I Want to See You Dance Again

I know my family and friends want me to be happy again. They see Lonely Paula Marie and it pains them to witness my emptiness. I am so thankful my village has taken me under their collective wing, and even more appreciative none have played the “It’s time to move on” card – at least not to my face. I have promised to keep the door open to counseling options. For now, my dates with this blog are helping me process my transition to Paula, Party of One…

When Neil Young's Harvest Moon kept randomly popping up on Pandora, I started listening more closely to the lyrics. It had to be a #KahunaSign. George may as well have been singing the lyrics in my ear as we danced. “I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…”

Our last dance. Wiping a Kahuna tear.

My happy place in his arms.

The last four months have taught me a lot. I now truly understand how debilitating grief can be. I know what loneliness feels like. I can be very present on the surface and completely numb and distracted inside. I still struggle with a reply when asked how I am “feeling/holding up/coping/managing”. I offer ambiguous non-answers most of the time. “I’m well” “Doing okay” “Taking one day at a time”. I am skillful at getting “gussied up” and putting on a happy, playful facade when needed. Yet the occasional crack in my voice or tear rolling down my cheek often betray me, and provide the authentic answer. “I feel empty/sad/lonely/vulnerable/unsettled, thank you for asking.”

Smoke and mirrors, folks.

As accurately as I count each day without George, I am equally unable to remember what I “Do” from one day to the next. Wake up – early - and let the reality of the empty side of the bed sink in. Try to remember my dreams, hoping to recall a “visit” from George (four visits and counting!). Feed Charlie while I make tea. Check my phone alerts for any breaking news, and scan social media. Read email. Protein shake or other simple breakfast. Take Charlie for a walk. Sit in what was George’s office and face the new business/financial responsibilities of widowhood. Do something – errands, appointments, household chores, perhaps lunch with friends. Feed Charlie. Do something else. Or do nothing. Eat dinner, if I remember to. Channel-surf in search of mindless entertainment. Reading is still impossible due to widow's fog (yes, it's a thing). Turn off the lights. Go to bed.

The “Somethings” that fill those blank spaces in every 24 hour block are hard for me to remember. When Son or Daughter asks, “What did you do today, mom?” it takes me a minute to process a reply. I know I did something. But what was it? I guess the best answer is I survived another Kahuna-less day.

Do Something. I keep telling myself I must. I started making plans and saying yes to invitations from friends and family, and have suddenly found myself with my Fall calendar filled with trips. The recent Las Vegas outing with N, as her plus-one for a wedding. A Minnesota visit with Daughter and family – to tend to the Grands and the cavalcade of equipment that accompanies a toddler and preschooler on a four hour flight. A road trip to the San Francisco Bay Area with Sister-in-law, followed by four days in NYC with Nieces, and all the excitement the Big Apple has to offer. But wait, there’s more! I’m headed to San Diego before Thanksgiving, determined to walk another 60 miles over three days (my 16th time) in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day, an event George and I had done together since 2004. And did I mention concerts and musical theater? Is there such thing as doing too much?

Clearly my current “Something” is a bi-polar existence – agonizing alone-ness followed by manic event overload. I had not set out to cram my calendar (and put a dent in my bank account!) with events that take me away, but that’s what happened. And yet I still feel empty. It’s surely fodder for an interesting therapy session – if I can fit it in!

Today I Did Something! I planned my next journey. It will be difficult – at times impossible - and always emotional. I bought the “ticket” on the day I marked Week 18 without my Kahuna. It will take me deep into my soul. A series of 21 guided meditations to help me find the path to joy again. I know it’s the journey George most wants me to make. My heartbreak is his. He faced his fate with only one regret – he knew the sorrow the kids and I would feel when he left us. I owe it to him to find my new happiness within. No amount of travel or distraction will fill the void in my heart. I must take this inward journey and find my joy again.

I know my Kahuna is with me. Every moment of every day. Every step along the way. I will dance again. Find happiness again. Honey, I miss you so much it’s hard to breathe. Happiness is the Something I can’t begin to imagine yet. But I’m going to try. Because I’m still in love with you.

Our Perfect Opera Nights - Time to Say Goodbye

In February, while George was at war with cancer, a special friend sent me a link to a video along with a message: “I heard this song,  Ed Sheeran Perfect Symphony with Andrea Bocelli  and want to dedicate it to you and George. I can picture you guys dancing barefoot together in the kitchen, having a glass of wine and holding on to each other.” She knew us well. 

Perfect lyrics. Perfect voices.

George and I were raised to appreciate a wide variety of music genres. Our depression-era parents introduced us to the Big Bands and swing, which fed George’s future love affair with the trumpet. We grew up on 50’s and 60’s rock and roll, and played the music of the 70’s as the soundtrack of our early years as young lovers. Jazz and blues found their way into our lives as well, and an occasional country song always reminded George of his mother.

My Kahuna and I didn’t need a date night to find a reason to turn up the volume and take a spin – or slow dance. With the right music, he would take my hand and our dance party of two began. Slow dances in his arms. I felt loved there. Happy. It was perfect.

