Articulated Vulgarities

This is Just Another Post About It

This was posted by one of my friend's on their blog.  In the interest of maintaining their privacy, I am not linking directly to the post so everyone can peruse it.  Instead, I am copying and pasting their words, written about Deborah five days after she died.

Thank you for these kind words, my friend.  It's good to know that other people saw not only what I did in her, but how she made my life better.

I HATE DEATH

I received that call this week.  The one that floors you.  The one you never saw coming in a million years.  The one that stops time.

“Deborah’s dead.”  He said.

“What?  What?  What?!?”

“She’s dead.”  He repeated.

“What happened?”

“Oh my God!”

“I don’t understand.”

“How could this happen?”

“I’m so sorry.”

My dear friend lost his girlfriend last Wednesday evening.  She had a blood clot (pulmonary embolism) and it killed her swiftly.  She was only 33.  THIRTY THREE.  He is devastated.  Heartbroken.  They had just moved in together.  Had just adopted two brand new kittens.  Were planning on getting married.  They were in love.  She completed him.

I was fortunate to meet her once.  He brought her to our house-warming party and she was bubbly, vivacious and lovely.  She had this way of making you feel comfortable.  I knew her deeper than that though through all of my conversations with my friend.  He shared their life with me.

I’m worried about my friend.  He’s gone though so much in the past couple of years.   His house burned down, he lost his father suddenly and now this.  I know what happens when so many life events compound.  There is only so much a person can handle.  This is so much worse though.  So much so.  She was his first true love.  Luckily, he has a good support system and a network of caring friends that are planning on watching him closely, preparing to swoop in and be there for him at a moment’s notice.

In the year and a half that they spent together my friend completely blossomed.  He came out of his shell.  He became less cynical.  He became more confident.  He really transformed and it was all because of her.  Thank you Deborah for all the love you gave him.  You did so much for him in your short time together and I know you will be his guardian angel forever.

I’m heartbroken for my friend.  It’s so unfair.

A Small Plot of Land

Back when we were going through the horrible ordeal of making Deborah's burial arrangements, we encountered a woman who works for the cemetery that could be considered more than a little obnoxious.

She has this sort of passive-aggressive attitude, was constantly bumbling information we'd just given her, lost Deborah's file entirely (despite have been called the day before to have it ready), and most egregiously, continuously tried to force her family to decide who was going to get the final plot they owned next to their parents and Deborah.

Now, I'm not sure what the first thing that strikes you about this is.  It could be the insensitivity of trying to make a family who has just lost someone even consider the possibility of losing someone else.  We all know it's inevitable, but at a time like that, you really don't want to be reminded, "Oh, hey, you're gonna die too someday, so you might want to get those affairs in order now.  Let's look at headstones for you!"  This is not a cheery event, ma'am.  This is not a shopping spree.  This is not an event where you make pragmatic decisions about the future.  You're trying to hold it together long enough to get through the present.

The callousness runs even deeper.  What she's essentially doing is what a salesman at Best Buy does when you buy a TV.  "Oh, you'll need these $150 cables to get the best picture out of it, and you'll want our service plan while you're at it."  She is trying to sell you additional products and services that are not needed.  Is someone else going to buy that plot from Deborah's deceased parents?  What's the rush?  It's not a hot development property, is it?  Do a family a squirrels want to buy the land to build a little squirrel condo, and the only way to prevent that is to have it earmarked for a future death in the family?  Let them decide who gets it when the time comes, hopefully many, many, many years down the road.  The land isn't going anywhere.  Stop wringing your hands in anticipation and trying to profit off of a grieving family, you ghoulish bitch.

There's also the obvious fact that nobody knows who is going to get the final plot because, well, NOBODY ELSE HAS DIED.  I'm sure they would like to keep it that way.  I know I'd prefer that.  I don't know if this lady has watched one too many movies where someone is told the day of their death and goes on a life-affirming quest to fulfill their bucket list and she believes that's how things really work, or if she's just an idiot (probably the latter), but it's kinda tough to decide who's going to get a cemetery plot without some kind of preternatural foresight. 

What kind of response do they usually get to that question (as I assume it's common business practice)?  "Oh, I'll take that last plot.  I don't plan on living past 45.  Ya know what?  Put me down for August 13th, 2023 at abouuuut... 10:45?  That work for you guys?"  Does she often work with families that contain at least one murderer, who picks the other ones off at very specific times?  "Yes, my father will need that plot soon... very soon..."

My recommendation was to tell her, "If you ask again, we're going to put you in that plot."  As thick as she is, I question whether she'd even perceive it as a threat or if she'd scratch her head and mutter, "but I'm not family" (probably the latter). 

I understand that, however morbid it may be, they are still a business, but show a little tact (not to mention common sense).  Making funeral arrangements is not fun, and it's not cheap.  Certainly not enough of either to make any rational family say, "You know, let's buy two headstones.  We'll save the second one for a rainy day!"  Your sales pitch is unnecessary, Crypt Keeper, and a friendly demeanor does little to mask the fact that it's a pretty insensitive thing to mention, especially coming from a place you'd expect to be a little more sensitive to that fact.  It's like a priest asking, "Hey, do you just wanna hold your own funeral now while we're here?  How and when exactly do you plan to die?" 

This is also the same woman who:

• Questioned the poem I wrote for her headstone.  Apparently she thought she was part of the decision-making process and chimed in to correct my wording.  I curtly informed her that I meant precisely what I wrote.
• Questioned putting Deborah's and my initials on it because, "People won't know who that is."  Because obviously my first thought was, "Gee, I hope all the people who stroll through the cemetery for fun understand every facet of her headstone."  Do you get a lot of sight-seers in the cemetary, ma'am?
• Didn't call Deborah's sister for months, despite needing her approval to re-order the original headstone they messed up in the first place.  I guess she thought since it was wrong originally that we would just forgo having a marker for Deborah entirely, since she needed approval to correct their own mistake.

