I Felt You

I felt you. On what would have been our 44^th anniversary, I lay in bed - on your “side” for the first time since you left - closed my eyes and “touched” you. I started at the top. Ran my fingers through the soft, thick hair around the back of your head – once the beautiful blond of youth, turned white with time. You had marveled at the preponderance of follicles that resided back there, yet had departed the parts north decades earlier! Thankfully you ditched the strategic comb-over in the 80’s and embraced the bald. 

As I lay, eyes closed, in the quiet stillness that is now the soundtrack of our home, I rubbed that beautiful top of your head where there’s more scalp than hair. I thought back to That Day when I stroked that spot as tears fell – when I couldn’t stop touching you. Couldn’t walk away.  

I continued to your forehead and felt the furrows just above your eyebrows. Gently stroked your brows to tame the errant hairs. I ran my hands along the side of your head then touched your ears. Each and every fold. I softly whispered “I love you”. I cupped your cheeks and felt the sandpaper-like, end-of-day whisker stubble. As I touched your nose, I imagined the soft exhales of your breath, and I longed for you. I reached your beautiful soft lips. The lips that have caressed me for so many years. Soft and full. Gentle. Perfect. I kissed them and didn’t want to leave.

I touched your chin and neck as my hands made their way to your shoulders. Big, broad, strong shoulders. You carried the weight of others’ troubles on them. Never complaining, always willing to ease their burden. 

My hands continued down your arms. They were once again strong, not weakened by the evil beast that is cancer. I could feel the hairs of your forearms and the leathery skin of a man who had worked hard his entire life. When I got to your hands I clutched them in mine - they were almost twice the size - and we clasped fingers. I heard our rings clicking on each other’s. I held tight - hesitating to let go. It was one of our simple gestures of expressing our love. We were good hand holders weren’t we?

As I returned to your shoulders I wrapped my arms around your neck. The embrace I knew so well. Where I felt safe. Loved. As I reached your chest. I stopped to feel your heart beating, and let my hands rise and fall as you took gentle, relaxed breaths. I reached your belly. The one that shook like a bowl full of jelly when you were Santa for so many Christmases. I gave you a lot of grief about your belly, didn’t I? I’d give anything to put my hands on it again.

My hands continued to caress you – my one and only - the man I loved for so many years. I felt every part of you. Every. Single. Part. It was tender, sensual, and beautiful. 

As my hands reached your strong legs I imagined walking side by side, your confident stride telling the world you were there to take care of things. And your feet. You loved foot massages, and I spent some time holding each foot in my hands softly rubbing each toe.

I could feel you, yet you weren’t there. Or maybe you were. I’d like to think you are with me - is Heaven at my house as Max suggested? The quiet has never been quieter, the emptiness has never felt emptier.

Sometimes I wonder how you would grieve, had our fates been reversed. Would you struggle with the solitude? Would you grieve silently, or be an open book as I am? Would you cry every day? Would you be able to get through a phone call without the voice muting lump in your throat? Wander aimlessly through the grocery store trying to shop for one? Would you hug the pillow next to you pretending it was me? Sit alone in the house, TV muted, the only sound to be heard a gentle tick, tick, tick of the wall clock?  Would you go to bed each night relieved to have survived yet another day without me, and ask me to visit you in your dreams?

Oh how I miss you, My Big Kahuna. I’m doing the best I can without you. And I still feel you in my life. Please come visit me in my dreams. 

Kahuna Signs

Today marks the one week anniversary of the day I was not prepared for. That Day. Last words. Last hug. Last day of my Kahuna filled life. I still sleep on “my side” of the bed, and find myself referring to future plans as, “We want to…” It was the George and Paula Show for so long, and separating myself from that beautiful companionship is going to take time. Writing is helping me heal, and I thank those reading this for indulging my oversharing.

When does it feel real? I know he’s gone. There will be no return to his side of the bed. No more stories my Kahuna famously told – and retold - with such enthusiasm. For now I feel as if I’m going through the motions of daily life, and not truly feeling his absence. Tears flow freely - and often - as if I'm part of a sappy Hallmark movie. Yet this isn't fiction and my reality hasn't quite gotten the memo.

I’ve got a village doing everything possible to help make the transition more bearable. And I have learned just how much George was directing key players from the sidelines these past four months, assuring his inevitable departure (CANCER SUCKS) would be as painless as possible for me, his LPM, Lovely Paula Marie.

This week with the help of our best friend, we sat at George’s desk preparing his case files for colleagues who have so openly and willingly stepped up to keep his clients represented. Making calls. Breaking the news to those who felt so secure in his capable professional hands. Discussing his clients with his sister/brotherhood of attorney friends, and crying at some point in every conversation. His absence from all of our lives is very real, yet I can’t say the reality – the finality – has sunk in. Is that a sign that he’s still “with” me?

