TALES FROM THE (Widow) HOOD

I remember our first “real” kiss. 1971. On my front porch. I stood on the first step to make up for my lack of height - 5’ 4" to his lanky 6’1” frame. It was a sweet little kiss after our first official date. In the two and a half years previously, a few “friendship kisses” were all we ever shared. A simple peck on the cheek. But that kiss on the porch? That one was different. Intentional. And I remember it made my stomach flutter. A flutter I had not known before. That first kiss. So unforgettable. So innocent. So special. Maui kisses with my Big Kahuna I don’t remember our last kiss. We kissed all the time, but the passionate kisses of two lovers had been derailed by cancer, chemo, and mouth sores. 52 weeks ago I said goodbye to the only man I had kissed passionately in well over 40 years. Someone I kissed every single day. Until... Holiday kisses  That Day.   I didn’t know our last day was going to be our last day. I didn’t kiss him in the ER, when he said, “...

“Hi, Gorgeous!”  He often began notes that way. He thought I was beautiful. He made me feel beautiful. I miss that. His sweet comments as I came downstairs and into his view - dressed for a night out or a day in. His playful leers as I undressed for a shower. In his eyes I had no flaws. He was blind to all of the “soft, sagginess” of aging. I was always his lovely Paula Marie. He forever saw me as the 17-year-old girl who passed his desk as she timidly entered English class. And he always loved me just the way I was. He was my Mr. Rogers.

Posted March 29, 2019 - the day before my first Kahuna-less birthday. "... Tomorrow morning will be tough. I won’t be awakened shortly after midnight with a hug and, “Happy Birthday, Gorgeous. Today is your day.”    There will be no birthday card propped up on the kitchen table, alongside a gift bag. We had everything we wanted, so gifts were not the focus of birthdays. George typically violated the “no gifts” pledge with a sweet surprise and a sheepish grin...and The Card..." READ the entire blog post HERE. My last birthday. Not a worry in the world...

Homesickness. The deeply rooted and inextinguishable feeling you carry when missing the place where you feel most comfortable. That sense of emptiness and longing. The feeling that lingers behind the façade of your everyday activities. You still laugh, smile, and find moments of joy. But deep within your being, you feel the desperate longing for that place. The most comfortable, most welcoming sanctuary. Where you feel safe. As year two of Life After George begins, homesick is the best way to describe what I am feeling these days. Those warm memories of what was. The smiles they evoke. The strongest desire of your being, to be back in that place. To be back home.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health... 52 weeks ago today. It’s Wednesday morning, and my always strong man is too weak to get out of his chair. His doctor instructs me to call 911. Best Friend rushes over. Daughter follows. She alerts Son.. We’re concerned, but hopeful. Is this really happening? The ER team is attentive and reassuring. IV antibiotics and platelets are now fighting the good fight. George is dictating text messages to clients, assuring them their upcoming court appearances will be covered by a colleague. As nurses prepare to move him to the ICU, I sense their sudden urgency, and feel the rising tightness in my throat and unsettling in my stomach. George utters what were to be his last words to me, “Here, honey, take my glasses,” as he is transferred to a gurney for a trip down that all too familiar corridor to the ICU. Neither of us realized those words would be our goodbye... "Honey, hold my glasses" - forever Hours later, Th...