Entry #16: Peace

Mental peace for me has been elusive. For the last ten years, achieving peace has and continues to be hard to get a handle on.

So while seeing those pictures of Annie a week or so ago dredged up all the old demons and opened the door once again to the dark places I keep hidden, I thought that maybe I could make something positive out of the experience.

I took one of the printed photos of her and scanned it into the computer so I now have a digital copy. I didn’t edit it in any way. I wanted to remember her exactly the way she was when I took the picture so long ago. It is one of the few pictures I made of her. She avoided the camera whenever I pointed it in her direction. Some people just have an aversion to having their picture taken and Annie did not appreciate the art form at all.

Now I have a picture of Annie in my phone, and surprise myself how often I go to look at it. I haven’t slept well in those ten years. I always manage to wake up around three or four in the morning dreaming of her. The last few nights I have reached over and picked up the phone to look at her picture. I can remember every detail of her body, how she smelled, the beautiful sound of her voice and laughter. Using the picture has allowed me to go back to sleep for another hour or so.

I still don’t have peace as I dream of her every night. But, what the picture has given me is a bit more peaceful sleep. I can take that. I will never post a photo of her anywhere since she didn’t like her photo to be taken, but I may show it to a few people if they ever ask. I think I am ready to show a few people the image of the woman who chose me. We almost had it all. It was within reach and then snatched away from us.

Entry #15: Disfunction

When Annie described her family life and her journey, I found it to be a heartbreaking story.

She said that she knew who she was by the time she reached ten years old. While her mother supported her in minor ways, the animosity she received from her father devastated her. He railed against all her decisions, and when she was thirteen he threw her out of the house.

Against all odds Annie and Ellen surfed couches at the homes of friends and worked their way through high school. They went to the same college and even though they both worked around their classes, they could only afford one studio room on campus, which they shared until they graduated.

Both were lucky to land full time careers after graduation. Ellen with the government, which meant moving to Denver and Annie with an insurance company, making the move to Seattle. While building their careers they found they travelled frequently to the same cities and saw each other at least twice a month.

When we met, Annie was thirty nine, and Ellen was thirty eight. Neither were able to keep in touch with their families although through friends Annie made sure her mother always knew where she was. I remember many nights we would lie in bed and she would tell me horrible stories of her childhood. I grew to despise her father, even though we would never meet.

Even though we had not yet completed the arrangements to live together and move to Canada, our lives together were as normal as could be expected taking into consideration the discrimination she endured in the country at the time. She would take me to dance clubs in three of our favorite cities where she knew she would be safe from scrutiny and there would not be any issues. These clubs were unlike the bars or music rooms I frequented. Everyone was there to have a good time and no one cared about your personal life. We always went as a couple and were accepted as such.

After Annie passed and the months of anger and despair seemed to ease up a bit, I found that everything had changed for me mentally. It wasn’t enough that I gave up playing music. Traveling to the same cities we always travelled to, I found myself walking down the same streets, looking into the same shop windows, picking out clothes for Annie even though she was gone. One morning I woke up to find a bag on the table with a beautiful sexy dress in it. I obviously bought it the night before. At least I had the receipt so I took it back. I knew I had reached a turning point one night when I went into one of the clubs we had both visited so many times. It was so strange to go in as a male without her on my arm. There were some looks and I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t welcome any more. I was at the bar having a drink when a woman came up next to me, grabbed my ass and said hello. I turned to her, smiled and said sorry I am just leaving. I don’t know what she had in mind, but I was not interested.

I knew right then that I could not continue on like this. All of the adventures and the life we had in those cities were now just memories and every visit became more difficult. When I returned home, I quit my job. I could no longer play the music and I couldn’t continue to mentally tear myself apart revisiting those places. I just did not care about anything.

Over the intervening years the band has continued to reach out to me to play shows, but I just can’t do it. I still love music and will frequently go to some of my old clubs as long as the music is not what I played. Since I gained all the weight, most of the people I know don’t recognize me and I am ok with that. I would rather just pay for a ticket and sit in a dark corner in the back and enjoy the music without having to interact with anyone. I don’t travel much either and when I do, I pick places I haven’t been to before so I don’t have to face those old places.

I can face the fact that I have some sort of mental deficiency in dealing with this past, but the thought of going to a complete stranger to discuss it seems a bridge too far to me. Writing seems to be an adequate outlet for now, but what I miss most is having that human physical contact that comes from a having a true friend you can just hug and touch and discuss your true feelings with.

Entry #14: Introvert

I have always been an introvert. The truth is that I find most people either uninteresting or down right disappointing. Idle conversation just does not hold my interest and I would prefer to listen most of the time and if I have something of value to contribute I will.

So many conversations are initiated by people who just like to hear themselves speak. I am just not one of those people. Many of those same people show no interest in what is happening in the lives of others they are friends with. They are happy to pass the time with meaningless conversation, but seldom if ever ask the questions of another that would show that they are truly interested.

Over the years, my habit of listening more than speaking, and asking the hard questions of my friends gave me perspective into their lives. I can count on one hand the number of times those types of questions were posed to me. Disappointing, right?

Annie turned that model upside down. She immediately started out asking questions, and in return revealing her personal self. She was and still is the only person that managed to break through to me on a personal level. She was the only one who proved she did care by making the effort. Even today, I can start out a conversation with someone new, ask some questions, reveal some facts and still not get a question in return. I have to believe that most people just do not care how others feel or what is going on in their lives.

