Author: Logan Lo

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Seeing people after two years, Pt 1

Wish it turned out differently.

Wrote this exactly one month after she passed. Still can’t believe she’s gone.

The kid was away for a week so I could continue doing all the admin stuff I needed to do. Like close out her bank accounts. Most were fine.

Bank of America was not. BoA was the worst. Call up their estate number (888.689.4466) and you’ll see what I mean; was on hold for a total of four hours over three phone calls.

Gotta figure that anyone calling their estate number is probably in the same mental situation as me so that shows how much priority they place on their customers.

/rant

The kid away meant that I could see friends.

Again, my life stopped some time in September 2015 because Alison and I just wanted to enjoy being expectant parents.

With the exception of my gym buddies, stopped seeing all my friends then.

Saw one group of friends early in the week that took me out for some Cuban-Chinese around the way. Ended up drinking until about 1:30AM.

Me: Get out.
Her: I gotta crash here.
Him: I gotta crash here too.
Me: OK, fine. Nobody throw up.

Before my liver had a chance to recover, saw my college friends. My old safe harbor.

They all came out at a moment’s notice.

Me: Last minute but the kid’s away if anyone is free for dinner and a drink.
Them: Wherever you want, Logan.

They brought me out to eat at KTown and drinks afterward; didn’t get home until after midnight.

Another Korean Stew

They all donated to Alison and gave me a pretty massive check made out to the kid to boot.

Me: It’s too much, fellas.
Him: You’d do the same for us.
Me: That’s what you think.
Group: (laughs)

They’ve known me 25 years. That’s how old we are.

Me: It’s hard for me to explain what’s going on in my head. I feel like I was just at your wedding. And we were all just at Bobby’s funeral. There are so many things I don’t remember. I can’t believe what I’ve been doing the past two years.
Him: It’s probably a survival mechanism. You don’t want to remember everything that happened.
Me: You’re right. I really don’t. (sorrowfully) Just wish it all turned out differently.
Him: (patting me on back and clearing throat) We all wish that for you, man.

Location: Soberville. It sucks here too.
Mood: still heartbroken, of course
Music: never felt so alone in my life
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My Bobby Pin Monster

Being hit all the time

Have you ever been hit in the solar plexus?

When I was a kid, got hit there a buncha times. What happens when you get hit there is that your diaphragm spasms and you can’t breathe at all.

You get lightheaded and double over, fall to your knees, and/or pass out.

Find myself regularly feeling something similar for a variety of reasons.

When I got those emails from my neighbor, for example, I had that feeling.

Just got it last night while (still) trying to clean up.

Alison used to joke with me that I’d never just put things back where I found them when I took them out.

I’d retort that I was always finding her long hair as well as random bobby pins everywhere.

There’s a table we have that still has Christmas decorations on it. Finally found the strength to start cleaning it when I found two bobby pins behind a basket.

And I felt that same hit in my solar plexus I felt as a kid and had to sit down. I haven’t seen her hair anywhere in over a year.

This was probably the last time I’d ever find bobby pins from her ever again.

So much for cleaning any more that day.

I can’t handle all the unexpected hits all the time.

Can’t handle being hit all the time. It’s slow torture.

 

April 2014…

Her: Is that a jar of peanut butter next to the bed?
Me: … No?
Her: Why is there a jar of peanut butter in the bedroom?!
Me: It’s probably the same creature that sheds bobby pins all over the place.
Her: (laughing) Great, we have a peanut-butter eating monster made up of bobby pins somewhere in the house.

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Location: in front of a donut and rum, the breakfast of champions
Mood: struggling still
Music: taken more hits than a world war blitz
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Hope springs eternal

The crazy continues


Was at the police station last week because this mentally disturbed religious nut of a neighbor sent me this long insane email that crushed me with it’s cruelty and pretty sick use of Alison’s passing.

Me: So you can’t actually do anything unless she physically assaults me? Did you read the sick things she wrote?
Policewoman: Yes. But she has to actually take a physical step before we can do anything.
Me: Ma’am, if she physically assaults me, one of us is gonna have a really bad day and it’s probably not gonna be me.

Then I went to see my dad at the hospital, which was excruciating.

All-in-all, a pretty soul-crushing Father’s Day Weekend.

Did write Leigh’s husband to ask him how he dealt with the loss and he wrote me back this long and incredibly kind message. He survived the blow, somehow. I know I have to as well.

For now, I wait for 8PM to come every night so I can have my one drink and pharmaceuticals and hope tomorrow is a better day.

No luck yet, but hope springs eternal, yeah?

Him: How’re you doing tonight?
Me: Same as yesterday.
Him: Consistency is good.
Me: (shrugging) Everything is consistently craptastic so I just go with it.

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Location: underwater
Mood: still broken
Music: here I stand, as a broken man
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Something a lot like love

I could never do it again

The only people I see these days are from my gym.