This woman's gross incompetence has led me to believe she is actually a zombie, risen from one of the graves there, and is masquerading as an employee.  She demonstrates all the traits of a zombie - she's relentless, and very clearly braindead, and she does kinda look like she's rotting. 

The moral of this story is never bury anybody in Roseland Park Cemetery.  Way to make it as smooth and painless an experience as possible!

For Deborah, On Our Second Anniversary

For once, I am at a loss for words, so I'll use someone else's.  I couldn't say it any better than this:

"Jesus To A Child"
by George Michael

Kindness, in your eyes
I guess you heard me cry
You smiled at me
Like Jesus to a child

I'm blessed
I know, Heaven sent
And Heaven stole
You smiled at me
Like Jesus to a child

And what have I learned from all this pain
I thought I'd never feel the same
About anyone, or anything again
But now I know

When you find love, when you know that it exists
Then the lover that you miss
Will come to you on those cold, cold nights
When you've been loved, when you know it holds such bliss
Then the lover that you kissed
Will comfort you when there's no hope in sight

Sadness in my eyes
No one guessed
Well no one tried
You smiled at me
Like Jesus to a child
Loveless and cold
With your last breath you saved my soul
You smiled at me
Like Jesus to a child

And what have I learned from all these tears
I've waited for you all those years
And just when it began, you took your love away
But I still say

When you find love, when you know that it exists
Then the lover that you miss
Will come to you on those cold, cold nights
When you've been loved, when you know it holds such bliss
Then the lover that you kissed
Will comfort you when there's no hope in sight

So the words you could not say, I'll sing them for you
And the love we would have made, I'll make it for two
For every single memory
Has become a part of me
You will always be
My love

Well I've been loved, so I know just what love is
And the lover that I kissed is always by my side
Oh, the lover I still miss
Was Jesus to a child

Happy Birthday

Dear Deborah,

    Today would have been your thirty-fourth birthday.  Last year around this time I remember how excited you were to introduce your family to mine when we all went out to dinner.  This year, all we can do is send along good wishes and try to cope with what should be a joyous occasion.

    I still miss you terribly.  Every morning I wake up in our empty bed, and I hate it.  Every day I come home, still half-expecting you to greet me and am greeted by stark silence instead.  Thank God for the kitties.  It brings me happiness to come home to them.  They're always excited to see me, but I'll never shake the feeling that you should be there too.  Still, they've been invaluable, and I hope Lola is keeping you good company too.  I hope she's as playful as ever.

    Do you remember when we moved in together?  I'm sure you do, but do you remember those two cardinals we always saw in the back yard?  I haven't seen them since you've been gone.  Not once.  I can only assume your parents had no reason to keep watch on the house anymore now that you're with them.  I'd imagine you're happy to be reunited, but I must confess selfishness in wishing it weren't so.  You were simply too young, and we had so much to look forward to.  You'll have a whole eternity together.  All I got was a year and a half, and that's not fair.

    Everyone misses you so much.  Mom and Brad talk of you often.  Mike shares some of my anger, but truthfully, nobody can truly understand just hard how this has been.  Even Deanna has expressed regret and wished she could have done more, but if I couldn't make you go to the doctor, nobody could.  Who knows if it would have even done any good.  We'll always be left wondering, I suppose.

    I'm sorry I broke some promises to you, Baby.  I try never to promise anything because I don't want to break them.  I'm sorry I didn't finish the backyard yet, or hold Thanksgiving at our house like we planned, or that I didn't see the kids on Christmas.  It's just all been too hard.  Honestly, seeing the kids reminds me so much of you, and it's just too painful at the moment.  But hey, I finally got that picture we bought for the living room hung!  That's gotta count for something, right?

    It's weird the things that affect me.  Seeing previews for One For The Money, for instance.  You loved those Janet Evanovich books, and I know you would've been excited to see that.  Even though I can't stand Katherine Heigl, I would've gone just to make you happy.  If you put up with my weird sci-fi stuff, I could certainly stomach the occasional romantic-comedy or whatever.  That's the type of give-and-take we had that made our time together so great.

    Things will never be the same.  Your birthday, my birthday, Valentine's Day/our anniversary, the 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas... I'll never be able to see fireworks again without thinking of you.  I'll never get through any of those days without wishing you were here.  There will always be a void left by your passing.  That's not to say I'll never meet someone special again, but they'll never be you, and I'll never have "us" again.  But I wouldn't change what we had for anything, even if it meant I wouldn't have to endure this pain and sadness now.  It was worth it.  We shared as much love in a year and a half as most people do in a lifetime.

    Just know that, no matter what happens for the rest of my life, I will always love you, Baby.  It's as true now as it was May 15, 2010 when we first said it to one another, and it will still be true ten years or more from now.  You were the best thing that ever happened to me.

Happy birthday, my love,
Matt

God's Great Plan

"Bullshit is all the reasons we give for living.  And if we can't think up any reasons of our own, we always have the God bullshit.  We don't know why we're going through all this pointless pain, humiliation, decays, so there better be someone somewhere who does know.  That's the God bullshit.  And then, there's the noble man bullshit; that man is a noble creature that can order his own world.  Who needs God?  Well, if there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: that man is full of bullshit."

The soliloquy you just read was delivered by Peter Finch in the role of downtrodden, world-weary news anchor Howard Beale in the 1976 classic film Network.  Beale, disenfranchised with society, and his role as an influential newsman, uttered those prophetic words on the air during one of his final broadcasts for the fictional Union Broadcasting System (UBS). 

Over the course of the five months (has it been that long already?), I've heard many people say that Deborah's passing was all part of God's Great Plan.  We may not understand it yet, but there's a reason for everything.

To that, I say: bullshit.

Organized religion is one of the most vile, evil things in the world.  It teaches people to hate, fear, and judge others who may hold different beliefs or live a different lifestyle than their own.  People do and say awful things in the name of organized religion - and I'm talking about all organized religions.  Wars are fought, innocent people are killed, and people are harrassed for their beliefs.

