Today I Wore Black
Today I wore black.
Black shirt, black pants, black sox.
It's unusual but deliberate.
Like Johnny Cash, today I'm the "Man in Black".
My clothes match my black heart and mood,
which are hidden from view but no less real.
For some odd reason I need the world to see me in black.
It's Friday and I'm wearing black.
But, it has nothing to do with the Stock Market.
The markets remain somewhat bleak, especially for my modest, tech-centric holdings.
But my wearing black today has no Wall Street, "Black Friday" connection.
It has nothing to do with the Seattle rain, either.
We've had something like 26 straight days of rain and might be heading for a record.
This is extreme even for the Pacific Northwest during winter.
It's cast a dark pall over the city.
Perhaps no place I've even been is darker than Seattle on a rainy, cold January day.
But it's no cause to wear black.
They tell me today is the 13th - the first Friday the 13th of the new year.
I know every Friday the 13th tends to provoke a special kind of fear and trepidation in some hearts and minds. But, it doesn't matter to me. Heck, I've survived 48 years worth of Friday the 13th's. Terrible things may have happened to me, but they were not caused by the mystic forces of Friday the 13th.
Today I wore black deliberately, but I'm not sure I can explain why.
It was somewhat like a badge or a uniform.
I wore black as a statement to those who might see me.
I wore black as a statement to myself.
Every time my image reflects back, I need to see myself as "a man in black".
Today I drank whiskey.
Alone.
I rarely drink alone and I almost never drink whiskey.
Today I dropped-into a downtown Seattle bar and ordered a double Jamison's straight-up.
It was HER favorite.
And, before I took my first sip, I paused for a solemn, silent toast.
Today I wear black to remind me of HER.
And the LOSS.
And the deep need to honor what little remains.
Today I wear black to hold-on-to all the good things for one more time.
It was exactly 2 years ago today - the 13th of January.
It was a lifetime ago, yet it was just yesterday.
It's all so far away, yet it's all still so close.
Time plays such tricks on us as we age.
She loved me, and I'm a better man for it.
I loved her, and I'm a better man for that, too.
I need another double Jamison's - maybe to escape the pain or maybe to help me access the memories.
When it was good it was great.
The love, the support, the mutual respect, the banter, the wit.
The sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her face.
The way she looked at me when she grabbed my arm and told me that we fit and how I completed her. The way she completed me and turned two separate him & her bodies into a single us.
Today I wear black to help me deal with the lingering pain.
I can still remember her last moments, in vivid, real-life images.
Images that are so real-life they hurt.
Her breathing was so pained and shallow.
Her body so mutilated by the cancer.
I held her hand. It was so cold.
I kissed her forehead.
I whispered to her that she was loved and told her it was going to be ok.
I prayed that she would finally be allowed peace and contentment.
I told her it was ok to go.
She didn't need my permission, but I wanted her to know.
I didn't want her to hurt for even one more minute on my account. I wanted her to finally have peace and comfort and escape from the cancer-beast that had been attacking her for so long.
I felt so inept and weak. I was supposed to be her warrior-knight, her protector. Why couldn't I at least get one chance to fight her cancer-beast? It wasn't fair. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Today I wore black and sipped doubles of Irish Whiskey alone, and remembered her. I spoke her name - Annette. I spoke it with respect and honor, with pride and love.
I remembered back to the day we met, our first date, our first kiss. I remembered how she could put me on Cloud 9 with just a smile. No alcohol required.
I sipped more whiskey and remembered Banff.
It must have been October of 1982.
Such a long time ago, yet once again so clear and current in my minds eye.
It was off-season -- the summer tourists were back home and the winter skiers were still praying for a good snow year. The town was almost closed down when we arrived. Almost everyone was gone except for Cupid and a friendly gang from Australia. Boy can those Aussies drink. But we were Montana-trained ourselves, so we kept-up and kept the blarney flowing late into the Canadian night.
Perhaps that's what attracted Cupid?
Maybe she was hanging-out on a cold Alberta night waiting for a drunken couple.
Easy marks for her arrows.
Whatever it was, the arrows did strike and our love bloomed.
I remember it like it happened yesterday.
I wear black and drink whiskey alone because I want to remember it.
I NEED to remember it!
I need to remember it and once again feel it, even if it hurts.
No matter how much it hurts... I need to re-live the moments and endure the pain.
Then, I can call on the whiskey to help numb me just enough so I can endure more.
My life is moving on, but I don't ever want to forget it.
Never!
It's such a balancing act -- to keep just the right amount of memories and also allow for all the new experiences and possibilities. To learn from the painful lessons without getting drown by them.
She was my amazing grace.
She was truly my better half.
At 45, she was gone too soon and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.
So, what else can I do...
but wear black,
and sip whiskey alone,
and remember her,
and play back the scenes -- whether happy or sad,
and try to learn the lessons and find the balance,
on Friday the 13th of January 2006?
Black shirt, black pants, black sox.
It's unusual but deliberate.
Like Johnny Cash, today I'm the "Man in Black".
My clothes match my black heart and mood,
which are hidden from view but no less real.
For some odd reason I need the world to see me in black.
It's Friday and I'm wearing black.
But, it has nothing to do with the Stock Market.
The markets remain somewhat bleak, especially for my modest, tech-centric holdings.
But my wearing black today has no Wall Street, "Black Friday" connection.
It has nothing to do with the Seattle rain, either.
We've had something like 26 straight days of rain and might be heading for a record.
