Cleaning up so well

Roaring back

The kid touches the TV sometimes when he sees something he likes. He thinks it’s real, that he can reach out and hold what’s on the screen. It’s cute.

A little while ago, I bought some fractions of bitcoin to get some medications for Alison. Been checking the monumental rise of it so I wanted to clean up my accounts.

The site I use requires a copy of your driver’s license to do some higher level stuff and I usually have a copy of such things on my computer.

So I did a simple search for “license” and came across a picture that Alison musta taken right after we got married. I copied all her stuff onto my computer to look at some day, you see.

Don’t recall it at all. It’s of our marriage license, our rings, and the bouquet she had.

I was doing really well, all things considered. My brother, his best friend, and PB met the Gymgirl recently cause we all went out one night last week.

And I managed to get through Thanksgiving without losing it, which surprised me greatly.

Yet, when that picture popped up, found myself touching my cold monitor hoping that I could reach out and hold it. Like I was some stupid kid.

So the rage and sadness comes roaring back and gotta go into my blue bathroom to turn on the water and scream for a bit before going to the liquor cabinet to pour myself a glass of rum.

Found my wedding ring a few weeks back too. It’s like getting repeatedly punched in your soul. Repeatedly.

F__k. I was cleaning up so well.

Me: I’m sorry I talk about her so much.
Gymgirl: Don’t be. I like hearing about her.


Here’s a kick in the head: While drinking my rum with ice, realized that I have a cracked tooth that I musta gotten while wrestling at some point recently.

Man. Can’t even have a goddamn glass of rum in peace…

Location: in front of another cold screen and cold glass of rum
Mood: the usual hell
Music: Hope dangles on a string. Like slow-spinning redemption
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Thanksgiving 2017: It’s time to get up

She’s on Mars and we’re stuck here


Me: Hey, kid. Get up. It’s time to get dressed and go.
Son: (yawns, smiles)

Tomorrow will be the first Thanksgiving without my dad and without Alison in over a decade. Trying to accept that.

Before 2017, I rarely wore black. I think it’s probably because I did so much as a kid.

But since Alison died, I’ve only worn black. It was my quiet way to memorialize her.

Tomorrow, I’ll stop. It’ll been six months since that fucking day and three months since my dad passed. It’s time to accept my new normal.

It felt weird wearing all black and now, it feels weird not.

Everything is weird. I’m weird. Nothing will ever be normal again.


Dunno if I ever told you but Alison spoke fluent Spanish and, by extension, understood French and Portuguese. Thought that was pretty cool.

There’s this song by David Bowie I’ve always liked called Life on Mars. But there’s a Portuguese version I prefer, with very different lyrics.

One part goes:

Se o futuro assim permitir
Não pretendo viver em vão
Meu amor não estamos sós
Tem um mundo a esperar por nós,
No infinito do céu azul,
Pode ter vida em Marte

If the future allows
I don’t intend to live in vain
My love, we’re not alone.
There’s a world waiting for us,
in the infinite blue sky,
perhaps it’s a life on Mars

Always told her that I’d go anywhere she was. Even if it was Mars. Cause heaven wouldn’t be heaven without her, hell wouldn’t be hell with her. But where she is now, I can’t follow, as much as I wanna.

It’s been six months since Alison was taken.

I miss my wife, but even more, I miss my best friend. She was the first person I saw and spoke to in the morning, and the last person I saw and spoke to at night.

I’ll never be the same and I’ll always have a hole in my soul in the shape of her.

But I have to move on with my life.

Because I can’t follow her right now; the boy needs me here and he needs me on my feet.

Me: Get up. (gently) It’s time to get up.

Location: home, surrounded by her clothes
Mood: hard to say
Music: I’m going to want to move to a life on Mars
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Comic Con NYC 2017

Good and irritating things

Been dealing with a lotta admin stuff for myself and the kid. None of it fun or interesting. So I’ve been lax with my updates.

But Halloween’s coming up, which reminds me that I went to Comic Con this past month.

It was just like the last time I went, all those years ago: I got a message one Sunday morning; my cousin and a mutual friend of ours had an extra tix to Comic Con.