Since I was very young, I came to several beliefs about the existence of God.  God does exist, of that I was certain (or as certain as one could be without any hard evidence, but that's what the word "faith" means).  There is historical evidence of the existence of Jesus Christ, though scholars now debate the time of his birth and death.  His resurrection is, of course, what causes the most contention. 

It's true, there is little indisputable proof that Jesus Christ, the son of God, rose from the grave or so loved the world that he died for our sins.  Oh sure, there's the Bible, but - and what I'm about to say will no doubt be controversial to many of you - I have always viewed the Good Book as sort of like the Telephone Game.  There is a reason there are different versions of the Bible, and throughout multiple revisions, edits, and changes, the original message may have become contaminated along the way. 

Having said that, the core tenets of the Bible remain strong foundations to live your life by.  You shouldn't kill, steal, commit adultery, take advantage of others, or worship material things.  I think of the Bible as sort of a collection of parables - not unlike fairy tales - that should be used as a guide to live a good, honest life.  Do I believe there was a talking snake or a boat big enough to carry two of every species of animal?  No, because I'm a logical person and I see the physical impossibility of such things.  Considering how many species of animal there are in the world, the boat itself would have to be more than half the size of the planet to carry two of them all.  Suggesting there were fewer animals back then only raises the question of where the rest came from, since evolution and creationism do not go hand-in-hand for many people.

What I choose to believe may be hard for some people to accept or understand, but so much of organized religion preaches belief through fear.  Deborah and I didn't even see eye-to-eye on our beliefs, though we ultimately reached the same basic conclusion, so I don't expect anyone else to.

All my life, I chose not to believe in the vengeful God you heard about in the sermons of your youth.  The God who would condemn you to an eternity of fire and brimstone if you didn't follow a very specific set of rules, or most egregiously, didn't believe in Him.  I had often heard atheists and agnostics say, "If there really is a God, how could he let bad things happen to good people?"  The answer, I thought, was simple: God does not play favorites.  As hard as that may be to accept, God does not get involved in our lives.  He sits back and lets us make our own choices, then judges our actions when our time comes.  God doesn't create murderers, idolaters, warmongers, rapists, thieves, and all the evil people of society any more than he creates the pillars of integrity and kindness - at least, not directly. 

After Deborah was abruptly taken from me, I tried to rationalize it.  I tried to believe in the notion that it's all part of the "Great Plan," but several thoughts continued to nag at me.  If, indeed, life is pre-ordained, and we are all merely playing our part in accordance with our predetermined destiny, what becomes of free will? 

Think about it.  God gave us free will, correct?  If life was pre-ordained, doesn't that contradict the very notion of free will?  If everything we do is part of some plan - every step we take, every decision we make - then we really don't have free will, do we?  If life is all predetermined, then by implication God is responsible for murderers, rapists, and all the evils of society because, for some reason we can't fathom, it was part of His plan.  I don't know about you, but I sure don't want to believe in that.

"Let me give you a little inside information about God.  God likes to watch.  He's a prankster.  Think about it: He gives man instincts.  He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do - I swear for His own amusement, His own private, cosmic gag reel - He sets the rules in opposition.  It's the goof of all time.  Look, but don't touch.  Touch, but don't taste.  Taste, don't swallow.  And whil you're jumping from one foor to the next, what is He doing?  He's laughing His sick fucking ass off!  He's a tight-ass!  He's a sadist!  He's an absentee landlord!  Worship that?!  Never!"

Al Pacino delivered those lines as John Milton, the earthly guise of the Devil himself, in the 1997 film The Devil's Advocate. 

Right now, some of you are probably mortified.  You're praying for my soul, and you're already typing up angry, outraged responses, or pleas for me to rejoin the flock.  "Beg for God's forgiveness."  "God loves you, don't turn your back on Him."  Do me a favor.  Stop.  Hit delete.  Don't bother.  If anyone should be seeking forgiveness, it's God. 

There are two options, the way I see it.  First, God is as I always suspected - omnipresent, ever-watching.  Watching, not doing.  He sits back and watches His creation take shape.  He watches us suffer, watches families torn apart by violence, cities leveled by natural disasters, and babies starve to death.  He watches it all... but He doesn't do anything about it. 

If God doesn't get involved, He cannot be responsible for your blessings, but by way of inaction is responsible for all of life's hardships, ugliness, and sorrow.  How could I worship something that has the power to make things better, but simply chooses not to?

The second option is that we are following a cosmic plan.  Free will is a myth that makes us feel like we're in control of our lives, but in reality we're all just playing our roles.  The logical conundrums in this scenario are almost too numerous to point out.

We are taught that God is infallible.  That's the biggest argument against the theory of evolution - the implication that God made a mistake and changed something, or that He is not in complete control.  Fine.  But if God is infallible, that means He is responsible for everything that happens, good and evil.  Sure, God got you that great job, blessed you with a beautiful family, and handed you that bitchin' sports car you've always dreamed about.  But he also created Ed Gein, Jeffrey Dahmer, Osama bin Laden, Ted Kaczynski, Adolf Hitler... You see, God cannot only be responsible for the good and not the bad if, indeed, we are all acting in accordance with the plan - and free will could not logically co-exist with the plan, because that implies that God is not in complete control. 

So which is it?  Does it even matter?  Why should I thank God for my blessings, but refrain from blaming Him for my pain?  Why does He get a free pass?  How can anyone or anything receive all the credit and none of the blame if it supposedly created the entire world and life as we know it? 

Of course, there is always the third option: that God does not exist.  Neither science nor religion has been able to adequately and definitively prove how all life began, after all, so I have to allow for the possibility that Deborah's death, and all of life's misfortunes, are a simple case of mathematics.  Bad things happen, and sooner or later, you or someone you know are bound to be a statistic.  In this particular example, I'm told Deborah had roughly a four percent chance of surviving.  Those are nearly impossible odds, and unsurprisingly they did not work out in her favor.  Our bodies weren't built to last, and there is so much about them we still don't understand.

