderful women—Trish and Pam—who you would miss so much when we came back to Canada? It was strange, but the relationship you forged with them in a few years had to be seen to be believed. Even though you hadn’t seen them for about fourteen years, they were as special to you as any of your friends here. Friends are unique. They cannot compete with each other because you are the only one who knows what place they hold in your heart. But I do like to think that I was your best friend as well as your lover and father to our kids, so I guess that this theory doesn’t apply to me. (You told me in the hospital the first time that you wouldn’t change a thing about your life if you had it to live over, except you wouldn’t have worried about having enough money for retirement.)

You know I loved doing things for you, especially making you feel special. The next big surprise was your fortieth. I don’t think I topped that one, except maybe New York. We had just been to Disney World in Orlando, and you didn’t think I could have planned a surprise. Wrong! We arrived home, I think on the Thursday. Saturday, a limo picked us up (Nathan thought it should have been a stretch), and it took us to the South Terminal where we took a helicopter ride over Vancouver. It dropped us off at the Pan Pacific Hotel where I had rented a room for a party. All our friends knew about it and watched the helicopter arrive. You were completely surprised! I even had a guy playing the piano. (Fran asked him to play Far Far Away. He wasn’t too impressed). You had a great time, and we spent the night in a suite—and yes, I was rewarded, or did I reward you? Whatever! I loved to make you feel good. You were one hell of a lady.

The next big thing that happened was when I built the apartment. Yes, it was a beautiful building, but what a disaster. At least we got to live on the waterfront for four great years. I thought we had money, and so did you. But I lied to you for too long because I thought I could get us out of the hole, and we did have a nice line of credit. It is terrible what the male ego can do. You were so wonderful through all of this. After taking your real estate course, your other amazing abilities surfaced. The first was being an incredible mother. You could have been successful at anything you chose in life. Doing real estate proved this. In such a short time, you excelled, only to have your life taken away too soon.

The last special trip you took was to New York. Oh, how glad I am that we did this! It was something you had always wanted to do, and we did it. Ten days of now the best holiday we ever had as it was the last. Just thinking of it makes me smile. You loved every minute of it. Seeing you so happy will always be with me. We walked and walked, at least six to seven hours a day, and you were never the athletic type (except in bed—in my memories). We went to most places you had dreamed of and ate in the top restaurants, saw two shows, and stayed in the cute, warm Hotel Lucerne. You also got to see a Yankees game.

You looked a picture of health. It was our twenty-fifth anniversary, and our life was getting back on track financially. The card you gave me for our anniversary was beautiful and something I will treasure. To old memories and ones we’ve yet to make. Happy Anniversary. Thanks for making this dream come true. Love Me (Lois) xoxo

That was May 23. Who would have known that two months later on July 27, our lives would be altered forever? It was the beginning of the end, but also the beginning of the most incredible experience I have ever had. This experience was given to me by the most amazing person I have ever known. You sure did take us on a great Disneyland ride. We did enjoy it the best we could, and no one got off. The strength and courage you showed—only you know its source; it will always be your secret. If only I can be as half as brave as you in the same circumstances.

I was so lucky to have Cheryl (palliative nurse who was convalescing after hip surgery). This was a friend of a friend who had twenty years of palliative nursing experience. I called her, and she said she had a book that might help me, the caregiver, understand what was happening and what was going to happen. I said thanks, if I could get to her place, I would pick it up. I picked up the book called Final Gifts (by Maggie Callanan and Patrica Kelley). Without this book, I and friends would have missed so much. (Cheryl, I will never be able to thank you enough. Without you, I would have experienced a system death, and I would have been none the wiser. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.) Booby, you were my everything. I don’t know how I will get by without you, but I know I will as you wouldn’t expect anything else. You made me who I am; you instilled confidence in me. Nothing but the best would do, and there was no room for excuses. We are responsible for our own destiny and you sure lead life to the fullest and with positivity (ask Rand).

I might be shallow, but the best thing I liked doing was making love to you. As I’ve already said, you were one hell of a lady. And as you said, If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Nothing could make what we had better. Booby, I loved you so much. I know you knew, and I will never love anyone like I loved you. Remember all those notes I would write you? Well, I found a lot of them the other day. You had kept them. Even though they may seem X-rated to some people (tough), it showed how much I loved you. It was something you and I had; it was between us. Booby, wherever you are, I know I will see you again. I just hope I make you proud when you look down from afar and approve of how I handle this shitty deck of cards.

I’m just looking out the window of the plane, and I see a star. Maybe it’s you. I don’t know why, but it sure makes me teary eyed and also makes me feel good. Even if I could see you one more time, I would just want to hold you and make love to you and for it to never end. But that can never happen again on earth. So till later, I have the memories.