Probably cause they’re the only ones that have seen me regularly in the past two years. Most friends I’ve not seen since before October 2015.

Went out with some of them the other day in Queens, and two other guys stopped by my pad for some rum. One girl took me out for lunch.

It’s all very:

Him/Her: I don’t know what to say.
Me: What can anyone say?

A surprising number of women I dated have reached out to me or sent me stuff. BJE, The Sexologist, the reporter, the doctor, one of the schoolteachers, just to name a few of them that have appeared in this blog. I was touched that they kept up with me and cared.

The HEI not only sent me rum, she sent me oranges, limes, lemons, and mint for a whole smogasborg of rum drinks. I admit that I ended up just drinking it straight outta the bottle.

Speaking of rum, Caligirl also sent me rum. And called me.

Her: I was mad at you for so long. I thought your whole “looking for my person” was just a line that you used to get out of relationships. But you really were, weren’t you?
Me: (long pause) I was. I found her. It took a while. But I did.
Her: Oh, Logan. I’m so sorry. (crying) I’m so, so sorry.
Me: Yeah, me too.

Not all the women I’ve dated made it to this blog. Some made it clear that they didn’t want to be here.

Years ago, I met someone that lost her fiancee. After I spoke to Caligirl (and if you read her link above, you should also read this one) I decided to give this other woman a ring.

Woman: Logan…I was wondering if I should call you.
Me: Wanted to call to thank you for thinking of us. (pause) And to let you know that I understand now.
Her: (pause) I’m sorry. It’s a s___tty thing to have to understand.
Me: So I right when I said that I could never take the place of your man.
Her: I don’t know if people are ever really lucky enough to find true love twice in life. (laughing) Wait, what did you call what we had?
Me: “Something a lot like love.”
Her: You always did have a way with words.
Me: I think that’s all that’s in my cards now, like yours. (deep breath) Real love, I don’t ever want again. (quietly) I could never do it again. It’s too hard.
Her: (voice cracking) Yes.
Me: Man. F___k us.

I don’t know who I am anymore without Alison.

What we had was my something that I couldn’t put inna words.

Like I said, she was the best part of me. And I worry that without her, I’ll just be the worst bits of who I was.

Or maybe I’m just a sad story you tell other people about. Like when I told you about Leigh.

Which is what I am, I suppose. Damn cancer. It takes everything.

Location: home, alone
Mood: struggling still
Music: for you, I’d leave it all
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Pillowcases

Doing things I gotta but don’t wanna, for reasons I never expected


I don’t know where my pillowcases go.

Alison always did the laundry, folded everything, and put everything away. It wasn’t because it was woman’s work, it’s just that she liked her laundry done a certain way. That was the deal: She did what she was good at and/or wanted to do and I did the same.

I did almost all the cooking, she did almost all the cleaning. It was perfect: She hated to cook, I hated to clean.

When I told my mom that she passed, my mom cried, of course. But she also said, It’s so sad. You were so perfect for each other. You two were the same person.

That’s true. She was a complete person when we met. I was a complete person when we met. But when we got together, while we were complete, we were better. It’s why she was my person.

And now I’m worse. I’m doing things I gotta but don’t wanna, for reasons I never expected.

That’s why every little thing hurts so. It’s like someone took my left arm away.

Did the laundry two days ago. A mountain of it. Folded it as she would have liked. Kinda. And put away what I could. Had to call my mother-in-law to find out where to put the pillowcases and other things.

I’m a stranger to things in my own house.

Which is apropos, I suppose; everything is stranger in general.

My dad is not well. Wish I could see him more often but I can’t leave the kid and don’t want to bring him to the hospital.

And the truth be told, I don’t have the mental and emotional capacity to face that right now. I know I’ll have to at some point.

For now, trying to be as normal as I can for the kid.

Whatever that means.

Location: my strange home
Mood: the same
Music: You got a beautiful soul that I’m blessed to have known
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Best friends forever

I married Alison for her money

When we chatted about my theft, she noted that the amount that was taken was almost exactly the sum of what she had at the time.

Told her that the thing that bothered me most about the theft was what the money represented. Being a busboy in a Chinese restaurant. Walking home instead of spending the buck it took for the bus. Going to the library for textbooks instead of buying them.

And I told her that knowing that she had money made me like her more. Because she lived simply. She drove a Civic. She had roommates. She still used the same television she bought in college – something I mocked her for, relentlessly.

That’s when I told her that I thought she and I would be great together if we got serious.

Her: So, you want to be with me for my money?
Me: (laughing) Sure. It’s not the money but what the money represents. Self-discipline, planning, priorities, etc. (winking) I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll spend our entire relationship trying to get at it.
Her: (smiling) At least you’re honest.