We had the deepest, heartfelt conversations between us as we described all our fears and hopes to each other. We both loved rain storms. When a storm was approaching we would head to the nearest beach to feel the fury of the storm and the pounding of the waves. The dark energy seemed to revitalize us.

Storms are a lot different for me now that she has passed. I still go to the ocean if I am near, whenever a storm occurs but no longer get the same result. It is always the same for me. I wait till the rain begins to pound on the sand and walk to the waters edge and sit and wait. The spot is always chosen where others are out enjoying the storm. I always write Annies name in the sand in front of me and wait. I wait for the rising waters to wash away her name as the tears stream down my face. No one else can see the tears because of the rain pounding on everything.

It would be so easy to just get up and walk out into the water and never be seen again. But then what? There is no guarantee I would see her again. Nor is there a guarantee that the memories I have of her would still be memories, or would there be nothing but darkness? The risk of losing those memories, which are the only thing that keeps me going every day is too much to consider.

So, when the tears finally subside, I get up and leave. There will be another storm and then I will be back to write her name in the sand once more.

Entry #13: The First Time

I remember the first time. After all these years, that moment is burned into my memory forever.

We were in Montreal for a show and it was just another rehearsal like so many others. We played the songs exactly the way we intended them to sound and then sat to listen to the playback.

Annie snuggled up next to me with her head on my shoulder as the music began playing. All of a sudden, when the voice track began, she was singing the lyrics in my ear to the music, soft as a whisper so no one else could hear.

In French! In stunned silence, I just sat there squeezing her hand, hoping the song would never end and I would breathe again before I passed out. As the song went on I could feel her shudder as she sang. When the song ended, I turned to face her, completely confused, only to find her in tears.

Annie said she had not spoken French in years, and she loved me so much she just became overwhelmed in the moment and it seemed to be the only way she could express herself. I had no idea she could speak any other language but English. She said yes, she also spoke Vietnamese and a bit of Tagalog.

After that evening, she spoke to me in French a lot. I mean every day. I do not understand 95% of what she said and she would translate in English immediately, but I had to hear her speak to me in French.

The hours, spent gazing into her eyes as she lovingly whispered to me in French just melted me. I will never hear her voice again, but those are memories I will take with me forever.

Entry #11: Gerald

A long time friend recently passed away. He had a very long and productive life.

Gerald and I met when I was in my late teens. He was in his early thirties at that time and he was a priest unlike any other. My friends and I would hang out in the local pool hall and we always saw Gerald there as well. One day we happened to get chosen for a scratch game with him and that is how we met.

I really did not know how to take him at first. He played pool like a shark, drank as much or more than we did and could tell the dirtiest jokes you ever heard. At the same time however, he was the sweetest and most supporting person you could hope to meet. He always listened to our troubles and dispensed his advise and thoughts to us no matter the subject.

We remained friends over the years and while he eventually moved to a position on the east coast, there was never a doubt about keeping in touch. It was one of those friendships that you just can’t explain. We were so different and so similar in opposite ways. Eventually he resigned his position and married a wonderful woman who was a stabilizing force in his life. He never thought much about his place in the world. He just went about his business helping less fortunate people in any way he could.

It came to pass one day after I met Annie that I really needed to have someone to talk to. Someone who could listen to my thoughts of love for her and fears about how our life together would play out in a country where she was not welcome. I called up Gerald and we spoke for quite some time. In the end his advice was to stop worrying about what anyone else thought or said about our relationship. It was none of their business and if they wanted to make it their business, they were no friends of mine. He suggested we simply love each other and find a place where we felt comfortable and safe and choose that for our home. Yes, he agreed Canada was a much better place. He held a lot of disdain for the U.S. claim of morality while the people acted like prudes whenever the topic of sexuality or gender came up. I do believe his thought process was ahead of the times we lived in, and was shocking that it came from a priest.

I wish Annie could have met him, as I am sure she would have enjoyed his friendship as well. He passed peacefully in his sleep, which is the preferred way to go in my opinion. Ours was a friendship based on mutual respect and a willingness for each of us to listen to what the other had to say. There is very little of that in the world anymore and those types of friendships are rare indeed. I know this to be a fact because after losing Annie, Ellen and now Gerald there is no one left that I can say gives me the same respect that I am willing to give in return.

While I am sad to see him go, I know that Gerald made a huge difference in many people’s lives while he was here. I am grateful to have enjoyed a lifetime of friendship with him and who knows, perhaps we will meet again in another time and another place.

Entry #4: In the Dark

So here I sit here in darkness on the cold concrete wall

Watching the surf as it tumbles and falls

The waves roar in anger while hiding the darkness below

My mind is consumed in anger and darkness and at times it’s all I know

I know that you rest forever beyond the sea

But is it possible you are waiting for me

When you left, the darkness snuffed out your light

In a mind full of darkness can there again be light

I would come to you to embrace what is now done

But I cannot bear the pain of seeing your name on a stone

There is comfort and warmth in my darkness

My mind embraces darkness in order to see your light

I know that you rest forever beyond the sea

But is it possible you are waiting for me

I think of you very day

Dream of you every night

Remember your scent

Remember your taste

Remember your smile

Remember your joy

The memories are all that’s left

I want to leave the darkness where your light is bright

But fear that once the darkness is gone I’ll never again find your light

The dark place is safe and the dark place is bright

But is an escape worth the fight

Shattered and broken, shattered and broken

The ultimate heartbreak of a grief unspoken

At one point my journey will end

And then I will find you again

I know that you rest forever beyond the sea

But is it possible you are waiting for me