Category: Impacting my Life

A8

(written on the back of the placemat, August 12th at A8 restaurant in Williamsburg, Iowa)

The seat across from me is empty at a place we used to love to go. General Tso, Egg Drop Soup, Fried Rice, and Crab Rangoon. This lunch combo is truly special. We’d often order two, though one was plenty for both of us, just so we could take home the leftovers. I’m holding my emotions!

My first stop on what is already proving to be a strange day. Heading to my 50th high school reunion. August 12th. The three-month anniversary of Pam’s passing.

Lunching here at A8 is a perfect example of “going through” the grief. I seem to be purposeful about going places and doing things Pam and I so enjoyed together. Not all at once. Each venture has its emotional toll.

Christie, who owns and runs A8 with her husband, recognized me and stopped by my table. We haven’t been in this restaurant in over three years! Asking about Pam, I gave her the news. She recalled that Pam looked tired the last time we were here. Another milestone. And I made it through without melting into my tears.

I completed the A8 ritual by smashing the fortune cookie with my palm, as I have always done. But there is only one. The seat across from me is empty. Oops! So is the fortune cookie (I laughed out loud). No special words of wisdom for me. No winning lottery numbers. So it goes. (Off to my next new life’s experience. Seeing people I have not seen for 50 years.)

“A gentle woman with no guile”

(written August 10, 2022)

People are like precious gems. We come in different colors (Color), have various visible and hidden flaws (Clarity), are shaped by our DNA and our experiences (Cut), and come in different sizes (“Carat” weight). The locale and pressures of where it is formed impact all four “C’s” that describe a jewel’s valuable attributes.

What ultimately is valuable is literally in the eye of the beholder. Though diamonds are considered the ultimate jewel, some prefer the “C’s” of rubies, sapphires, or emeralds. And even diamonds are comparably valued using the same criteria.

Comparing myself – my life – with Pam is a daily occurrence. In every instance I know that she embodied higher “C” values than I. Her birthstone was Ruby, but you can pick your gem. As I stated in the song The Song I Never Wrote for You, “a gentle woman with no guile.” Pam’s Color was brighter, her Clarity less flawed, her Cut, smoother, and the weight of her empathy, so much more impactful.

These are values I wish I could somehow achieve; receive them from her now to carry on. I certainly didn’t obtain them while we were together, though Pam’s goodness did rub off in some ways. Maybe I just assumed she was carrying the talisman for us both. Now I just strive to reflect her total beauty. Her sparkling refracted light. Oh my gosh how I love her and miss her!

Lemonade

(Written Wednesday, August 10, 2022)

“My wife used to do this.” That was the end of my brief conversation with a mother and two young children staffing a lemonade stand on one of my usual walking routes. I broke out sobbing. I waived a thank you and had to walk away, not wanting them to witness my total breakdown. It took me a couple blocks and stopping in the shade to wipe my eyes and nose to compose myself enough to continue. I was, after all, about a mile and a half from home. It was the first time since Pam’s passing that I had seen a lemonade stand in the right place, at the right time, having my wallet with me, and was convenient (as in walking vs. driving). I asked the older girl the cost to which she answered fifty cents. I handed her a $5 bill and told her I didn’t want that much lemonade but she could keep the change. She stuffed the bill in her jar. It’s amazing how such things unleash the floods of emotion. Pam made the children so happy every time we stopped, and even went out of our way, to buy some lemonade.

I woke up almost refreshed this morning. Samsung Health gave my sleep a score of 65 out of 100. Not too bad. Not my best. Not my worst by far. Supposedly I fare well vs. other men in my age bracket whose average is 41/100. I usually beat that by a wide margin.

But it was downhill from there. I didn’t even get the Healing from Loss open before my wailing began. It only took looking at Pam’s pictures on the table next to me, trying to make sense of the fact that she is no longer here, to send me to places deep within me where the hurt resides.

I finally pulled myself together and accomplished my morning routine. Being a beautiful weather day, I decided it would be good to walk off some of my emotional stress. It took a lemonade encounter and over seven miles to bring me back home where my journey continues.

I always smile first when I look at Pam’s pictures. Then the other realization sets in. “This (too) is bullshit!”

Some Past, Some Present, and Some New Future

My last post was March 12th. On that day and on the 9th, I hinted at complications in my life that I was not able to write about at that time and that, at some point, I would be back. Today is the time.

Wut Javia doesn’t have many blog followers. Most are family. Though a few family members don’t know the details surrounding Pam’s PD/Dementia disease, I think all now know that Pam died on May 12th of this year after a multi-year battle with physical and mental disability. It was my honor and labor of love to be Pam’s caregiver throughout this time, until the end. But the last year was by far the most challenging, heartbreaking, frustrating, and sad.