So off I went.

Alison was alive the last time I was there. Everything reminds me of her, of course.

When I got there, the place was a madhouse; it took a while to find everyone in our group.

We immediately stopped by a booth where I promptly got flanked and choked.

Couldn’t stay long because I had to pick up the kid.

But it was nice to be outta house and at something fun, if only for a short while.

Back to the irritation.

Me: Ma’am, you’re telling me that my infant son and I are both losing our insurance this month?
Her: (long pause) Yes. Unless I could speak to your wife.
Me: Ma’am, if anyone could speak to my wife again, it’d be me and I’d never let her stop talking. (sighing) Get comfortable. This’ll take a bit to explain…

Location: in front of mountains – mountains – of paper
Mood: irritated
Music: I don’t wanna be me anymore
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Parenting with Logan

Social Constructs

Her: Is that a wine carrier?
Me: Strictly speaking, it’s a rum carrier.
Her: Logan! You can’t use a rum carrier for his lunchbox!
Me: Why not? There’s no rum in it.
Her: It says “rum” right on the flap. What is wrong with you?
Me: How much time do you have?

Alison’s BFF and several of her college friends paid for a preschool that started this morning. One of Alison’s other college friends gave me four bags fulla clothes that ABFF brought back for me. I brought her a beer.

ABFF: His birthday’s coming up. Are you doing something?
Me: Not sure.
Her: Are you getting him a cake at least?
Me: I’ll get him a muffin.
Her: A muffin? It’s his birthday!
Me: A muffin is merely a naked cupcake. I’ll put peanut butter on it for frosting.

The ABFF is a lawyer. Another lawyer friend of mine was giving me parenting advice, despite her not being a parent, regarding my choice of lunchbox.

Her: You can’t send him to school with a rum carrier.
Me: Logically, it’s the best choice. It holds a change of clothes better since I roll them, and can hold his drink and food container more easily. It’s fashionable and will probably be easier to find as it’s taller than it is long. I refuse to raise him with these absurd social constructs.
Her: Didn’t you say, “Communication is what the other side hears?
Me: (groaning) Fiiiine. Let the record reflect my vigorous objection to this acquiesce.
Her: So noted.

Location: 40 mins ago, surrounded by children
Mood: adulty
Music: get up and stand up and climb the rope of hope
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Until the end of the world

A Hole in my Soul

Coffee for two in the UWS

Went to my law firm the other day. Felt weird getting dressed and walking through the doors. They were taking pictures for the firm website and I was touched to still be considered part of the team.

Boss: There’s he is!
Me: Barely.

They ordered pizza which few ate. So I ended up eating an entire large pie all by myself. I’ve been doing intermittent fasting, which is an entry for another time.

Me: If they didn’t slice this thing up, I’ll roll it up like a burrito and stuff it in my mouth.
Him: I believe that.

Saw my family afterward.

It’s weird that I now have a “thing” that I do when someone dies. What a horrific realization: That one has a thing that one does when someone he loves dies.

That thing is clean up. I attribute it to Alison. Whenever something horrible happened, she cleaned up the house. So I do the same, in honor of her – as did my mom.

Her: I can’t believe he’s gone.
Me: (nodding) I’m so sorry, mom.

Here, at my pad, I try to fill my time with the boy or other company.

Gradgirl: I meet a lot of married men in my classes and life. I think that some – all of them, really – would try to be with me if they thought they could get away with it. You’re one of only two married men I met in my life where I felt that you would never look twice at me or anyone else.
Me: I wouldn’t. She’s all I ever wanted. You wouldn’t be here now if she was still here.
Her: I know, Logan. (nodding) That’s how it’s supposed to be.
Me: (thinking) I have a hole in my soul and my life in the shape of her. I’m trying to fill that hole however I can, before it expands and kills me.
Her: (seriously) Don’t die, Logan.
Me: Man, I trying my best not to. I’m trying…

 

(continued from last conversation)
Daisy: (laughs) Not every woman is dying to meet a man with a kid that’s in love with his ex-wife.
Me: (sighing) She’s my late wife, not my ex-wife. She never left me. I never left her. She was taken from me. There’s a difference. But you are right about that.
Her: (nods) Which part?
Me: Me being in love with her. I’ll love her until the end of the world.
Her: (frowns, puts her hand on my shoulder)

Location: my white couch in the living room
Mood: fuzzy
Music: It’s fine by me, if you never leave
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My father’s gone

Logan Music: Uptight

Louis Lo and Alison McCarthy Lo
My father passed away exactly 90 days after my wife did. How’s that for a kick in the head?