We choose to believe in the afterlife because it comforts us.  For many, it gives people something to strive for - a reason to live a good life.  It is a frightening thought that death is the end, I admit.  It's a thought that has kept me up at night and given me anxiety attacks.  The idea that I will simply cease to be, and all of my memories, my experiences, will fade away with me is not one I prefer to entertain.  I would like to believe that the person I am will continue on after my physical body has decayed.  But how can I put my faith in anything that would let so many bad things happen?  Moreover, why should I need convincing that living a good life is the right thing to do in the first place?  Shouldn't we all strive for peace, prosperity, and happiness, regardless of whether or not it results in a potential reward when we die?  Most importantly, why should I grovel at anyone else's altar for things I've worked hard for and be thankful when they're taken away?

Yes, I'm angry.  I've been angry since July 6th, 2011 when Deborah died at just 33 years of age, and if you have any common sense you will shut up.  If you've read this far, you've done so of your own volition.  This is my blog, and these are my feelings, and you will not change them, so don't even try.  You can quietly judge me as a heretic in the comfort of your own homes all you'd like, but I don't want to read your comments, opinions, suggestions, or preaching.  Shut your mouths.  Stop typing that comment or that e-mail.  Do not try to win me back because all you will succeed in doing is making me angrier, and this time my anger will be directed at you.

I don't want to hear about how Deborah's death has a greater meaning and we just can't comprehend it now, because I don't believe it and it doesn't change the pure logic that God is either directly or indirectly responsible for the suffering of all humanity, whether through His plan or through observation rather than interaction.  If God exists, maybe He is not loving and merciful.  Maybe He is vindictive and arrogant.  How dare we question His plan?!  How dare we not worship Him?!  How dare we not thank Him for everything we work for.  God didn't give me a job.  God didn't buy me a car.  God doesn't pay my mortgage.  God didn't win Deborah's heart.  I earned all those things through hard work, and you're fucking right I'm proud of myself, so if pride is a sin then you might as well send me to Hell.  

Maybe God is a big kid with a magnifying glass and we're all ants.  He's a schoolyard bully, demanding our lunch money and we give it to Him out of fear of retribution.  I bet most people who read this post will react with revulsion and call it blasphemous, but if God is as loving, forgiving, and understanding as you'd preach, what would it matter what I say or believe?  Would He not understand my anger, my sadness?  Were we not created as imperfect beings and, thusly, should we not be forgiven for our imperfections, fears, doubts, and faults?  Instead, He demands homage.  He demands recognition.  He demands credit for everything we accomplish, but we absolve Him of all blame for fear that he will deny us entry into his exclusive club.  He's a cosmic bouncer with an inferiority complex, standing behind His velvet rope and taking out His issues on people who he feels have wronged Him. 

You're all free to believe whatever you want, whether that's in the Christian God, an alternative deity, universal forces, multiple gods, or nothing at all.  All I ask is that you extend me the same courtesy and do not try to convince me of anything opposite of all I've said here.  I will not live my life in fear of eternal damnation or in hopes of salvation.  I will not live my life for anyone other than myself.  From this point forward, I will live my life the best way I see fit - in a manner that pleases me and not some entity watching over me, silently cataloguing and judging everything I do for His Naughty or Nice list.  

I have always said that intelligent people can discuss religion, whereas ignorant people will argue about it.  With that in mind, I must reiterate that I do not expect to see a single e-mail or comment telling me I'm going to Hell.  These are my personal beliefs, and I expect everyone to respect them and leave me to them.  I have chosen to share them purely as a therapeutic release, not to invite your judgment or opinions.  I don't care about your opinions, quite frankly.  If I did, I'd be reading your blog and not the other way around. 

Disappear Here

"Wait, I'm in the wrong house, in the wrong room
Some place in someone else's shoes
I want to turn back, I want to shut down
You'll blow away if I breathe out
Save me from sleeping now
Save me from flying out
I disappear here"

O hai!
 
What's been going on?  That's a rhetorical question.  I don't really care.  I was just being polite.  This is my blog, after all.  If you want to talk about yourselves, get your own blog.  They're free over at WordPress, you know.  Instead, I'm going to talk about me.  Not that you asked, but you have the option to stop reading anytime you feel like it.  I'll never know the difference.
 
November is a hard month for me.  It was two days after Thanksgiving 2009 that my dad passed away, which puts a dampener on the entire month.  I still carry a shred of regret that I didn't talk to him two days prior when he'd called to wish his sons a happy Thanksgiving, though I've forgiven myself for it.  This year will be especially hard with the additional grief of losing Deborah.
 
You see, this year we were going to hold Thanksgiving at our house.  In fact, we bought a new kitchen table together for the occasion.  When my brother and I moved back into the house, we had a small, round, four-person table.  It was adequate for the needs of two bachelors, but once I started dating Deborah I quickly realized the lack of foresight.  We couldn't even have a family dinner with my own small immediate family, let alone hers that includes children and relatives that actually talk to each other and gather on holidays. 
 
So to Art Van we went and we bought a new table that seats six to eight before adding the leaf, which will give it room for an extra two fairly comfortably.  It was an exciting moment - our first furniture purchase together!  We were turning my old house into our new home.
 
After Deborah passed, I still wanted to hold Thanksgiving at my house like we'd planned, but as time has gone by and it has inched ever closer the prospect has become more and more daunting.  Not that I don't want to keep in touch with Deborah's family - I do - but I think I'm trying to take on too much, too soon.  I haven't fully dealt with the severe depression I spiralled into after her death.
 
Oh, did I forget to mention that?  That's because I didn't realize it until about a week ago.
 
