Month 2 (catchy title, eh?)

I'm not gonna lie—this was a harder month than the first month, and this last week in particular was the worst.

You already know about my plant stand—a small victory that nevertheless felt like a step away. And now I've made pickles. From the cucumbers Vic planted. Which I had to make because I couldn't eat all the cucumbers alone. (Yes, I could have shared my bounty with friend and neighbors, but that is not the point here. 😉)

You may already know about the pickles because I posted about them on Facebook. Vic and I always joked that we got all our validation from Facebook Likes, but it turns out that that is not entirely true. As I write this, I have 57 reactions (a delightful combination of Likes, Loves and Wows). I truly love seeing who clicked that little button, and every name in those lists makes me smile. A total of 14 people also commented on my post. For me, that's a lot, and I adore everyone who took the time to write a comment.

But you know who didn't hit that Like button? Who didn't write a comment? That's right. Victor Love, love of my life. I had no idea how much his validation meant to me—and it would have come all through the process: “Great job taking care of the cucumbers—they are delicious!” “Look at that haul! What are you going to do with all those cucumbers? “Wow—you're going to make pickles? Can't wait to try them!” “Those pickles look great! When can we eat them!” “Yum—great pickles, Poo!” (Yes, my nickname was Poo. Do you want to make something of it?)

The newest batch of pickles

Same goes for my plant stand. And my gigantic watermelon, which I have literally been trying to keep alive just for him, even though he's not here. 

For scale, my foot is about 10 inches long.

To be clear: I don't need external validation. I am internally motivated, and I do what I do to make myself happy, not to get Likes from others. But external validation is nice, and it was never nicer than when it came from Vic.

Moving on, this week was the full moon. Bella and I got a late start on our Monday walk, and when the full moon started to rise above the trees, it caught me off guard. September wasn't the best month for the full moon (although I thought it was until I went to the photo library to get some September moon shots), but it didn't matter—Vic would have been up in the wee hours of the morning to get another September moon shot this week. These are some of his September moons, and I thank a friend of his who emailed me pictures that he had taken of this week's full moon with the subject line “Thinking of Vic.” I'm so grateful people are still thinking of him—and reaching out to tell me about it.

And then there's date night. Friday was almost always date night, and it wasn't that we did anything special; it was just that we did it together. We almost never made plans with anyone else on Fridays. For years when I worked in Boulder, Vic would come get me after work and we would go to a $4 matinee and then get sandwiches at Weebee's Heros at Crossroads Mall, and then we would walk hand in hand through the mall for a while, just passing the time (and getting Karmelkorn, of course). The activities changed over the years, but the sentiment didn't—date night was for us. So as I was sitting at my desk finishing my work on Friday, it occurred to me that it was date night. (Yes, there have been eight other date nights since he died, but this is the one that got to me.) So I went out. Alone. (Well, I took Bella.) I don't think I'll do that again.

Finally, don't get me started on the shower. Years ago, the square shower in the master bathroom developed a leak. I hated the square shower, but I love my soaker tub, and you can't have both a soaker tub and a full-size shower in a small bathroom. And we have another shower—a regular-size one—so I just use that one.

But Vic loved the square shower. He felt it was warmer because there wasn’t as much air space to heat up, and there was nothing he loved more than a warm shower. Except me. And the dog. And pineapple upside down cake. OK, there were probably a lot of things he loved more than a warm shower, but you get what I’m saying. When the square shower started leaking, I told Vic he would need to shower in the guest bathroom until he got the leak fixed. (In our house, the division of labor was that Vic did all the maintenance—or arranged to have it done.)

That said, neither of us actually likes making calls like this. We often don’t even know where to start—a plumber or an appliance guy? A handyman or a specialist? We don’t know. And worse—how much is it going to cost? We’re both cheap. So he never made the call. He used my shower for years.

Fast forward to April 2021. Our neighbor across the street had a Re•Bath truck in his driveway for a few days. Next time I saw him outside (God forbid I actually ring his doorbell), I asked him what he had them do, and he said, “Oh, man, we finally got a new shower in the master bathroom!” So his wife took me upstairs and showed me their shower, and it was lovely. He gave me the sales guy’s card, and I gave it to Vic. “Here. Sam had these guys do their shower, so give them a call and we’ll get our shower done.” Tick tock tick tock, time goes by, no call.

I realized he was never going to call. I couldn't ask him to do it again or he’d consider it nagging and then he’d really never do it. So I just took the card and made the call. The guy came out in June, gave us a quote, and said if we ordered that day, he’d give us a 10 percent discount. Vic didn't like to be pressured like that, but the cost—while expensive—was less than we expected, and we needed to fix the shower!

So we ordered the shower. Vic got to pick out everything because it was going to be his shower. He was very excited about getting back to his square shower. But the sales guy said they had a lead time of 8 to 12 weeks, so we wouldn’t get it right away.

Well, as you now know, the shower did not get here before Vic died. And I didn’t even think about it until the day last week that they called and said they were ready to start work. So on the one hand, I’m excited to be getting a new shower. On the other hand, it makes me really sad that Vic never got to use it.