Suppose I’ll write more on that when I sort things out. Whenever that’ll be. For now, let me tell you a quick story:

When my father first met Alison, the two somehow got on the topic of hard-boiled eggs. You see, he was an amazing cook and a chef in his younger years.

He asked her if she knew how to keep the shells from sticking to the egg when they cooked. Alison said she didn’t know.

So he pulled her aside and whispered into her ear.

Her: (laughing) Really?
Him: (smiling) Yes, it’s true.
Her: I’ll try that next time.
Me: (to Alison) So what’s the secret?
Her: (laughing) If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret. That’s between your father and me.

She never told me because secrets are special things between people. But her hard-boiled eggs always came out perfectly while mine always came out like crap. Still do.

If there is a heaven, hope they’re hanging out, trading recipes. She always loved to see him, and he, her.

Which makes sense – to know them was to love them.

My son’s favorite song right now is Uptight by Stevie Wonder.

The thing is that this is the song always made me think of both Alison and my dad. Probably why I play it for him so often.

The lyrics are below.

My father came here with nuthin. I was definitely born a poor man’s son.

But he refused to stay poor for long – people with talent rarely do – and I’m forever grateful for all he sacrificed for us.

He taught me how to be a father by being such a good one.

You know, I think that the dirt poor kid from Queens in me makes up more of my soul than I’d care to admit.

But it doesn’t matter. Not really.

Cause my dad and a beautiful girl named Alison McCarthy loved and believed in me. That means I must be somebody. Even if I was born a poor man’s son from Queens, New York.

I dunno what I am without them. Now, I’m forced to find out.

God, I miss them both terribly.


Baby, everything is all right, uptight, out of sight
Baby, everything is all right, uptight, out of sight
I’m a poor man’s son, from across the railroad tracks,
The only shirt I own is here on my back,
But I’m the envy of every single guy
Since I’m the apple of my girl’s eye
When we go out stepping on the town for a while
My money’s low and my suit’s out of style,
But it’s all right if my clothes aren’t new
Out of sight because my heart is true
She says, “Baby everything is alright, uptight, out of sight.
Baby, everything is alright, uptight, clean out of sight.”
She’s a pearl of a girl, I guess that’s what you might say,
I guess her folks brought her up that way,
The right side of the tracks, she was born and raised
In a great big old house, full of butlers and maids
She said, “No one is better than I.” I know I’m just an average guy,
No football hero or smooth Don Juan,
Got empty pockets, you see, I’m a poor man’s son
Can’t give her the things that money can buy
But I’ll never, never, never make my baby cry,
And it’s all right, what I can’t do,
Out of sight because my heart is true,
She says baby everything is alright, uptight, clean out of sight
Baby, everything is alright, uptight, clean out of sight
Baby, everything is alright, uptight, ha ha ha ha, yeah,
Baby, everything is alright, uptight, way out of sight
Baby, everything is alright, uptight, clean out of sight

Location: hell
Mood: dark
Music: I’ll never, never, never make my baby cry,
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A bundle of three sticks

All your powers, and all your skills

Aged Rum on the Rocks

There is no way I could possibly do any of the things I do for my sanity if not for my sister and mom watching the kid on the weekends. And my sister has a full-time job and two rambunctious boys of her own.

Doubt she’d approve of any of my weekend extra-curricular activities but she helps me anyway.

She used to have a picture of the three of us – her, my brother, and me – with a quote from an Aesop’s Fable about how twigs can be broken but three twigs in a bundle cannot.

I liked that picture. Both for the quote and because I looked good in it.

