Ten Years After

TAB in his current incarnation*

It was 10 years ago this evening — 6:15 to be precise — that The Amazing Bob shuffled off this mortal coil. He had been in a second battle with cancer — mantle cell lymphoma — and the forecast was not looking bright at all, when acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS) opportunistically came in and cut him off at the … well … lungs.

Me and TAB on his last birthday

When we was young

 As I wrote two weeks afterwards, I am and was so damn lucky. Jen, Oni and Celeste (my sister) were with me on TAB’s last afternoon. Jen and I had actually gone in at zero dark 30. The nurses had called her (couldn’t phone me because I’m all deaf and shit … remember?) saying that TAB was spiraling down and might only have a few hours left. We zoomed in.

Later, all together, after he was no longer conscious we watched TAB’s life signs on the monitor like it was the Green Monster scoreboard at Fenway.

I’m stunned that 10 years have passed. So much has happened in this decade.

I met Ten through this here blog. He helped me, supported and consoled me in my grief. He did this from 3,000 miles away. We fell in love. Seven years later we’re still in love. Neat, huh?

I find this pretty amazing actually. Even when I’m healthy I’m a goddamn handful and I haven't been in the good health neighborhood in over six years.

I mean, look at this — over the past six-seven years I’ve had three brain surgeries (one which robbed me of the use of my left leg but, HAH, I stole it back!), three spine surgeries, proton radiation, some vision threatening eye issues, a metric fuck-ton of rehab (both in and outpatient), and I’m still getting used to having to use a rollator to get around. Also, compression socks. WHAT the fucking fuck!

Welcome to Valhalla, grab a hard hat and some steel toe boots!

Other big events over the past 10 years? My MOST awesome father checked out of the Life Hotel five years after TAB. Fellow NF2 warrior Felicity Lingle lost her battle and, just this past September, so did Michie O’Day. Grief and survivor guilt much?

As you all know, and as my dearly departed father accurately but unintentionally offensively called it, I have the soul of a fucking cheerleader. That is, I seem to always be looking for an upside, a glimmer of light in the gloaming, an excuse to feel hopeful or at peace. 

            //shrugs// Go me, eh?

The down side of TAB dying is that TAB fucking died! He was in a lot of pain; in just awful, uncomfortable shape, and he knew his prognosis was shit. Of course that’s the downside! Motherfucking cancer was on him hard. The docs said he had, at most, six months left. ARDS just got to him first. 

The “upsides” of TAB checking out are:

• He was done with all that unavoidable pain, misery, and wild discomfort.
• He didn’t have to see our former feral rescue Rocco (at left) die, the year after him.
• He didn’t have to see our sweet baby Coco (at right) succumb to cancer just a couple of years after him.
• He never had to see Trump elected or inaugurated or the Republican Party’s destruction of this country.

Grief isn’t linear. It doesn’t have a fixed progression and end point. Life — humans — don’t generally work that way. Today I’m going to attempt to feel all the feels. If I don’t greet and experience them now they’ll just come out later in some unfortunate way. e.g. me snapping at a loved one for no good reason or me biting the head off an innocent stranger for the crime of, dunno, not reading my mind OR me not paying enough attention to where I'm walking (because I’m cranky and unhappy) and reinjuring my foot.

I believe this day of self reflection and care  might require ice cream, margaritas, and snacks that are not necessarily healthy and that’s okay. Possibly I’ll need to add in an episode of Buffy and a few chapters of the latest Murderbot.

You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” 
~ Anne Lamott

* We mixed TAB's ashes into the roots of the cherry tree we planted in TAB's memory. The idea was that, as in life, he would continue to feed the neighborhood birds and other passing wildlife.