I used to have a policy against self-medicating.  I saw it as a sign of weakness that I couldn't control my own emotions or my thoughts.  I realized how fucked up I was when a friend told me to my face, "Matt, you need to stop because you're driving me crazy!"  That was really the turning point, and since that day that particular friend and I have never had another confrontation.  Indeed, we're closer friends.  But that moment scared me straight and made me realize I had a problem, so I set my principle aside and went on Zoloft shortly after my dad died. 
 
Man, what a difference! 
 
For those of you who don't suffer from anxiety, let me try and describe it as best I can for you: It's awful, horrendous, chest-constricting, irrational, irritating, obnoxious, annoying, terrifying, crippling, and generally shitty.  It's just a horrible, horrible feeling - and the worst part is that you often don't realize how bad it has gotten until someone snaps at you.  You see, anxiety breeds selfishness.  All you want to do is make that horrible feeling go away.  You need constant reassurance.  You need affection.  You need, need, need, and even when you get what you sought you'll just find something else to obsess over because most anxiety-based fears are irrational.  They spring from nowhere just as often as they do from traumatic past events. 
 
Even as someone who suffers from anxiety, it's irritating to deal with other peoples', but I always empathize and say to myself, "I know what they're going through."  Much like losing a parent, sibling, child, or significant other, or surviving cancer, or any number of awful, life-changing events, the only people who can truly understand it are those who've been through it.  Not to equate anxiety and cancer, of course, but you get what I'm saying.  It's impossible to accurately describe how terrifying it is to lie in bed, worrying that perhaps my brother has died unexpectedly.  In the past, my anxiety has caused me to go days without eating and/or sleeping (sometimes coinciding, sometimes alternately).  Once, when I still worked at Best Buy, I actually collapsed on my bedroom floor and slept there through the night after not sleeping for nearly four days.  My body just finally gave in and shut down. 
 
So I went on Zoloft, and I felt better.  Much better.  The grief from losing my dad was still there, but the irrational fears weren't.  The constant worrying and wondering and second-guessing and, most importantly, that dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach weren't there.  I did a complete 180 on my belief about self-medicating.  Hell, I was ready to become the drug's spokeperson!  Zoloft for everyone!  Viva Zoloft!
 
Among my myriad of problems is my inability stubborn refusal to follow doctors' orders.  I'm supposed to be taking cholesterol medicine; I don't.  I'm supposed to do stretches for my bad back; I don't.  I was supposed to take Zoloft, probably for the rest of my life; I stopped.
 
For a long while, I was OK.  I met a great girl, we were happy, and though I had a few episodes that she lovingly forgave me for, it was nothing along the lines of the crazy shit I put my friend through.  Right after Deborah died, I asked my doctor to renew my prescription.  I got my bottle of little blue happy pills, and I took about a week's worth before abruptly stopping.  I once again decided I didn't need pills.  I could control it on my own.
 
Oops.
 
Once again, it required a cold, hard dose of reality to make me realize, "Holy shit, I have a problem!"  Looking back over the last four months since Deborah passed, I can see the problem has been there all along.  I can remember the sleepness nights, terrified that someone else I loved was going to be taken from me.  I can remember feeling the crushing fear of walking into work, trying my best to avoid the sad eyes and pitiable stares that reminded me of what happened.  I can vaguely remember doing things with my family and friends just to keep myself occupied, but I honestly couldn't look back and tell you what 90% of it was.  The days ran together in one big blur, and I remember remarking to my brother about losing all concept of time.  I didn't care.  About anything.  Looking back, I'm almost ashamed that I didn't recognize some of the signs, but people seldom do when they're so wrapped up in the cloak of depression.  20/20 hindsight and all that...
 
I can't tell you how many times I've heard "I really admire your strength" over the last few months.  The truth of the matter is this: I am good at faking it.  I lived the life of a single, brooding, anti-social misanthrope for 27 years.  You don't think I know how to put up a front?  If I could build physical walls as well as I build emotional ones, I'd be the world's most prolific construction worker.  The truth is I've been running on fumes for quite some time now, and it's time to refuel before I'm abandoned on the side of the road by everyone. 
 
Last weekend I started taking my Zoloft again.  I have reminders all over my house to take it every night at 10 PM.  Already, I've had people remark that I seem different.  Already I feel better, more like my old self - or at least my 2008 self when I came out of my shell and started getting out more.  I'm not as quick to anger at work.  I'm calmer while driving.  I actually feel like playing video games again.  I feel creative again (not only am I still writing, but I'm seriously considering another creative project I've wanted to explore for a long, long time).  Some of the things I've broken may not be fixable, but that's my doing and I'll accept responsibility for it because it's my own stupid fault.  I never should have stopped taking my meds in the first place.  I lost the woman I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with.  What made me think I could handle that by myself?
 
I will own up to my mistakes.  I will own my dysfunction, but I won't beat myself up over it.  In fact, I'm not dealing with anything negative right now.  I've spent so much time worrying about everything else that I've neglected myself, and it's time to refocus.  If I'm not happy, how can I expect other people to be happy around me?  "Yeah, let's hang out with the mopey guy who worries about everything.  That sounds like a lot of fun."
 
Of all the unlikely sources, it was Chris who provided the most poignant advice: "Ignore the sucky stuff.  Look on the bright side, and find something to look forward to every day, no matter how small it is."  I knew there was a reason I kept this guy around!  Each morning I wake up and I think of something to look forward to.  Monday it was finishing up a long overdue video game.  Tuesday it was playing a new one and making myself a decent dinner (for once).  Wednesday it was dinner and shopping with my mom and brother, and so on.  It helps tremendously to think of life as a series of small events - getting an e-mail from Chris that makes me laugh, a game of Hanging with Friends with Ashley, lunch with Kristy or Emily.  These are common occurrences, but they're what make life bearable.  Let's face it, it's a scary world we live in.  If you don't find some way to laugh every day, all you're bound to do is cry. 
 