Funny – the only thing that survives my pathos is my vanity.

My dad’s back in the ER.

With Alison, my brother was a huge help as he was a doctor. He answered every crazy question I had for him at all hours of the day. He insisted on being here for Alison when he knew her time was coming.

And now, he does the same for my father. Dunno how much sleep he gets.

I’m reminded of a scene in the Godfather – both the book and the film – where Vito Corleone tells the undertaker Bonasera, I want you to use all your powers, and all your skills. I don’t want his mother to see him this way …. Look how they massacred my boy…

I used all my research skills to try to save Alison and my father.

And my brother used all his medical knowledge to do the same. All with the same result.

I also used all my legal skills for the dirty work of getting together everything I needed to take care of Alison when she was here and after she was gone.

Last week, poured myself a stiff drink, sat down at my computer, and drew up the paperwork I had for Alison, took out her name, and typed in my father’s. Then I edited them for his needs, went to his bed and went through everything with him.

It’s a fraction of what my brother does for him but took all the strength I had left. Which is not much.

Me: Sign here. And here. Initial here. I have to notarize that now, Dad. Wait…OK.
Him: (tired) Is there a lot more?
Me: Not a lot. (clearing throat) We’re almost done.

Then came back here and drank myself silly. Spent the rest of the night in a daze.

Daisy: Are you OK?
Me: No. (thinking) Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy again. But it’s better than reality. In a way, none of this is real. You and me. All of this. The reality is, tomorrow, you go back to your job and life. And I go back to the nightmare that’s mine.
Her: Yes. (taking a drink) But that’s tomorrow…

Location: home, trying pull myself together
Mood: empty
Music: You and me, always between the lines
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A Family Guy

There are storms we cannot weather

My father, a cancer patient.

Me: You know, while Alison was dying, I was watching Family Guy. And while my father’s dying, I’ll be fencing and then seeing a woman for dinner.
Him: What are you going to do? You can’t be in all the time. You were in it long enough. You’re still in it.

My father’s not doing well at all. So badly that my brother flew in on a one-way ticket from California to see him as we figure out what to do next.

I see a great deal of what was going on with Alison in the end with him, and I can’t bear it. Spent 20 minutes with him the past Thursday and I couldn’t stay any longer. He barely registered that I was there.

Took a walk that was longer than the time I spent with him.

The level of grief I deal with is like staring into the sun; you can’t do it or you’ll go blind. It’s more like you glance at it and turn away quickly because it’s so unbearable.

Here, if I’m in the moment too long, I know I’ll die. Because such a large part of me wants to. To rest. But I can’t, cause I got a little human that needs me.

The main fella that teaches my particular form of fencing invited me to a seminar over the weekend. Good buncha like-minded guys. He and another instructor pulled me aside and said some incredibly kind things to me.

Been there once before; the last time I went, Alison was still alive and my dad was fine.

Was only able to go to the first Friday class when I had to come back.

Gradgirl was there when I returned home.

We ended up walking in the park. I’d not been there since Alison passed.

Me: There’s a song in Les Miserables that goes, “There are storms we cannot weather.” Some days I think I can weather this, most nights, I don’t know. (thinking) You know, in the Bible, there’s a story that goes like this: King David’s son was sick. So he refused to eat, cried, and prayed. But his son died. So he picks himself up, gets dressed, and eats. And his servants ask, “What’s the deal? When he was alive you wept and starved. Now that he’s dead, you’re fine.” And David said, “I’m not fine. I thought maybe God would show me some mercy. But he didn’t. My boy can’t come back to me, but I can go to him. Until then, I have to live.” That’s where I am right now. I know I have to live. I just don’t know how.
Her: I wish I could say something. I don’t know what to say.
Me: What can anyone say? The other line from from that song goes, “I prayed that God would be forgiving.” For my family, he wasn’t. He f___ked us. I had my own family once. But it was only for five days. And now, I lose the only other family I ever had.