July 27, 2000, was D-day—the beginning of the journey. At the time, Lois was told she had a terminal illness, we were both in shock. Looks like more me than her. I’m the one who broke down. We held each other, and then she said, Let’s pretend we’re on a Disneyland ride. We’re going to enjoy it as much as we can! Those who want to get off can; we just don’t know when it’s going to end.

Those words showed what an incredible person you were. Here was someone who had just been told she has terminal cancer, and you were thinking of how this last inning would be played out. One thing for sure, you were going to be in control, and you would do it your way.

August 4, we went to the Sylvia Hotel for our ten-day holiday. This had been planned for a year, and you said no way was she going to give that up. She loved English Bay.

What a ten days! If you could call it a holiday, it was, but under the circumstances, it was an experience as was all of August. You kept getting bad news after bad news, but with each, you seemed to grow stronger. First, you always made sure all your friends were okay and that the kids and I would get through this. Again, you kept hiding your pain from everyone except me, and you fooled them for a long time, especially Fran, who had a hard time accepting this. She just wanted to believe it was a dream as we all did. But I felt we only had a little time left together. Those days that we went to the beach were so special. You not knowing which one would be your last. You loved it so much, but I could see the pain in your eyes. I just hoped the sun would shine forever so those visits would never end. Finally, the weather changed, and your body weakened. But we had the last laugh. You will be at English Bay forever. Booby, we spread your ashes at the beach, and I have bought a bench for you. I have been down with you just about every day. It is just like a security blanket. Remember Girly’s blanket and Nathan’s bottle? The only difference is nobody can take English Bay away from me, and when we have the bench, I will sit and just go over memories. Then one day, I will join you on the bench.

Booby, I’m now at thirty-seven thousand feet, between Hawaii and Brisbane, and it is 3:00 a.m. Just looking out the window, the sky is covered by a million stars. It is so black, but there is a mystique of wonder. Now I don’t just look up at the stars and think of nothing in particular, other than wondering. I now have the sense that maybe that big house you dreamed about all the time is out there somewhere and that you are safe. I know you are strong, but we were a team, and the big dark universe littered with stars makes me worry about you. Please be careful and safe as you will be on your own for a while yet, even though you weren’t afraid to go. You told me it was going to be all right after you saw the lady who was there to help you in transition, and you saw your mum, dad, Pappy, and Eddie. Although you are with loved ones somewhere, I think that I’m the only one who can take care of you and love you in the way you really like to be loved. It’s amazing! I look out the window now and again see that single star. Okay, it’s because of how I’m sitting. I think not. It’s you, Booby. The night we spread your ashes at English Bay, there was one star. Earlier tonight, there was one, and now it is there again. Does it mean something? I don’t know, but it sure comforts me. You told me that you felt everything draining from your body on the Sunday before you died, and you were okay with it. No fear, no anger. You just seemed to be at peace. I knew you were going because you told me. I was the one who was scared because I didn’t know how I was going to survive without you. Selfish on my part. I still don’t, but having that feeling that you are okay helps, and looking out this window does make me think that there is something else after. Mainly because you were too good of a mother, wife, friend, and person to not have things more important to do somewhere else as you did a fantastic job with us. Even if this is true, it still stinks, but hopefully, we will be able to get the answer later. Your courage, strength, and just being you have been instilled into me, the kids, and also the close group of friends you let into the experience and ride you were on those last ten weeks.

I’m worried about Fran. Maybe she needs to talk to a counselor. Hell, I don’t even know what I need. This is something she cannot do alone as she has no control or experience of losing her best girlfriend. You were so much more than that to her, something that even I truly don’t understand. But that makes it even more important is that she gets help. If she will just talk to someone. It is not a sign that anything is wrong, and no one will judge her differently. It will just mean that we understand that she is hurting and that she can’t do it alone. Fran, I care about you. Lois wouldn’t want you to suffer in silence.

Bob and Marilyn are fantastic. Maybe because what they saw in the last two days showed them what love and companionship is all about. It’s about two people having unconditional love, warts, and all. I’m sure they are closer now than they have ever been since you have gone, realizing that nothing is forever and the ultimate showing of love is to be able to hold each other and cuddle and finally be there for the other when they are dying.

Just cuddling you is what I miss most at present. To be able to come home and hold you was very important. It’s a shame that you dying make this so true. I hope that Bob and Marilyn continue to do this till the very end. As when it’s over, one of them will be so lonely, and yet they will have all these good feelings, and this will be directly as a result of what I went through. I’m so lucky that I cuddled and kissed you just about every day of our life. Words cannot explain to anyone how empty I feel not being able to do this with you anymore. I just hope the people you touched during your ride learned something from this. But honestly, I think they slip back into their old and boring ways unintentionally as this is life, and life goes on. I feel Bob and Marilyn are the only ones who are truly getting the picture. When was the last time you heard of two old farts having a nooner? I hope this continues till they can’t do it anymore, and then they can canoodle; this is the ultimate.