Sigh of Relief

My father died June 25.

But my real father died several years before that.  I can't place an exact date, but I lost him for good sometime in the Fall of 2003.

Alzheimer's disease stole pieces of him as early as 1999.  And then kidnapped and killed him by 2003.

The shell of the man left behind wore his face, but it was not him.  The shell of the man had his voice, but it was not him.  The shell of the man lived, but it was not him.

The last 3 years of the Shell-man was in a vigil state coma, a wakeful semi-conscience place, not dead but alive.  Constricted muscles, treac in his neck, Shell-man could open his eyes and move his arm.

That was it.

My father read the New York Times, every morning.  He loved photography, and was into computers before it was in every household.  Even though he had lived stateside for over 50 years, he spoke with the most beautiful Puerto Rican accent.  Like having Ricardo Montalban in you house. "Janie!  Breekfas'!  Come don to eeet!"

He had ticklish feet.  A trait you don't share with a little girl that loves to make her father tuck up his feet under the blankets.  And he loved to watch boxing.  The old timers; the Greatest, Ali.  I would sit in the living room and try to understand the shorthand he spoke to my grandpa.  "Upper cut! Upper cut!  Jab, jab! Knockout!!"  My uncle could make him laugh so hard tears would slip from the corners of his eyes. We would watch the Muppets and Jeopardy!  We could discuss Andy Rooney being such a cranky old man.

My favorite memory is from September 3, 2001.  Having the day off for Labor Day, I ran some errands, then met Pop in midtown to see "Amelie".  He bought the tickets, I got the popcorn.  For two hours my Pop and I watched the sweet French woman in hues of green and red.  Paris was a feast of color, and we ate it up selfishly.  After the movie, we talked about all the different neighborhoods we'd recognized, how as a family we needed to go back, (we were always finding reasons to vacation in Paris as a family), how beautiful the day.

During his three year coma, I came across so many women who didn't have such an incredible relationship with their fathers.  Women who now had hateful relationships with their husbands, or ex-husbands.  Women who spread their legs for any man that looked in their direction.  Women who barely spoke to the fathers because .... just because.

I always kissed Shell-man, told him how much I loved him.  Told him, he could GO, if the time was right.  If his eyes were open, I would look for my father.  Sometimes I could see him.  Most times, there was emptiness, a void.  He may not have been in pain, but we suffered as a family.  Yet we soldiered through.  Mom Jane would visit every day.  The nursing staff knew her, and she knew them all, by name or nickname.  My brother, the rockstar, progressed from being too scared to be in the building to sitting by his side.  And I would bring Mini Me Jane, always.  The cycle of Life includes weakness and sickness, not just picnics by the beach.

The mourning process isn't just for death; I believe it's for any loss, any life challenge/crisis.  Divorce, sudden job loss, fire, flood.  Denial, bargaining, anger, sadness and finally, release.  Letting go.  There is no guide for when the steps should happen, no timeline for how long they should last.  And the purpose for the process is to give the individual life balance.  The process becomes a solid foundation.

We mourned him while he was in the coma.  All the steps, but one.  When Pop Shell-man finally died, we were relieved.  He was at peace; we could let go. Sigh.  Exhale.  The final step.

I've Got This Friend.....

I've got this friend I did a play with.  Cupid Jane is 17, but one of the most poised, intelligent, gentle, beautiful people I've ever met.  When we opened the play, she wrote me a sweet note, saying that she lost her mother to cancer 4 years earlier, and I reminded her of her mother, "just a little bit, in the general vibe in which you are ensconced."  We stayed friends, and recently she invited me over for vegan dinner.  While there she said, "I was at the refrigerator, and I thought, 'my dad should date Jane.'"  I hemmed and haw'ed.  Gave her my "I'm happy in this place, just me and Mini Me" speech.  Finally I said, "if he wants to take me out to dinner, give him my number".  A week later, he called, we agreed to go out Saturday night.

He drove to my place, picked me up, and we went out for dinner.  (A note about where I live: normally people don't like to cross rivers.  Families have separated because someone will move two miles away on the other side of a river.  So the simple act of him coming to pick me up, is very impressive.)  Our date was so relaxed, easy. We talked about his wife (she battled cancer for six years until she passed in 2007), places we'd traveled to and visited, our college education, life in general.  Afterwards we went to a local wine bar.  He drove me home, asked for a kiss.  End of night.

The next morning he sent me this long, beautiful email.  Complimenting me, nailing my person to a T.  He read me like a book.  It was incredible.  The connection was very real.  We texted back and forth, and he agreed to join me for a movie that afternoon.  It felt so good to be with him.  So natural; I could really be myself.  Like minimal make-up, snort while I heartily laugh, cotton underwear myself.  That evening I sent him a copy of the song "I've got this Friend " (by the Civil Wars, just sweet and perfect).  He loved the song.  He got it.

The next day he asked if we could have lunch.  He bought a few things (a big bag of popcorn for me, orzo with tomatoes, broccoli with sesame seeds, cherries).  We found a park, he laid out a blanket, and for 40 minutes we talked, ate and kissed in the park.  It wasn't Monday-it was a modern day, romantic lunch.  It was a real life scene from a movie starring Emma Stone.  As we got into his car, we tried to switch back into "work mode", file this beautiful scene back in the personal folder.  He turned the car on-THE song was just beginning.  It was not his phone, cued up.  Just a random radio station that played the song at 1:30pm.  The Universe was aligned and agreeing with our connection.  I smiled the whole way back, perfect time to my office building.  I was hooked in that moment.  

We have been silly and "together" ever since.  I was at his house recently one night after a very long day.  He carried in my bag, ran a shower for me, gave me dinner, and then, AND THEN, asked me to dance.  In his living room. To Our Song.

We all have that moment in a relationship that we pray for, that we daydream about.  Those innocent romantic "radio outside my window" situations we hope really do happen.  Mine has always been to slow dance to a romantic song in the arms of my soulmate.

My fifteen year old cried happy Juliet tears.  A whirlwind of sweet romance and vulnerable emotions, and saying yes to the Universe.  I'm nuts about him.  My every thought is, I wonder if he's heard this, read this, seen this?  He wants to travel with me.  We talk on the phone like love struck teenagers; we can't keep our hands off each others.  I love kissing his face, holding his hand. 

And the sex......

Its been a really, really long FUCKING time since I've been with a man who knows foreplay.  John my Sweet does foreplay like he has a Master's degree in it.  P-H fucking D.  So refreshing to be with a man who believes is taking his time.  Who knows that sensuality begins with a gentle touch on the skin, not with the assaulting thrust of a hard penis into your neck.  So refreshing to be with a MAN.

He shared with me his List, you know, the wish list of qualities we want to have in the ideal mate.  I matched 7 of 8. Seven.  To say its just a coincidence is to deny Divine energy.  He says things to me, does things, that I've always wanted in a partner.  I've fallen hard, and he's right by my side, tumbling with me.  We don't know how long we'll be heady like this.  I'm on this ride and I'm so glad he is with me.  He wants to meet my MOTHER (for me that is very valuable).  

If you are looking for that love, let me suggest this to you; put aside the external qualities.  Go with what makes you feel loved and appreciated.  Then look around and see love everywhere.  The elderly couple walking side by side.  The teenagers stuck in a passionate kiss.  The husband and wife playing with the toddler in the park.  The man walking his dog, smiling.  The woman on her cell phone laughing.  The two people dancing to a silent song.