The kid came back on Sunday so I’ve been sober since then. Yesterday, gathered up the courage to go to her bank and close out her account.

Thought about what I said her all those years ago and felt gross. So gross that I took a shower and broke down in it.

Afterward, created an online account for everything from her that I’m gonna use for the kid. Because I want none of it.

He’ll get everything she worked so hard and sacrificed for. Because her money represents the sum of her life’s effort and sacrifice.

And the kid represents the sum of all her hopes and dreams.

Even in death, she’ll take care of him. Cause she loved him even before he existed. It’s why I married her.

Right after he was born…

Her: Oh, I love him. Look at all that hair! (beaming) Isn’t he beautiful?
Me: (solemnly) This whole thing is beautiful.
Her: (looking at him) We’re gonna be best friends, you and me. Best friends forever. (kisses him)

I’ll be shutting down the YouCaring page soon. It’s time to try pull myself together and put myself back into the stream of life.

No idea how I’m gonna do it, but I will. It’s what she woulda wanted.

Location: Soberville. It sucks here.
Mood: heartbroken
Music: people always wave goodbye and say hello
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True Love is Gravity

I try to float but I crash


Write this as a general response to everyone that asks me how I’m doing.

In my sleepless nights, I’ve come to conclusion that true love is most like gravity. It’s something that we don’t really think about, but it’s there to anchor us to the world. Both true love and gravity gives things weight and heft.

If either goes away, you’re unmoored. Adrift. Everything floats.

Since Alison’s left, found myself … fuzzy. It’s probably also the insomnia. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. My head feels like a balloon on my shoulders.

I further help the floating by forcing myself to not think about the loss, and self-medicating.

But it comes back. And – as you’d expect when gravity suddenly comes back after being off – everything comes crashing down.

Went to pick up Alison from the cremation place the other day.

Went alone. Took almost 90 minutes to get to her. 90 gut-wrenching minutes.

I’d been floating for the past 48 hours or so. But it all came crashing down when I walked through the doors of that place.

They told me to sit down and wait. So I took a picture of my sneakers cause I didn’t know what else to do. Another funeral was taking place.

Then someone called out “Mr. McCarthy?” I looked up and he handed me a heavy box. When I realized what, exactly, I was holding, started weeping so hard I could barely see.

Thought pure agony was setting up cremation services for your 38 year-old wife you love more than life itself.

No, man. Pure agony is what happens when you pick her up.

Somehow made it home 90 minutes later. Don’t remember much of it but I stood outside my door with this box, trying to will the ability to open the door and bring her home.

Remember laughing with her when we got married about whether or not I should carry her through the door.

Now, I carried her through the door one last time and fell to my knees.

I’m so sorry, I said, and kissed the box.

So, how am I doing? Not well. I float. I hear you and see you but I’m not really here.

Part of me is in a fucking cardboard box in my living room, so I’m not well at all.

I’m fighting gravity and trying to bend time and space with pharmaceuticals and fine, aged spirits.

Please don’t ask how I’m doing, cause you know how I’m doing. I’m struggling to make it to the other side.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I’d kill myself a thousand times over if I could bring you back as you were.

 

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Location: home with her
Mood: dark
Music: I’m all messed up, I’m so out of line, yeah. Stilettos and broken bottles
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Alison Music: Oh, I’d better learn how to face it

The light has gone out

Friend: Sorry to call. We’re all just worried about you. (pause) Ridiculous question but: How are you?
Me: Drunk and heartbroken. You?
Him: It’s 10AM.
Me: I like to get an early start on things.

Teddy Roosevelt made a few appearances in this blog in the past. The entry I wrote about Xenophen wanting to die with his feet facing home, is one of my favourites and that picture is a statue of Roosevelt.

And I wrote another entry with a quote from him about daring greatly.

Always had an affinity for Teddy, but I’m hoping that it’s not because we will share similar fates.

See, Roosevelt was a New Yorker, like me. He lived walking distance to my pad, not too far from where I went to law school.

He was 25 and in Albany when he heard that his wife Alice gave birth to his daughter. So he rushed home – partly to see his daughter, and partly because his mom was sick.

By the time he got home to 6 West 57th Street, it was too late. His mom had died.

But the sick twist is that his wife died just 11 hours later from a completely unforeseen kidney issue. She was only 22.

Teddy kept a diary where he simply wrote a large black X and a single sentence: The light has gone out of my life.

I remember hearing that story as a kid and it affected me enough that I remembered it. But not so much that I truly appreciated what it must have meant to Teddy.

He couldn’t handle it. He gave his daughter to his sister to raise, put away everything that reminded him of Alice, and moved to North Dakota.

And he never spoke of Alice again and wouldn’t allow those around him to mention her name again. She didn’t even appear in his autobiography.

While that’s a bit much, I understand it.