One musical style can’t be traced to either family’s catalog of vinyl that spun on the hi-fi’s of our childhood. Yet it became a special part of the George and Paula story - Classical and Opera. The Three Tenors and Ravel’s Bolero, among others, became the musical background for some very special evenings…

Opera Nights, we called them. Candlelight. Wine or snifters of brandy. Speakers cranked up with the music of full symphony orchestras, and a blanket by the fire.  With each CD selection George would “conduct” the orchestra, throwing his head back in complete rapture, as the symphony translated a series of notes on a page into mesmerizing music. He would educate me on the placement of each instrument group on the stage (his beloved trumpets in the rear due to their overpowering volume). We listened carefully to identify the instrument added to each repetitive melody of Ravel's Bolero and felt the power and sensuality of the crescendo. It was perfect.

Our Opera Nights continued with arias sung by the likes of Luciano Pavarotti, Jose Carreras, Placido Domingo. But our favorite Opera Night offering was Time to Say Goodbye, with Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. As candles flickered, we lay together, not understanding anything but the one lyric in English, yet completely under the spell of the passion expressed through their voices. Some of our most romantic nights-out were a night-in with music and dancing in the dark. They were perfect.

Our Kahuna size Christmas tree. 

We allowed our opera night ritual to slip away the past few years. We had begun a new tradition two years ago that was equally romantic and memorable. Under the illumination of our Christmas tree, with the gentle crackle of the fireplace logs, we spread a blanket and lay in each other’s arms as Christmas music played. Bing Crosby's White Christmas was George’s all-time favorite holiday song, and it became our dance worthy moment that special Christmas. It was perfect.

The memories of these intimate, simple-yet-extraordinary moments are precious. As much as my heart breaks that there will be no more Opera Nights – no more magical Christmas moments, I hold tightly to the memories, and close my eyes trying to recapture their intimacy. 

If I can share a piece of advice to my readers it would be this: create your special traditions. Make them yours. Make them memorable. Make time for them. Make them PERFECT! You never know when it will be time to say goodbye.

Footnote: As I made the final edits to this post before publishing, Perfect by Ed Sheeran began playing on my Pandora station. I love #KahunaSigns. Perfect!

Filling the Hole in My Heart

Are you getting tired of Poor Pitiful Paula? Do you question why I still cry daily? Sleep with his pajamas under my pillow? Forget to eat dinner? Is my grief depression depressing you? George’s death has stolen “me”. In its place is the actor portraying Paula, going through the motions each day with smiles that hide the huge, unfillable hole in her heart. Read on if you dare…

Sixteen weeks. Yes I still count in weeks. You would think it’s getting easier. Think again. I may have adapted to the new routine of life alone, but each day brings with it a new challenge – another reminder of the emptiness I feel. Yesterday it was saying goodbye to George’s car. Another piece of my Kahuna was gone. Who knew the sight of an vacant space in the garage would evoke tears!

What happened to the “woman formerly known as Paula”? Try as I might to reconnect with her, she’s nowhere to be found. Instead I am watching my new, and until a few months ago unthinkable, life being played out by an actor. The day I became Hultman, party of one, Paula disappeared. My body double took over, going through the everyday routine of life, but somehow detached from her new reality. My life is a Hallmark movie!

The trailer would go something like this….”She was an insecure teenager who dreamed of finding her true love. He was the guy everyone knew – the cool kid – and, she thought, the kind of boy who would never pay her a second look. Until one day, when their paths crossed and their lives changed forever. A love story for the ages, until… the doctor delivered the devastating news. Their perfect life together came to a sudden, tragic end. Now she struggles coming to terms with her new life. How will she face her future – alone – without her one true love?”

With each passing day I feel George’s loss differently. More permanently. He’s not coming back. He won’t wear the closet full of clothes I can't part with - yet. No more “Opera Nights” (the subject of a future blog). While I know his absence is permanent, my brain is still programmed to include my Kahuna. I catch myself using plural pronouns – “We have a dog,” “Our house is just around the corner.” This detachment from what I know to be reality keeps the actor Paula on the payroll!  I may sound completely off the rails, and I can’t expect others to understand this double life I live – unless they, too, have been down this path.

But wait. Don’t give up on me yet. There is a glimmer of hope. I’m finding comfort and guidance in daily meditation. I’m also feeling moments of inner strength. An occasional sense of calm. They're fleeting - and welcome. Perhaps the actor depicting me is gaining confidence. She is channeling her inner Kahuna and learning to take on his strengths as her own. They are baby steps to be sure, but something is happening – S-L-O-W-L-Y – bringing my impostor closer to the authentic Paula 2.0. 

That hole in my heart? It’s still there. It will always be. But instead of sinking into the emptiness, I’m beginning to imagine it being filled with all the beauty of George’s spirit as he passes it on to me. His love. His strength. His courage. His confidence that I can live life without him. Honey, I’m trying. I really am. As long as you're within me - filling my empty heart.