Still needs a door and a counter

 

Should I keep the bummer going? How's this for a kicker: I am not getting joy out of anything. I take Bella for a walk, and it's just a chore. I am working on some stitching, and it's just a slog. None of my shows are making me happy—even the ones he hated so I had to watch them after I went to bed. Even the new ones he would have hated. And definitely not the ones we watched together. He's never going to find out that (spoiler alert) all the firefighters made it out of the explosion on Chicago Fire. I made the pickles, and it was just three hours of my day that I didn't spend catching up on bookwork and filing and whatnot. (Not that I ever got any joy from that—does anyone?) I'm sure as things are winding down and I'm less busy, feelings are just catching up with me. So I am letting myself just sit in that lack of joy and experience it. It is part of life—and death.

I will say this—I'm glad I have my Bella. She is with me almost all day every day. (She does have to take a break when the sun hits all her favorite places on the floor.) She's not an overly affectionate dog, but she is here.

I turned around, and there she was. 🙂

I continue to be indebted to all of you for your friendship and support. I have had lunches and breakfasts and free pickles. I have people helping me get through Vic's things in the house and ship things to his family. I have had phone calls and texts and emails and cards. My favorite moment this week was a conversation I had with a former co-worker of Vic's. I'd been trying to reach her since Vic died because I knew he thought the world of her, but he didn't have her number in his phone, so I sent her a Facebook message. She received it on Friday and immediately contacted me. The first thing she said after hearing the news was this: “Vic was amazing and gave me a very good perspective on life. When we met, I wanted to conquer the world. (I was a 19-year-old intern!) He was one of my biggest cheerleaders but also made sure I knew what was important. Our conversations and the pictures he took and shared had a huge impact on me.”

Vic never thought much of himself. He didn't think he was a very good photographer, he didn't think he was much of a husband, he didn't think he was a great father—he just didn't think he was special. It was always heartbreaking to me when he would say something like, "Oh, no one will miss me when I'm gone" or "I didn't do anything to change the world." And I would tell him about all the people who would miss him or all the ways he made a difference in this world, but it never got through to him. But even I have been surprised by hearing about how many lives he truly touched. I hope his hummingbird persona is flying around hearing some of these stories and feeling a sense of pride. I know I am getting great comfort from them, enabling me to sign off from this post with a slight smile.

This week will be better. And if it's not, that's OK. Grief doesn't have a timetable.

Independence

I made a plant stand yesterday.

I received quite a number of plants after Vic passed away, and they were all over the house, making it impossible to water them efficiently. You know how I am about efficiency. So I set about finding a plant stand.

By myself, I went to the At Home store and the Flower Bin. Maybe there were good ones there, but I wasn't sure. With no Vic beside me to validate my choice, I couldn't tell whether this one was a piece of crap or that one would look good in the house. I left, dejected.

So I hit up the Internet. (Yes, I'm still capitalizing Internet. Do you have a problem with that? At least I'm not calling it the World Wide Web.) Etsy, Wayfair, a general Google search, the dreaded Amazon. I found many beautiful and expensive plant stands, but I ended up with the same problem—no one to make the choice with me.

I picked my favorites—at least 10. I opened them all in separate tabs; then I arranged them in tiles on my desktop. Over the course of at least an hour—probably longer—I narrowed it down to three. In the end, I chose the least expensive one because my favorite one was $150 more. Would I love it $150 more? I didn't think so.

It came in a box, which I propped up next to the door so that any man who entered my house would see it and say, “Oh, do you want me to put together your plant stand?”

No man did.

To be honest, it was always my intention to put the stand together myself. I am not helpless. I read the reviews—ease of assembly was mentioned many times.

But I was raised in the 1970s, when boys were raised as boys and girls were raised as girls. I had Barbies and yarn and an Easy-Bake Oven. (Side note: I loved my Easy-Bake Oven.) I did not have tools. I did not hang out in garages watching boys put things together. A screwdriver was my mother's drink of choice. So there is always a part of me that wants a man to do the manly things around my house. There's a box in the garage that has been sitting there for I don't know how long—it's not my box. There are spider webs on it, and spiders in it (I found this out by gingerly opening it.) I want to throw the box away, but I'm not going to touch it with all those spidery things on it. I have to steel my girders before I attempt that without a man.

Anyway, back to my plant stand.

I opened the box last night and laid out all the parts according to the instructions, which were surprisingly simple and clear. I methodically put things together—incorrectly, more than once—over the course of about an hour.

I placed it in its designated spot and added my plants to it. There were a couple of empty spots, so I just filled them with what I had on hand. I may change those things later. It looks lovely, and I am proud of myself.

But there is a little part of me that knows this is a step away from Vic. A good step. A necessary step. But still, a step away. And so my heart broke a little when I surveyed my handiwork.

In time, I plan on getting some of those cup holder thingies and hanging the two glass hummingbirds I received as gifts from the plant stand. These will complete my beautiful work.

Now, if only I can get a man to screw them in. 🤣