I kept a journal over the past couple years. Entries are sporadic due to emotional distress or, more often due to exhaustion at the end of the day. I have hundreds of texts and emails to and from family and friends describing general and specific challenges with related conclusions and emotional outpouring. I also have a complete record of my interactions with Pam’s neurologist on her behalf. These describe ongoing and ever evolving symptoms, potential causes, and recommended and prescribed treatments. In time I hope to review and incorporate all of this information into a collective document to be shared either here on the blog or in other written forms. Who knows, some of it may be helpful to others who take the twisted, dark journey of slow decline and death, and those who love them and care for them as they do.

I began a new journal on July 28th. It truly is a new beginning. Nothing is as it was. I think I am still me, but even that comes into question in this world without my love, my wife. One of the most beautiful people anyone could ever meet. And you don’t have to take my word for that! I am including that journal entry, along with one I wrote yesterday before writing this opening. To tie the past with the present, and into the future. Of the future I only know that I told Pam I’d be okay. That I would live and go on living. To date this commitment has meant much retrospection, introspection, excruciating emotional pain, hours of crying, and talking with family and friends who have helped me through some of the darkest hours of my life. So far the future consists of reading, playing my music, traveling, and going on with some semblance of daily routine; eating, sleeping, even watching some TV. Now, I hope, it includes writing about my experiences; past, present, and on into the future.

Though I don’t know yet how this blog will now evolve, I hope it continues to reflect who I am and what I am doing. Hopefully, it will be interesting and maybe even helpful to others.

July 28, 2022

So far, today’s two take-aways are What hurts and how much? and I’m trying to figure out how to live alone.

I hurt intensely when I look at Pam’s picture(s) and recall the depth of my love for her and how much I miss her. Sometimes I look and smile. She’s smiling in every one. But the pain builds inside of me. I can feel the weight of it. Looking at Pam’s picture at those moments, the hurt surfaces and the flood gates open. I have also been noticing that my legs start moving when my emotions are on edge. I start vigorously rocking in the chair, or shake my legs up and down, flexing my toes and raising my heals, just like Pam used to do when she was uneasy. Somehow, realizing why I am doing it is comforting. Like it’s just part of how I’m dealing with losing Pam.

I’m trying to figure out how to live alone. I’ve recognized this for a while and have even mentioned it to my sister(s) Jan and/or Cheryl. Discounting a brief time during and after my divorce, I hadn’t been alone. Okay, living with Gayle was close, but there were people in the house. And even when I lived alone after the divorce, Pam and I began dating shortly after. I had my own place, as did she. But I was less alone than in my marriage! But now I am alone. And one of the reasons I chose to write today rather than call Jan (although I still might) is to document these thoughts rather than texting or talking. And just maybe it’s part of my learning to be alone.

August 2, 2022

Today began with me thinking about what I was doing, driving around looking at guitars, keyboards, and recording equipment. What would we be doing if Pam was alive and healthy. The answer came quickly. Pam would be stamping while I play my guitar or fuss with one project or another around the house.

This morning I got a “Value Pack” in the mail with various useless advertising inserts – except one. Pam and I drove to a farm in the middle of nowhere that had been renovated and converted into a vineyard and winery, Buchanan House Winery. We were on one of our outings and saw the sign on a county road so we just drove there. The flier was a reminder that they offer free wine tastings. Just stop in. I’m going to do that sometime in the near future. If Pam were alive and healthy, these are the things we would be doing. We enjoyed living together, piddling around the house. We enjoyed each other. We enjoyed our jaunts around Iowa to places we’d like to eat or see. But all of that ended with Pam’s progressing disease. PD/Dementia took her life too soon. It took our life together away even before that. It robbed us of our future and completely altered the trajectory of mine – alone.

Marking Time

Father Time

Thursday, March 10, 2022

I woke this morning thinking that I am just marking time. It’s true – literally. Okay, probably figuratively too.

The first thing I see when I look up is the time projected on the ceiling from the clock sitting on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Sometimes I just turn over and try to fall asleep again. Often, I begrudgingly begin my day, noting the time for future recording. At other times I greet the day, and my lovely wife, with hope and anticipation of a happy, uneventful day.

We are guided, maybe constrained, by a daily routine of medicine, food, and chores. So much so, that I have a spreadsheet to guide timing and recording of when we accomplish each task. The “Daily Routine” spreadsheet is my attempt at keeping a calendar as recommended by someone on our medical team. I admit that the spreadsheet, rather than a marker board that just doesn’t do exactly what I want, plays well into my “particulous” (a description attributed to me when I was in corporate management – particular and meticulous) nature. There are tabs for each week and I make copies for future weeks. I even keep track of the variance between the weekly average for each task compared to the previous week and its target time.

To keep us on track, I have several alarms set on my phone, with varying snooze levels and repetitions. This works! I know this because when I choose to, or accidently dismiss an alarm before completing the task, I often forget about it and miss a critical med or snack time. Again, this plays into my personal sense of order. But it is also important so that we can maintain a prescribed, hopefully healthy, daily regimen.

