206 days. 29 weeks. Almost seven months. Each day the reality seers more deeply into my soul. New rituals and routines. Acceptance of the quiet house - our house - devoid of his boisterous presence. On occasion some mundane moment takes me back to before That Day. To be specific, it was the hour long drive home after lunch with a friend. In a dreamlike moment, I suspended reality and imagined George at his office – strong and in charge – as I headed home to prep dinner and await his arrival. Feeling content. Looking forward to sharing our day’s events with each other over a glass of wine, with Charlie at George’s feet. The old normal of so many ordinary days. I knew this wasn’t my new reality. For as long as I could, I let myself forget he is gone, and lingered in the warmth of his presence. Ignoring the looming reality - he wouldn’t be home this night. Almost seven months…
George was born in the 50s, and his Baby Boomer musical preferences never veered far from the decades just before and after – except, perhaps, his infatuation with
Linda Ronstadt! From the big bands introduced to him by his parents, to Elvis, Roy Orbison, and The Everly Brothers, my Kahuna loved his Happy Days inspired playlists.
One song was George’s anthem to me - his Lovely Paula Marie.
Only You, by the Platters. It would be the song he’d request at our high school reunions. The first song on the mix tape he made me as an anniversary present - along with an emerald and diamond bracelet! It would also be the last song we danced to, on his birthday just weeks before That Day.
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| The room was filled but in this moment it was Only Us |
This week, “Only You” took on a whole new meeting. “It’s only you now, Paula”, would be my reality self-check in a week of anxiety, illness, tragedy and fear…
The anxious moments awaiting results of the Midterm elections were my first, unanticipated Only You moment of the week. George and I were politically aligned in our commitment to the principles of equality, compassion, and acceptance. His fiscal conservative/social liberalism countered my “bleeding heart” at times, and his encyclopedic knowledge of the Constitution provided welcome insight. He also knew many judges and guided me through the laundry list of judicial candidates. We would discuss of the pros and cons of each candidate, and argue the often confusing intent of each proposition. As I sat down with my sample ballot and election guide, I felt the void. I sat alone, did my research - left many judicial candidates un-voted for - and took a solo walk to the polling place. “It’s only you now, Paula.”
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| We Voted! 2016 |
The week also brought my first “real” illness since That Day, courtesy of an adorable 15 month old. Her croup became Gigi’s bronchitis – a fever-chills-Kleenex-box-emptying few days of misery. I missed my Kahuna-nurse, checking on me and bringing comfort with his strong hands - and a cold cloth to bring down my fever. “It’s only you now, Paula,” rang in my already ringing ears. I trudged downstairs to find some tea and soup, called Daughter for advice on the timing of taking Tylenol and Advil, snuggled up with Charlie, and realized how my single/solo friends fend for themselves. It was all so new to me!
Waking up in the pre-dawn hours to the news of yet another senseless massacre of innocent people, just miles from our home, sent me reeling. Twelve innocent lives taken by a mentally ill white man with access to a gun.
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| #Enough |
I would soon learn my friends knew some of the victims. Another thanked God her son had elected not to go to Borderline club that night because he had a late work shift. Still others knew the local sheriff and first responder killed by the gunman. I lay in bed – alone - and broken once again by the absurdity of this country’s love affair with guns. I was without my Kahuna to hold me tight as I cried for the grieving widows, and the parents awaiting news and fearing the worst. “It’s only you now, Paula.”
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| Two hours later, these brave first responders were on the fire line. #indebted |
No sooner had I returned home from the nearby freeway overpass - hand over my heart as the passing motorcade carried the slain officer - did the sound of sirens fill the air. My obsession with the news prompted me to check my Pulse Point app to learn of a vegetation fire a couple miles from me. Just minutes later a plume of smoke rose behind the house. Within hours, my level of concern was raised as the ridge behind me displayed the eerie red glow of the approaching fire. The unmistakable sound of automated phone alerts throughout the evening didn’t put my mind at ease, although none were mandatory evacuation notices. As a SoCal native, this wasn’t my first brush fire rodeo, but it was the first without my protector. My rock. “It’s only you now, Paula…”
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| Too close for comfort! |
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| Getting closer... |
“Mom you need to evacuate!” Daughter texted as wild Santa Ana wind gusts advanced the flames along the hills just east of me. Her friend – an experienced “evacuator” - implored me to pack a bag and collect valuables “just in case”. Their concern left me grateful – and anxious - and feeling very, very alone. A momentary panic set in, exhibited by wandering aimlessly, room to room, trying to wrap my head around what I would take if I had to evacuate. I channeled my inner Kahuna and shook off the panic. “It’s only you now, Paula. Take a couple deep breaths and gather your wits – and the essentials –
pets, papers, pictures, prescriptions.” I packed a just-in-case bag, felt relief at the sight of the waning red glow out the window, and fell asleep after a long “Only You” day.
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| My Kahuna was packed too! |
My Only You moments brought their fair share of tears and, in hindsight, demonstrated the strength I hadn’t realized I have. I added four notches to my widow’s belt and cinched it a little tighter around my survivor waste. I know George was with me, and imagine him feeling comforted knowing I am finding my new self.
Next week brings its next Only You moment. I’m pulling up my compression socks, lacing up my shoes, and heading out for my 16th
3-Day, 60 mile walk. George and I walked thousands of miles training and participating in this event since 2002, and walking without him will be emotional. I’m bracing for a flood of memories – and a fair share of blisters! As I walk, I will have plenty of time remembering the man who made me his Only You.
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| A kiss at Mile 20 |
I had my Only You for more years than many of my readers have lived! How truly grateful I am for 50 years of Kahuna hugs, kisses, and partnership. Honey, you were my dream come true, my one and Only You.
Let me make one thing clear. Since That Day, I have never been truly alone, unless by choice. My village has been “with” me whenever I need them. The depth of their love, support and assistance is humbling. They have helped soften the grief that will always be a part of my life.
