Entry #39: 12 Years

In just 10 days, the anniversary of Annie’s passing will be upon me.

I find it impossible to face the fact that it has been so long. Not a day goes by that I do not think about her. The most mundane of things I observe at any given time will make me think of sharing what I am seeing at the moment.

I have read so many articles on grief and moving on, that at times my head spins. The hard truth of the matter is, I cannot move on. One result of not being able to deal with her death, is the fact that I gave up drinking alcohol in any form.

Failure to drink alcoholic beverages has managed to keep most of my demons at bay, except in the rare occasion where I forget and actually take a drink when out with friends. It only takes one. One drink and the depression and darkness overwhelms me and all I can think of is Annie, even while still being among other people. Immediately, my demeanor changes and I must find a way to graciously make an exit. When this darkness roars back, I am in no mood to engage with anyone.

Twelve years without her. Twelve years without intimacy because I am simply afraid that nothing and no one can ever replace what we had together. How could I ever share the baggage I carry with anyone else? Would anyone else care? Would anyone else not run in the other direction, should they find out? My silence, my darkness I find to be the safest of places.

Twelve years without her has made me into a different person. I don’t enjoy large crowds and most of the time I am quite content to be solitary and alone with my thoughts. I listen more than I speak, and I suppose most people think of me as rather indifferent due to my lack of engagement in what I perceive to be inane conversation. Just another piece of baggage I carry with me.

As the date gets closer, I will close myself off to more and more people. It is just what I do. Right now I will be thinking of her and make plans to visit one of the favorite places we shared together. Spending the day in one of her favorite places won’t eliminate my funk, but it will grant me a few hours of pleasure, just by reliving our mutual love for that place.

Many writers and other people just say to move on and get over it when dealing with this type of grief. In my case, the fact is I will never be able to get over it. I will never be able to get over the fact that Annie died without being able to experience what she worked her whole life to achieve. She was cheated out of the love that I have for her and the life we would have made together. In a world filled with hatred and dismissal of who she was, we had our own little bubble of safety and love that provided her and therefore myself with a peace that is lacking in the world even after all these years.

So here I wait for the anniversary of her death yet again, and I wonder how many more anniversaries I will see before I am able to join her.

Entry #29: Montreal

Montreal was one of our favorite cities. I didn’t travel there often before I met Annie and because of that I knew little of the city. That all changed with Annie.

Annie loved Montreal and convinced me to travel there more often so we could meet and she could show me all the great things about the city. It only took a few trips for me to realize how much I had been missing and how this particular city was so well suited to who we are and our dreams together for the future.

As I write this, you have to remember that all of this transpired a long time ago. Annie was never welcome in the U.S. during that time. The fact that she had a successful corporate career was a testament to her drive and the fact that she found herself in a company that refused to allow discrimination within its ranks. Even by today’s standards, many companies pay lip service to non-discrimination but turn an eye away from actual instances of it.

I became an expert at watching for “the look.” The more often I saw someone looking at Annie with disdain and hostility, the more dismayed I became for her safety. The reality of the situation was that since I was accompanying her, those feelings were projected onto myself as well.

We shared our feelings over this many times and we worked hard to find a place where we could live and have a future together in a welcoming environment. In the end, Montreal became the obvious choice. Even though it was only a short plane ride away, it was like traveling to another world where your gender or color of your skin held no sway over living an every day life in peace and happiness. The U.S. held no such hope for us. Even today, while I still live in the U.S., I would prefer to live somewhere else that is more inclusive and welcoming to everyone.

Without Annie however, there is little motivation for me to leave. Without Annie, life has become something like living on a treadmill. The day-to-day is repetitive, all the while my memories of her surround everything I see and do.

Her picture in my phone and her iPod, which frequently finds itself in my pocket, represent the shattered life that remains from the love that we shared for each other.

Entry #28: Hands and Eyes

Annie had the most beautiful eyes and hands of anyone I knew.

There were so many stories that hid in those eyes. It always surprised me to see how quickly her eyes could change. The pain and despair she felt when dealing with an intolerant society always showed in her eyes. She was beaten down so many times, yet always persevered to rise up again even stronger.

But…there was so much joy in those eyes as well. When we were together, making our way in finding out everything we could about each other, her happiness pushed back the pain. Once she accepted and embraced our relationship, she transformed into a new person. Still shy and introverted in public, she never held back from seeking new adventures and explorations with me. It seemed to me that I opened a door that she kept closed since she was thirteen, and now that it was open, there was no holding her back.

And she had amazing hands. Long and slender fingers which were always perfectly manicured with a constantly changing palette of nail polish. Soft hands…the softest hands I ever felt. Yet those hands were like fire. When she touched me, whether it be holding hands, or something more intimate, those hands caused me to lose my mind on so many occasions. The simple act of her human touch sparked many emotions and so many times it was hard to maintain control.

I have never met anyone else who could speak to me in such a personal way with just her eyes and hands. Watching and observing, and interacting with her every day, and week, and almost year that we shared together made for the happiest time of my life.

She didn’t deserve her fate. Annie had so much more to live for. I know how happy I made her, because she told me and showed me over and over again. If only she could have lived to enjoy the freedom the surgery promised.

Entry #27: Beautiful Stranger

There is a common fantasy among the male population. I am not sure if any women have the same fantasy, as I have never asked, but I would suspect it is so for them as well.