Will I stumble?  I'm sure I will.  I'm only human.  But I'll recover.  I have an amazing support group, and my belief that I have the greatest friends in the world only gets stronger with each passing day.  They've stuck by me through thick and thin.  They've been there for me, accepted me, and forgiven me.  Quite frankly, they all deserve medals.

Wilford Brimley is Stalking Me

Leave it to me to find something to make fun of at a funeral.

During Deborah's viewing, one of her sisters called me over to meet someone.  He was a short, rotund little man with a bushy white handlebar moustache who bore a striking resemblance to actor-cum-"diabeetus"-spokesperson Wilford Brimley.

I assumed he was some distant relative who'd driven a long distance to be there, but as it turns out he was the man in the other funeral parlor.  He'd lost his wife of 30-something years, and he introduced himself by saying, "You don't know me, but we have something in common..."

We chatted for a bit and he walked towards the front of the room to pay his respects; a kind gesture.  I agreed to come to his parlor to do the same.  I now realize that was a mistake; a mistake which may well haunt me for the rest of my days.

After several minutes, one of my family members entered Mr. Brimley's parlor and said they needed me, but Wilford would not let his prey go so easily.  "Wait, uh, let me get your number," he said.  "I have to get back to my family," I replied and began to walk away.  He would not be dissuaded.  Following me, he said, "Well, let me give you my number."  "Later," I said, "I have to get back to my family."  Unperturbed, he stopped me and shoved a business card into my hand as I desperately tried to get away.

Finally returning to our parlor, expecting to be introduced to another person of importance, Deborah's sister asked, "Did I rescue you?"  She did not, in fact, need me; I needed her to escape the clutches of Wilford Brimley!

Later that same night I learned, to my horror, that no one escapes Wilford Brimley so easily.

After the viewing, only myself, my brother, and several friends remained.  We had cleaned up the room and I was just getting ready to say goodbye to Deborah when Wilford rudely comes storming in to get my number.  Not thinking, I foolishly gave him my real number.  I later realized my mistake and, to compensate, programmed his number into my phone under "IGNORE!"

The next day, only hours after laying Deborah to rest, my phone rings and "IGNORE!" appears on my screen.  "Are you kidding me?!" I say to myself.  A minute later, my voicemail notification goes off.  Wilford says he wants to see how it went and compare experiences.  "See how it went?"  How do you think it went?!  I just buried my beloved girlfriend!  What do you expect me to say?!  "Oh, it was the best time of my life!  You know what I really wanna do?  I wanna discuss it and relive it all over again!"

Naturally, I did not call him back.  But that does not stop Wilford Brimley.

He called again, days later as I was returning from taking my cats to their vet appointment.  I let it go to voicemail once again and deleted it without listening.  But that does not stop Wilford Brimley.

He called again, days later as I was hanging out with friends.  This time, I sent it straight to voicemail.  Seconds later, a second number from the same area code calls!  Neither of them left a message, but I'd be willing to bet he called back on another line, trying to trick me into answering my phone! 

Look, dude, I understand that you're lonely, and I'm sorry.  I sympathize - I really do.  I understand how that feels, but that doesn't mean I want to be friends with you.  I'm dealing with my own grief; I don't need yours added on top of it.  If you need to talk to someone, there are grief counselors.  I do not care to relive the worst experience of my life with a complete stranger.  Take a hint and leave me alone.

I thought he had gotten the hint after the double-call.  All was well for a few weeks.  I thought wrong.  Nothing stops Wilford Brimley.

Last night, "IGNORE!" popped up on my phone again.  Once again, he left a voicemail that was immediately deleted.  I have now come to the conclusion that Wilford Brimley is to me what Kahn was to Captain James T. Kirk.  He is my arch-nemesis, and he cannot be stopped.  Not even by "diabeetus."

 
BRIMLEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!

The Road Ahead

Last night was the first night I've spent in the house alone since Deborah was taken from us.  It went much better than I'd anticipated, with no breakdowns or fits of sobbing, and I feel like I owe that to her.

I keep more than a dozen pictures of Deborah on my nightstand, and I have several more framed around the room.  As depressing, or as cheesy as it may seem, I talk to them every night because I believe she can hear me.  Every time we "talk," and every time I've asked for strength and love, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace wash over me. 

Some would dismiss it as me finding comfort in my ritual, calming myself, but I believe Deborah is simply responding.  I've seen too many signs thus far, and I've known too many other people who've had similarly strange events occur, for it all to be just a large series of coincidences. 

Last night was a big step in my road to healing, but there's still a long, long way to go.  A friend and I were talking today and we got on the subject of dating - not each other, just in general.  I can't imagine spending my life with anyone other than Deborah, and that's no less true just because she's not physically here anymore.  Even the act of changing my Facebook page to say "single" seems an insurmountable task.  As far as I'm concerned, we're still in a relationship.  We didn't break up, and she didn't leave me by choice.  More importantly, I still feel the strongest feelings of love for her that a man can possibly feel for a woman.

Deborah is irreplaceable, and it wouldn't be fair to anyone I meet to expect them to live up to the impossibly high bar she set as far as girlfriends go.  What's more, I keep thinking I would be betraying her if I found someone else. 

Friends will tell me she would want me to be happy, and that's true.  However, what makes me happiest is the thought that one day, when my time comes, we'll be reunited.  I don't want her to watch me move on.  My goal is to be reunited with Deborah and if Heaven exists - which I believe it does - what would happen when I have that opportunity, only to tell her, "Sorry, I met someone else..." 

That thought is heartbreaking to me.  I don't want our reunion to be as friends; I want us to be together for all eternity, like we were supposed to be on Earth. 

To that end, let me make something clear: I believe that I'm a good person at heart.  I know I have my flaws, but ultimately have led a good life.  I certainly haven't led a perfect life, but then again, who has?  I know my sins, and I can't promise I'll never commit them again because I am only human and we are imperfect, flawed creatures to begin with. 