This is extreme even for the Pacific Northwest during winter.
It's cast a dark pall over the city.
Perhaps no place I've even been is darker than Seattle on a rainy, cold January day.
But it's no cause to wear black.
They tell me today is the 13th - the first Friday the 13th of the new year.
I know every Friday the 13th tends to provoke a special kind of fear and trepidation in some hearts and minds. But, it doesn't matter to me. Heck, I've survived 48 years worth of Friday the 13th's. Terrible things may have happened to me, but they were not caused by the mystic forces of Friday the 13th.
Today I wore black deliberately, but I'm not sure I can explain why.
It was somewhat like a badge or a uniform.
I wore black as a statement to those who might see me.
I wore black as a statement to myself.
Every time my image reflects back, I need to see myself as "a man in black".
Today I drank whiskey.
Alone.
I rarely drink alone and I almost never drink whiskey.
Today I dropped-into a downtown Seattle bar and ordered a double Jamison's straight-up.
It was HER favorite.
And, before I took my first sip, I paused for a solemn, silent toast.
Today I wear black to remind me of HER.
And the LOSS.
And the deep need to honor what little remains.
Today I wear black to hold-on-to all the good things for one more time.
It was exactly 2 years ago today - the 13th of January.
It was a lifetime ago, yet it was just yesterday.
It's all so far away, yet it's all still so close.
Time plays such tricks on us as we age.
She loved me, and I'm a better man for it.
I loved her, and I'm a better man for that, too.
I need another double Jamison's - maybe to escape the pain or maybe to help me access the memories.
When it was good it was great.
The love, the support, the mutual respect, the banter, the wit.
The sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her face.
The way she looked at me when she grabbed my arm and told me that we fit and how I completed her. The way she completed me and turned two separate him & her bodies into a single us.
Today I wear black to help me deal with the lingering pain.
I can still remember her last moments, in vivid, real-life images.
Images that are so real-life they hurt.
Her breathing was so pained and shallow.
Her body so mutilated by the cancer.
I held her hand. It was so cold.
I kissed her forehead.
I whispered to her that she was loved and told her it was going to be ok.
I prayed that she would finally be allowed peace and contentment.
I told her it was ok to go.
She didn't need my permission, but I wanted her to know.
I didn't want her to hurt for even one more minute on my account. I wanted her to finally have peace and comfort and escape from the cancer-beast that had been attacking her for so long.
I felt so inept and weak. I was supposed to be her warrior-knight, her protector. Why couldn't I at least get one chance to fight her cancer-beast? It wasn't fair. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Today I wore black and sipped doubles of Irish Whiskey alone, and remembered her. I spoke her name - Annette. I spoke it with respect and honor, with pride and love.
I remembered back to the day we met, our first date, our first kiss. I remembered how she could put me on Cloud 9 with just a smile. No alcohol required.
I sipped more whiskey and remembered Banff.
It must have been October of 1982.
Such a long time ago, yet once again so clear and current in my minds eye.
It was off-season -- the summer tourists were back home and the winter skiers were still praying for a good snow year. The town was almost closed down when we arrived. Almost everyone was gone except for Cupid and a friendly gang from Australia. Boy can those Aussies drink. But we were Montana-trained ourselves, so we kept-up and kept the blarney flowing late into the Canadian night.
Perhaps that's what attracted Cupid?
Maybe she was hanging-out on a cold Alberta night waiting for a drunken couple.
Easy marks for her arrows.
Whatever it was, the arrows did strike and our love bloomed.
I remember it like it happened yesterday.
I wear black and drink whiskey alone because I want to remember it.
I NEED to remember it!
I need to remember it and once again feel it, even if it hurts.
No matter how much it hurts... I need to re-live the moments and endure the pain.
Then, I can call on the whiskey to help numb me just enough so I can endure more.
My life is moving on, but I don't ever want to forget it.
Never!
It's such a balancing act -- to keep just the right amount of memories and also allow for all the new experiences and possibilities. To learn from the painful lessons without getting drown by them.
She was my amazing grace.
She was truly my better half.
At 45, she was gone too soon and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.
So, what else can I do...
but wear black,
and sip whiskey alone,
and remember her,
and play back the scenes -- whether happy or sad,
and try to learn the lessons and find the balance,
on Friday the 13th of January 2006?
posted by tomwilk | 5:40 PM
2 Comments:
Tom, I didn't know what to expect from your comments, and this link. I wasn't sure how to interpret the things that were and weren't said in our telephone call. But I wanted to right away capture and comment on the emotion that rang in me, reading your writing.
It's lovely, and sad, and so honorful, for lack of a better word. And I understand your point in telling me "I'm alright." And I'm glad that you did, because that puts an even greater context on your writing.
None of us who hasn't been through the love, and loss, and greater loss again of a spouse and partner like you have can know what it feels like. Can know how the joy and pain must splinter and thunder and heal and re-open almost spontaneously.
But what we can do is love, and support, and respect the memory of you and Annette, and others we've loved and lost. Support your strength and courage to share such powerful words and feelings, AND, love and honor those in our lives every day, for however long we have them.
So a thank you, for sharing this seems so weak. But I'll say it anyway, for helping remind me again to remember and treasure the joyful moments and people in my life every day...and those in the past.
And to thank you for the courage to share this powerful and intimate part of your life, past, present and future.
Thank YOU - Dana.
I deeply appreciate your thoughts.
~ tom
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