Signs Oh how I want to know that, absent of his cancer ravaged body, my Kahuna is watching over me. Over us. For those who process the afterlife differently, I honor and accept your version. For me, I have taken great comfort when my dearly departed have “visited” me in dreams, appeared in nature, or somehow let me know they are with me. My sister is with me with every monarch butterfly. Another beautiful soul drops by as a dove occasionally. George seems to be dropping by too, visiting family and friends, and likely leaving hints that they are all now responsible for the care and feeding of his LPM…

The Wake Up Call  George’s heart stopped less than a minute after Son arrived in the ICU, completing our family circle who lovingly and tearfully surrounded him. Our extended family had all gone to bed praying for George, and expecting an update in the morning. That update would shatter everyone’s hopes. As word spread to our closest family and the Pilgrimage to Paula began, so did the tales of the signs. Niece, suddenly awakened from a sound sleep at the exact time her favorite uncle was in that tearful hug with Son – the moment I believe George waited for - before letting go of his failing body. Uncle George stopped by to see his beautiful “little girl” and let her know he would always be a second father as well as a dear friend. In the days after, others shared stories of unusual awakenings that coincided with my Kahuna’s first, then second heart stopping moments. Signs.

The Whale  The morning after his passing, Daughter and Son-in-law drove to the Pacific Coast Highway for some coffee, tears and reflection. You may know the spot – famous in many SoCal car commercials for its rugged cliffs and landmark rock protuberance. The Kahuna and I spent our fair share of moments in that exact spot, taking in the endless view and salt spray of crashing waves. Suddenly Daughter noticed, not far offshore, the distinct undulation of a whale as it slowly traveled along the coastline. In all of her visits to that spot she had never spotted a whale. Neither had I. She immediately texted me. A few days later, Niece checked in while on her long planned birthday trip along California’s Central Coast and shared her first-ever sighting of…you guessed it…a whale! My Big Kahuna Whale was with them. Signs.

Man’s Best Friend George is a pushover for the Golden Retrievers who have been the third Musketeer in the George and Paula Show. Charlie has assumed that role since we rescued him in 2015, and was probably the dog most bonded to his dad. After George’s diagnosis, Charlie stayed closer to his master – alongside his chair or curled up in George’s office while he met with clients. Charlie prefers sleeping downstairs in his “spot”, and rarely sauntered up the stairs – unless he sensed George was putting on his walking shoes for their daily stroll - and bounded up for confirmation. They were inseparable. Yet dogs live in the moment, so George’s absence doesn’t play out with human emotion. Charlie’s still waiting for Dad to come through the door, yet is his happy-go-lucky Golden self in the meantime. But he’s here for me. Nuzzled into my lap when I had my first meltdown. And this morning – only my second overnight alone since That Day – I found Charlie at the foot of George’s side of the bed. As I lay in bed on my self-proclaimed day of solitude, he has stayed upstairs with me. George’s best friend is now my Hairy Kahuna, making sure I am safe. A sign.

The Rings  George had two wedding rings. The band I placed on his finger in 1974, and a second, slightly more blingy ring – my gift to him for our 40th anniversary, and a mate to the ring he gave me. His wedding band was all but fused to his ring finger, thanks to the extra pounds 44 years of marriage had bestowed on him. I did not expect it to leave his finger That Day, but his kind and compassionate ICU nurse had other plans. Using ultrasound lubricant gel, she oh-so-gently massaged his finger to work the ring from his lifeless hand and tenderly handed it to me. It was the last gift from George to me, and both rings now hang from a chain around my neck. They rest close to my heart – in my cleavage – my Kahuna is loving this placement!

Sweet grandbaby Kelly, at nine months, will sadly have no memories of her grandpa, other than the stories and photos we will share to keep him in her heart forever. One of George’s only regrets when he became sick was not having more time with his three grandchildren. He had hoped for fishing trips, more Disneyland adventures, and more time to create memories. Shortly after That Day, Daughter’s family decided to take their planned overnight trek to the happiest place on earth, and I opted to join them. It was our happy place too, and a good diversion for the day. I made it my role to stroll Kelly while Max, Daughter and SIL enjoyed the rides. She was my perfect companion – she let me cry as I recalled the memories with George here, and she didn’t question if I was “alright”. We took Kelly on one infant-friendly attraction – a little train ride. As I sat alongside Kelly in her daddy’s lap, she reached for the rings and held them the entire time. Holding Grandpa’s hand on her first ever ride at his favorite place to be a kid at heart. She has continued to clutch the rings at every opportunity since then. Grandpa is keeping close. A sign.

In Dreams  I have heard from friends and family that George has “visited” them. A presence. A feeling. A dream. I experienced those encounters when my mother and sister died, and had a beautiful moment with one of our Goldens – Bear – after we lost him suddenly. George’s dad came to him shortly after his death, and he found great comfort and wonder in the experience. I wanted more time with my Kahuna and was slightly envious hearing he had popped in on others and not me – yet!

I had my moment – the first of many I hope – two nights ago. We didn’t talk, but we hugged. I could feel him. There was less girth to wrap my arms around, which I attributed to the massive tumor being gone. He hugged back. We kissed. It was still wonderful. I awakened suddenly and he was gone. I willed myself back to sleep in hopes he would still be there. He wasn’t. I’m hoping he will return for a conversation one day. I have more to tell him. I want him to know I’m sorry for those last excruciating hours.

On this self-imposed day alone, I am going to look at photos, listen to music, hug Charlie and take a long walk. I’ll be looking for signs. I know my Kahuna is sending them.