That said, if my time comes and I am judged unworthy, I will tear apart Hell to get back to Deborah.  Demons will fall at my feet, I will fight and climb my way out, and even the Devil himself will tremble before me as I make my way back to Heaven.  When I get there, I will knock those Pearly Gates down because there is NO force in Heaven or Hell or on Earth more powerful than my love for Deborah.  And if you find that blasphemous or offensive, then you have never truly understood what it is to love someone.

The Beginning

It's so ironic that things have come full circle.  It was in the same room that I took in my last image of Deborah where I first knew she would be mine.

We had dated for a short time prior to my dad's passing in November 2009, but Deborah wasn't ready to give her heart away yet.  She was still coming to terms with her previous relationship.  The fear of getting her heart broken once more was understandably great, yet she and I remained friends and through the months that followed, I had asked her if we might get back together some day.

Naturally, she brushed such questions aside, committing neither to an affirmative or a negative answer, only stating that no one ever knows what the future holds.  Fortunately for me, I'm not half bad at reading between the lines and I knew that a woman who isn't interested in the least will say as much.  I waited patiently and enjoyed the time we spent as friends, going to dinner and movies, out for drinks, and whatever else we felt like.

The day we got the news my dad had passed, Deborah was at Great Lakes Crossing with her sisters.  I texted her the news and she offered to come over as soon as possible, but I declined.  Having lost both of her parents at a relatively young age themselves, Deborah understood perhaps better than anyone what I was going through.

On the first day of visitation, Deborah and her sister Cynthia (Cindy) showed up to pay their respects and offer their support.  They had never met my dad, but they both knew the pain of loss.  I remember Deborah walking in, wearing a pretty green shirt, and thanking the sisters for coming before I was pulled in another direction to greet more visitors.  Deborah and Cindy sat wtih my good friend Chris, who has a knack for keeping people entertained with funny stories.

After a while, I finally had a chance to break away from the awfulness of saying "Hi, thank you for coming," to mourners and I sat on the couch next to Deborah.  I remember looking at her, watching her smile as Chris kept the mood light, and thinking to myself, This woman is going to be my girlfriend again.  It was then that I began to formulate a plan.

One of my friends, Emily, had a feeling about Deborah right from the start.  She knew Deborah was The One for me.  Others were a bit more skeptical after she had already broken it off once, and some even urged me to just move on, but I maintained that Deborah would be mine by Valentine's Day 2010.

In January, Deborah, Cindy, and some friends from their work all met at Augie's Bar nearby.  Deborah's birthday was just around the corner, and I had been planning on getting her something, but I wasn't sure what just yet.  Luckily, she unwittingly gave me the perfect answer. 

As it happened, Bon Jovi, her favorite band, were coming to town on St. Patrick's Day.  What better birthday gift for a fan than concert tickets!  She and her friends all agreed that they simply had to go, so when I got home that night I sent her sister a message on Facebook explaining to her that I was going to surprise Deborah with tickets to the show. 

On January 30th, 2010, the same group of people - and a few additional friends (Dawn and Melissa) - went to the 80's-themed nightclub Boogie Fever in Ferndale, Mich.  Let it be known that I am not a nightclub person.  I do not dance, partly because I'm too self-conscious, and partly because I don't want to be held responsible when other patrons die from laughter on the dancefloor.  I went, however, because it made Deborah happy and because I had quite a surprise in store for her.

Her friends gave her her birthday gifts, but I held onto the tickets in an envelope, hoping for the opportune moment - namely when the DJ played a Bon Jovi song.  As more and more time passed with no luck, I realized I couldn't continue to wait.  I signaled Cindy, who got her camera ready, and tapped Deborah on the shoulder with the envelope containing the tickets. 

As you can see, I was quite pleased with myself, but Deborah had no idea what to expect.  I think her face in the next picture says it all.

I can still hear her voice clear as a bell in my head shouting in excitement, "Matt got me Bon Jovi!"  Her friend Melissa joked (and still teases me to this day) that my gift overshadowed hers, a beautiful picture of Deborah and her sisters from Melissa's brother's wedding.  Melissa, for what it's worth, that picture still sits framed on our shelf and it will remain there.

Happy tears streamed down Deborah's cheeks as she embraced me, whispering "thank you" into my ear.  I felt my own eyes flood as I held her, knowing that I had just accomplished what I had set out to do - prove to Deborah that I was worth opening her heart for.  I knew in that precise moment that I had won her over; it just wasn't official yet.

On Valentine's Day 2010, right on schedule, while we were at dinner at Andiamo - the first time she had ever been taken out for Valentine's Day, she said - I asked Deborah, "So can we make it official now?"  Wearing her favorite red sweater - and one of my favorite outfits of hers, especially because of the emotional significance it now holds for me - she replied, "Yes, I think we should be exclusive." 

The next day, Deborah received a dozen roses at work with a card explaining that everyone gets roses on Valentine's Day, but no one expects them the day after.  It was the first time a guy had sent her flowers, she said. 

A month later, we attended Bon Jovi's Circle Tour at the Palace of Auburn Hills.  We took the day off work, as well as the following day, and had dinner at Andiamo once again, though this time we went to the more casual Royal Oak location. 

I should really point out that I am not the world's biggest Bon Jovi fan.  While I respect him, I cannot say I was ever a fan of his music.  However, after she had told me stories of the one and only concert she'd gone to with her last boyfriend, and how he complained the whole time, I made it a point to enjoy myself.  In all honesty, I didn't have to work very hard.  Fan or not, it's hard not to enjoy yourself when the person you love stands next to you singing along to every song with an ear-to-ear smile on their face.  Coupled with the amazing stage show, a great performance of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", one of my favorite songs of all-time (even if Jon Bon Jovi forgot the lyrics), and a surprise guest appearance by Detroit's own Kid Rock, it was truly a great night and it made me realize that I would do anything for Deborah. 