It goes like this.

You wait and wait for the day a beautiful stranger will appear in your life and everything you know will change and you live together happily ever after. It could happen, right?

Well, the first half of that happened to me. The night Annie walked up to me was just like thousands of other nights until that moment. I never knew what hit me. I was so mesmerized that I completely missed the start of the conversation. It took a few minutes for me to realize she was actually speaking to me and asking me questions.

Those first few moments changed my life forever. I knew in an instant that this was the moment I had lived my life for. When our eyes locked, we both seemed to recognize at the same time that something scary and at the same time, beautiful was happening to us both. Through everything that transpired from that night on, I could never understand how two people coming from such different places could meet and form an instant bond, while not knowing anything about the other.

I was never sure which of us was more afraid of what was to come. I wasn’t looking to meet anyone and she was afraid of any interactions with men. Her eyes, which were black as coal when we first met, hid her emotions. Yet within minutes I could see subtle changes as the tension in her posture relaxed.

I never tired of watching her change when she was with me. We spent countless hours watching each other in all types of situations. We communicated with each other even in the most intimate moments without speaking a word. I learned exactly what she lacked and desired and how to please her in every way. I waited my whole life for her and she was so much more than I could have ever hoped for.

Annie opened my eyes to people and lifestyles I never experienced before and once I did know, I could not live without them or her. Her joy became mine and her issues became my issues.

When she was ripped from my life, I was left with nothing. All that remains is a black hole where I find my peace and solace in the memories of our life together. I trust few people and put on a happy face when I need to deal with others. But…it is all a lie and a hollow life now.

There will never be another beautiful stranger like Annie in my life. When the fantasy becomes reality, it only happens once in a lifetime.

Entry #23: Waking Up

I don’t sleep much since Annie died. Most nights I sleep for four to five hours.

I do manage to spend that time dreaming. My dreams encompass every little detail of my life with Annie. All of our trips, meals, events we attended and even down to the minute details of our intimate time together.

The problem I have is with waking up in the morning. When my eyes pop open and I realize I am awake, it’s always with disappointment. Waking just kills my dreams of Annie and leaves me with another day to get through without her.

I don’t know how to get past this part. It sometimes seems like a never-ending circle or ground hog day every day. I wake up waiting for the light that never comes. Annie was the light and when that was snuffed out, there left little but darkness.

So, every day I go about my routines. I have projects I am working on, but they are fractured. All of them started, yet I am easily distracted by my thoughts of Annie that constantly pop into my mind at any hour of the day or night. At times I wonder if any of them will ever get finished.

At the end of each day I know there will be sleep. That is when my mind is clearest. I can relive every moment of our lives together in vivid color, hear her voice and feel her just as if she was there in bed with me.

If only I could sleep with her longer, perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to be awake.

Entry #22: The Eyes Have It

Some time ago, during one of my storm walks on the beach I met a young woman. I will call her B.

She is everything Annie was not. Annie was very tall and rail thin. B is on the short side with beautiful curves. Annie had solid dark eyes in which she could hide her emotions until I became able to read them. B has very light colored eyes and in those eyes I see a calmness and serenity I did not see in Annie. Annie was a fashion maven and overachiever, while B seems a throwback to an earlier time. B lives a simple life without a lot of possessions and a freedom that comes with youth that I have long ago lost. I am also old enough to be her father.

During that first meeting, B told me that she is a witch and comes to the beach during storms to absorb the dark energy that gives her power. It made no sense to me but I told her I come to the beach to embrace the darkness of loss. We had a nice chat and went on our ways. I have run into her every so often at the beach and we always say hello and she then moves on with her friends.

I don’t have her phone number, address or know much else about her but with a recent storm hitting the west coast, I reached out to her on social media, told her I was going to the beach and asked if she wanted to join me to enjoy the storm. She agreed and we decided on a spot.

So there we found ourselves, a young woman and an older man sitting in the dark in the warm rain on the beach, shoulders touching and not saying a word. She would draw some sort of witch figures in the sand and I would draw Annies name. The rain would wash them away and we would repeat this over and over again. We stole glances at each other every once in a while and I think she could see my tears but she said nothing.

After a while she grabbed my hand and just held on. I could feel the vibrations of her saying things while she drew in the sand which I took to be something about her witchcraft but it was hard to hear the words over the waves and rain.

We sat like that for quite a while until she stood up. I took that to mean she achieved what she wanted from the storm. We gave each other a hug goodbye and she said, see you at the next storm. I said yes, that would be nice.

I normally prefer to sit in my own personal darkness at these times, but in this instance for some reason, I decided to share my space. I don’t know if I will do it this way again, but it wasn’t a bad experience at all. I appreciate that we shared the space, but what if she asked about my personal demons? I cannot reveal to anyone in person what I reveal here. Anonymity is my line in the sand.

She exudes a beautiful aura that I am sure will capture some young guy. I enjoyed her presence that night on the beach and perhaps it will repeat itself or not. Either way, I draw my strength from being alone now. No one can replace Annie, nor will I allow anyone to get close to me like that again.

She went her way and I mine, back to our respective cars to change into dry clothes as ours were soaked through and through. After changing, I sat for a few minutes thinking she has a beautiful soul that just shines through her eyes. I don’t know anything about witches or witchcraft, but if she was presented to me as a beautiful vampire with those remarkable eyes…now that would grab my attention.

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.