After seeing my dad, spent the last week putting away as much of her things as possible; donating and tossing what I can. There are pictures and reminders of her everywhere.

They’re like constant papercuts over my shattered self.

Soon, everything will have been put away. And at some point, I’ll have to put Alison away.

Partly because, in the back of my mind, I worry that my other atomic bomb will go off. Mainly because my kid and my dad need me. Won’t be able to function if I don’t and they need me to function.

But, unlike Teddy, I’d never put Alison away completely.

Because, she was the best part of me and I need to give Nate the best of me. So that means keeping her here for him.

I just need a little time.

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Location: in front of some rum
Mood: the same
Music: Now I can see love’s taken her toll on me
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No rest

You’re kidding me, right?

Me: Hi, dad. How’re you feeling?
Him: (tearing up) I’m so, so sorry.

Alison’s mother finally went home the other day. She came here with such joy, expecting to stay only a few days. She left heartbroken almost two years later. I grieve for myself, for Alison, for Nate, for her family, and for her.

I just grieve in general. But I don’t even have time to do that properly.

See, she took Nate with her for a week because I needed to attend to a completely new catastrophe.

It’s about time to tell you about one of the other two atomic bombs in my life: My father has Stage 4 Lung Cancer.

Do you read me and think: You’re kidding me, right?

Cause that’s pretty much how I’ve been going through life the past five years. Wake up and think: You’re kidding me, right?

The kicker’s that he’s never smoked a day in his life. Just like Alison didn’t fit the profile of a glioblastoma. These two tragedies hit us from far outta nowhere.

And there was a third atomic bomb I’ve still not told you about.

In any case, it was him I went to see in the ER last week while Alison lay dying. Saw him again yesterday.

My heart gets no rest.

Couldn’t stay long. Can’t bear being in hospitals anymore. Spent too many goddamn days and nights in them these past two years.

It’s a good thing that my brother’s in town – he came to see my dad and check in on Alison. He was here when she passed.

He’s here right now and staying over most nights, I suspect to keep an eye on me. Don’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d do the same.

Then again, life seems determined to break me. I won’t let it. Can’t let it.

At least my brother provides some much-needed levity from time-to-time.

Mom: For Nate, you need to find help you can trust.
Him: (to me) Well, all that time you spent looking for untrustworthy help was a complete waste.

 

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Location: in bed for the first time in over a year-and-a-half
Mood: heartbroken
Music: Hopped on the metro and I make my way home
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We’ll get through this

She’s gone

Alison’s gone.

She was supposed to get 28,871 days here; she got less than 13,540. It’s so damn unfair.

Someone wrote a public FB post after his own wife, Sunday Dennis, passed from a GBM. Sunday’s last words were, “It could be worse, don’t worry about it.” Her husband said that at the end, people are simply their truest selves, because there’s no reason to be anything but that.

I agree.

One of the last things that Alison said to her mom was when her mom sat on the bed and Alison felt the room spin. She asked her mom, “Are you OK?” because she was worried her mom was going to fall.

And in the last real interaction Alison and I had, she heard me sighing and reached out to me to take my hand.

She said, “Don’t worry, Logan. We’ll get through this.”

Even at the very end, she was worried about her mother and me.

Which isn’t to say she wasn’t still witty and charming; when we told her brother’s birthday gift to her was a surprise visit, she grinned and said, “Send it back.”

That’s the essence of Alison and why she is the only woman I ever truly loved. Because she was everything I ever dreamed of: beautiful, smart, witty, neat as a pin – the importance of which you would understand if you ever saw the bachelor version of my pad – and, most of all, kind.

So incredibly kind.

Kindness has always been one of the things I’ve found most attractive in people. Because people value what’s rare and true kindness is so very rare.

After those interactions, Alison simply slept more and more until she could no longer speak. But when we said, “We love you,” she would mouth the same thing: “I love you too.”

In her last days, she’d feel around with her right hand for our hands. When she found them, she’d smile slightly and squeeze our hands, as if to reassure us that we’d get through it.

I hope she’s right. She was the brightest thing my life and I struggle in darkness without her.

I’ll love her until the end of my days.

But you knew that part already.

Me: I promise that I’ll take care of you until the end of my life. Because I love you and, even more, she loved you. I’ll never choose anyone or anything above you.
Son: (stares at me, smiles)
Me: We’ll get through this life together, you and I, OK? Your mamma said so.
Son: (laughs, runs away)

There will be no funeral, wake, nor memorial for Alison.

We didn’t have a ceremony for our engagement, wedding, pregnancy, or Nate’s birth so I’m not gonna start with a funeral for her.

If you want to do something for her, consider re-posting this or sending a donation in lieu of flowers.

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For those of you new to our story, the start of it is here although our life together really started here.

And the start of the cancer part of it is here.

Location: misery
Mood: hollowed-out
Music: none
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