Our lives now require order and stability more than ever. This also helps make sense out of senseless challenges and difficult times. I am not now prepared to explain this necessity. Actually, I’m out on a limb just bringing it up. My worry is that, while we need to keep track of our daily routine, I fall into the trap of thinking that this is our purpose in life. It’s not just a pattern of marking time. Living is much more than the time we have. It is about how we live within it.

I’m pretty sure there are some who read this blog that can relate.

One of These Days

One of these days I’ll have a lot to say in this space. The issue is that what I have to talk about is so personal and involves another person that I love. So I’ll have to wait – as will you.

Suffice it to say that these last three years have brought more personal challenges than hiding from COVID-19, sequestering from travel, restaurants, and shopping. More than political and economic issues.

Is your curiosity is piqued? Watch this space. But it may be a while. Until that time I hope for you peace and love and survival!

Fragment

“Somehow I think that I am not alone in dealing with these feelings; feelings of love, anxiety, fear, and even hope.”

(I wrote this post last Friday but didn’t publish, deciding to let it marinate for a while. I just reviewed it and decided to go ahead and post as is. Hope it finds you happy and well. Hope you find it interesting.)

I keep thinking I want to get back here and write, just write, about anything – about everything. So many events and changes take place in our lives every day. Nothing is stable, nothing dependable. Sometimes events and changes unfold by the hour, sometimes more or less often.

So many thoughts and feelings I’d like to share. But I cannot. I won’t compromise my loved ones, my family, my friends. I won’t risk opening rifts that might not be healed. It might be politics, it might be relationships. It might be very personal issues within myself, or with family or friends.

Somehow I think that I am not alone in dealing with these feelings; feelings of love, anxiety, fear, and even hope. That because we all harbor these feelings our lives, our families, our communities, and our worlds, are fragmented. No one person, politic, or community is able to put the pieces together, let alone keep them adhered.

And so I write. Writing that also is fragmented. But at least I’m back here. It’s good considering I’m paying for the space to do so. Hopefully, it hasn’t been too much of a waste of your time to read it. Feel free to let me know you don’t want me to waste your time like this. Otherwise, I might just ramble again. After all, this is just another fragment.

Happy Trails

I am happy to hold memberships in two organizations whose goals are to convert abandoned railways to and connect the country from coast to coast with multi-purpose trails. Rails to Trails Conservancy and American Discovery Trail (TM).

It has long been a goal of mine to complete at least part, maybe the Iowa section, of these trails. My focus has changed from cycling to hiking since I first became aware of these organizations. When weather conditions allow, I walk a few miles each day through local neighborhoods, not taking time to travel to area parks. My mind often wanders to the mountains where I’ve enjoyed distance from the same neighborhoods and where I am embedded in the awesome splendor and dominance of the peaks and valleys and their exposure (and mine) to the power of nature and the elements.

I haven’t been able to visit the mountains these past few years. Last summer I began escaping to a backpacking trip across Iowa in my mind. I don’t know whether I will ever make even a portion of this trek a reality, but it’s fun to contemplate and keeps my mind occupied while on the sidewalks I repeatedly travel.

Meanwhile, I enjoy knowing that there are organizations and people dedicated to making safe, scenic, trails available to all. But the mission is not complete. Visit the web sites linked above. You will find that the American Discovery Trail (TM) is far from complete and that sections include walking and riding county roads and are not yet effectively connected. Funding is also needed to purchase additional sections of rail. The railroads don’t just donate them, nor are the conversions cheap. Visit. And if so inclined, add your donations to their efforts – whether you ever get to use them personally or not.

Here is one of my favorite Iowa destinations :
High Trestle Trail near Madrid Iowa
It is part of the Heart of Iowa Nature Trail. It is converted from a rail bridge over the Des Moines River and is included in a segment of the ADT.

Gone But Not Forgotten – The Mill Restaurant

The first sentence of my “What is Wut Javia” page references The Mill Restaurant in Iowa City. The story goes on to explain how I arrived at the Wut Javia moniker. I found myself viewing this page again today due to a system notification from my web site provider.

I was reminded that, after 58 years in business, this Iowa City landmark closed forever in June. Apparently the COVID-19 impact was enough to move the owners into retirement. I am saddened to know that this venue which so affected my musical development many years ago and again more recently, is no longer available for friends, food and drink, and presentation of local and regional talent. Just had to get this posted.

So many elements of my life have changed, both because of COVID-19 and otherwise, that I have not been able to concentrate on developing travel and other stories so far this Winter. Hopefully, I’ll get going over the next few months.

Meanwhile, hope your holidays are bright and we all have a happier, healthy year in 2021!

Harvest

Today will be about 20 degrees cooler than yesterday, with highs around 60. I walked my Northern route again yesterday. The corn is gone, leaving only stubble. I hope the harvest was successful, with only minor loss from the Derecho damage.

Trees are turning here in Southern Iowa as temperatures drop and the cool wind blows. The sun is setting by about 6:30 and nights are lengthening. Pretty poetic don’t ‘ya think?

At any rate, winter is coming. Let’s all hope for no more sickness, no more pain. It’ll be cold enough without.

Happy Autumn to all.