Who's The Tough Guy Now?

And the tough guys tumble
Originally uploaded by andrey dias

Well, I have to report that last night was as painful as I suspected it would be. In fact it was worse.

I'm not exactly sure why I had such a difficult night. Of course my day was simply awful, so why not my night. Actually my day yesterday wasn't really awful, it was mostly exhausting and emotional. I really did have fun trying to make my way to pick up my son, and the two of us did enjoy our attempt to get home, fighting the elements.

I think the likely culprit for my emotions is that I am almost a week away from the 6 month anniversary of Michael's death. I just finished writing an email to a fellow widow who also recently lost her husband to a brain tumor. I was saying that last night was the most painful I have had in a very long time. The intensity of my grief was similar to that of the first few months. It was the type of pain that I wish I didn't have to endure, yet part of me welcomes it.

Feeling these intense emotions, feeling Michael's absence with such physical pain, feels like ongoing proof of his existence. As I got into bed last night I was immediately consumed by the agony of my loss. I couldn't lie down. I cried and cried into my pillow, sitting and rocking on my bed. Soon I was doubled over in pain, wondering if I was going to make myself sick. This went on for such a long time. For a moment I didn't know what to do. It was as if I was experiencing this for the first time. Then I got out of bed and grabbed my laptop. I needed to see if anyone had posted on my blog, or anyone had posted a new entry on their blog. I needed to know that someone was awake. When I looked at my earlier post I found that there was a comment from my daughter. It said that she was awake in her room if I needed her. I'm probably the worst when it comes to seeking help or support. This should come as no surprise, as I am a man. It makes me remember something Michael said to me a couple of weeks before he died. At that point I was having to help him walk, help him eat, help him bathe and help him in and out of bed. One night he pulled me close to him and said, "you know, you're not so tough. When I get better I'm going to take you to a wrestling ring and show you who's stronger." I said, "bring it on."

Try as I may to change, change does not come easily.

As I wrote yesterday, I received a letter from one of Michael's friends. This friend is always so sweet in the way he takes time to share his thoughts and memories of Michael in cards or letters. In last nights letter he was sharing with me a phone call Michael had made to him about 4 years ago. It was a call from Michael on a Sunday in April. In fact I know the exact day, it was Sunday, April 22, 2006. How do I know this? It was the day after Michael and I met. He had picked up the phone to call his friend Thomas, and to tell him of meeting a new guy at Badlands (a gay bar in SF.) He told Thomas that he really liked this guy, and that he was looking forward to getting to know him better. Well, we got to know each other better. In fact, we got to love each other.

I am so appreciative to Thomas for sharing this memory with me. Yes, it opened a flood gate of grief, but it was evidence, once again, that Michael was here. It marked history. It marked history in the time line of my life with Michael. Our time line was short, but our time was filled with so much joy, and so much pain. So much passion, and so much frustration. It was easy to love him, and sometimes difficult to live with him. Actually, it was probably more difficult for him to live with me. I had so much to give him, yet needed so much in return. We grew quite a bit together.

But where was I? I was doubled over in pain. I was needing support. I was needing to not feel so alone. I put my computer to the side. I walked upstairs from my bedroom, and stood in the middle of the kitchen, telling myself it was okay to take my daughter up on her offer of support. And yet, I stood there feeling like I shouldn't need this. I am the parent. Why is it so hard to accept help? Someone was telling me to move forward, that I didn't always need to be so strong, so I took the next step.

I ended up lying down with my daughter, talking, crying and laughing. I really appreciate, and love her. This life of mine has felt very painful, but it definitely has it's blessings.