One thing still troubled me, however.  I knew I had fallen in love, even long before Deborah was willing to accept it from me.  Having little relationship experience to speak of myself, I found myself fearful of the fact that she was uncomfortable saying those three words at first.  After a long discussion, she told me, "I've only said 'I love you' to two men, and one of them was my father.  It took me ten months to tell Sam," referring to her last boyfriend, the one who broke her heart.  I agreed I would not say the words until she was ready to hear them, and I told my friends in private, "I bet you she tells me in less than half the time it took her with Sam."

The morning of a wedding we were attending, Deborah and I exchanged cards.  It was comical because both of us had bought them for no real reason, and they were the same size in the envelope.  I thought, Oh man, I hope we didn't get each other the same card.  Though she had given me cards before, this one was different; instead of the usual "xoxoxo," she had signed it, "Love, Deborah."  I didn't say anything at that moment, but I kept it in mind.

At the reception, she coaxed me to the dancefloor where we danced to the Righteous Brothers' classic love ballad "Unchained Melody".  As we swayed together, I asked her, "Did you mean what you wrote in that card?"  She nodded, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, "Matt Antonich, I love you."  At that moment, the crescendo of the song erupted like something straight out of a cheesy romance movie.  I swear, I almost wanted to look around for film cameras; it felt so surreal, like something out of a fairy tale. 

It took her ten months to tell Sam; it took her only three months with me.

I have plenty of memories with my Deborah, and there are many I'll keep just for me, but the moral of this story is that sometimes if you really believe hard enough, you'll find the things you want the most will come to you.

In Memoriam: Deborah Jean Tyler, My Love

Yesterday at 6:00 PM EST, my world came crashing down around me.  Deborah Tyler, the love of my life, passed away unexpectedly.

I know the immediate shock of everything is still in effect, but honestly, I really don't know how I'll carry on.  Not that I'm thinking of anything drastic - don't get that impression.  Deborah would never have wanted that, so that thought doesn't exist.  I just mean, I can't picture my life without her in it.  I have never been so happy, and now it's all gone.

I look around our house and see the rooms we painted together.  I see her furniture, the bed we shared, her clothes in the closet, and her stuff in the bathroom.  I can't believe I'm going to bed tonight without her, and that I'll wake up to an empty bed tomorrow.  I can't believe I'll never kiss her goodbye in the mornings or see her smile and say, "Hi, baby!" when I get home.  

We just bought the two cats, and she was so excited to come home to them every day.  Now she'll never see them grow up.  We'll never have a chance to get married.  We'll never have children together.  We'll never go on any more vacations, see any movies, go get ice cream, or celebrate our anniversary on Valentine's Day ever again.  I'll never get to feel her hands on my leg while we're driving, hold hands or kiss her at random just while shopping, or rub her back for her.

I was going to marry her, too.  I knew that almost immediately.  There was no doubt in my mind, and that belief grew stronger with each passing day.  In the year and a half we were together, we almost never argued.  We were honestly the happiest two people.  Today, I turned on her laptop to see links to wedding sites, jewelers, and caterers and my already broken heart shattered even further. 

I'm comforted that many times she told me how I was the best thing that ever happened to her, and that she had never been happier.  The feeling was beyond mutual.  No words will ever be adequate enough to describe how much I loved her or how happy she made cynical old Matt.  I always used to say that I didn't need someone to make me complete or happy, and now I can't fathom going through life alone, without the person who proved me so wrong.

Truthfully, I don't want to fathom life with anyone else.  Deborah was everything to me; the love of my life.  I know I can't replace her, and I don't want to even think about it.  Even decades from now, if I'm lucky to live that long, I will still remember, miss, and love her with all my heart.  Anyone I meet for the rest of my life will never live up to her, and they will never get all of me the way Deborah did.  My heart will always be reserved for her.  

She accepted me for everything I was; all my flaws, all my eccentricities.  She never made me feel bad for wanting to play video games on a given night, or going to a concert with my brother.  Looking back on it now, I wish I'd spent every minute of that time with her, but hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

As hard as it is to sit in this house we shared, I look around and see reminders of our life.  I'm reminded of our trip to Chicago and the western side of Michigan, where we experienced a beautiful sunset to cap off a perfect day.  I'm reminded of taking her to see her favorite band, Bon Jovi, as a birthday present - a present that effectively clinched our relationship when I sprung the tickets on her.  I think of holidays spent with our families, and how welcome we both felt around each others' kin.  The pain of loss is unbearable right now, but these memories endure.

It's just all so unfair.  Part of me wants to be angry at God, but the other part of me thinks that I need to believe she's in a better place because if there was anyone who deserved a spot in Heaven, it was Deborah.  She was the kindest, warmest, gentlest, most loving soul I've ever met, and everyone I introduced her to agreed.  

In the end, I suppose I should be thankful for the time I spent with her, but I can't help but feel cheated.  We had great memories - wonderful memories - but we were robbed of our ability to create more.  We should have had more time, but I have to believe now that she will always be with me.  I will never be able to look at another woman without comparing her to Deborah.

My other comfort comes from the fact that I have the best support system a person could ask for in my friends and family.  I've been on the phone all night and everyone lended a sympathetic ear, even if it had been months since I last talked to them.  As much as I hurt, I can't imagine how her sisters must feel, or her niece and nephews who loved her more than anything.  

I just can"t believe I'll never see her again.  I'll never hear her laugh again or see those green eyes I loved.  I'll never see her walk down the aisle in her wedding dress.  All the things I'll never get to experience with her break my heart and I don't know how I'll ever recover.

Know this, Deborah: I will always love you with everything that I am.  My heart and my soul will always be yours.  I cannot even begin to express how much I miss you already, and it hasn't even been a day.  More than that, no words will ever adequately capture what I felt for you, what I still feel for you, and what I'll always feel for you.  We were meant for each other, and I'll never understand why you were taken from me so soon.  You will always be my Baby, and I do take some comfort in the fact that we made each other happier than we've ever been.