Location: another goddamn hospital
Mood: dark
Music: we will live the years together. But there are dreams that cannot be
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Constant Daze

Hoping for an empty mailbox

Empty street in Brooklyn

Gradgirl: I’m worried about you being home alone, drinking like this. Is the other girl free?
Me: Funny you bring her up…

My mailbox was empty today. Usually, most days, there’s some new awfulness for me to deal with.

Invoices for things I’d never wish for anyone to pay, letters of condolences from banks, overdue notices – all death-related s___t.

There’s so much death-related s___t that greets you after you lose someone by way of a ceaseless stream of banal horrors: Letters, email, voicemail.

For those new to my blog, prior to Alison getting sick, I don’t think I ever cursed in over a decade here. And now my days and this blog are an endless stream of profanities. Cause it helps deal with the constant pain.

Speaking of constant pain, that’s what my father’s dealing with.

So, while I got an empty mailbox today, I also had to deal with things for him.

I can’t interact with him too long; can’t handle the cumulative sadness of everything. It bears down on my soul, like the sky on Atlas’s shoulders.

Feels weird complaining about anything as my dad lies somewhere out there, nearing his end.

And yet, I just want a break from this misery. Even if it’s only an empty mailbox and a day devoid of just another helping of s__t by way of electronic device.

Summer Street Fair in the Upper West Side

Although I do get some respite here and there.

Artistgirl dropped out of this story but Daisy and Gradgirl are still around; both are sweetly concerned about my well-being and check in on me more than I woulda expected them to.

In addition to the company, they also provide me with some much needed levity along the way.

Daisy: You gave me “Daisy” as a name?! Why “Daisy?”
Me: Well, you said that New York puts you in a constant daze so…
Her: Oh. My. God. You’re a writer and that’s the best you could come up with for me?
Me: OK, maybe not my best work…
Her: (goes to fridge pulls out two of three remaining beers, putting one into her bag) I’m taking these.
Me: You know, the other girl brings me vodka and you take my beer.
Her: (mouth agape, glares) So rude! You never compare a girl to another girl, Logan!
Me: Man, I’m….
Her: (opens fridge again, takes last beer) Well, you just lost your last beer.
Me: Dammit!

My son chasing after a ball

And I did have a moment of pure joy today, too. My son came back from a week away.

Me: Hey! Gimme a hug, you!
Son: (laughs, hugs me)
Me: God, I’ve missed you so much, kid. (kisses him, sighs) I’ve missed you.

Location: home, with the boy again
Mood: just…bad
Music: It seems a heavy choice to make
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So, I’m not ready for weddings

Especially not her wedding

Rose: So, did you clean up at the wedding?
Me: No, not even close. I *grossly* underestimated how emotional it would be to (a) go to any wedding, let alone (b) the wedding of the woman that came every Wednesday to give Alison food.

My goal has been to cry less than five times a day. Most days, manage to keep it under three. Some days it’s just once. Those’re rare but welcome.

Cause a body gets tired of crying all the goddamn time.

A few months ago, told you about a woman named Annabel that cooked for us every Wednesday for over a year. Well, she just got married this past weekend.

It started pretty well. Hopped on the metro and sat next to a young lady wearing all white. I’ve been wearing all black since the day Alison passed.

Asked her to take a picture with me.

Lady in White, Man in Black

Then I got to the place in pretty good time and pretty good spirits.

But promptly lost it when Annabel saw me and gave me a hug. She looked beautiful, of course.

Reminded me of Alison on our wedding day.

Lemme tell you: I coulda died the day I saw I Alison on our wedding day and woulda died a happy man.

Wedding ceremony in Brooklyn

But I digress. Annabel sees me in the middle of taking pictures at the front of the ceremony and gives me a hug.

So there’s Annabel in her wedding gown – and she’s like the only soul I know there – hugging me in the middle of everything and I lose it.

Like I’m 10 and someone took my security blanket away. Which, I suppose, is kinda what happened.

Anywho, her entire family came over to try and console me.

Her mom: We pray for you.
He: I don’t believe he listens.

Turns out that, my max for not crying was about 30 minutes at a time. And I didn’t think to bring tissues so I’m running to the bathroom every half-hour.

Pretty sure some attendees thought I had food poisoning. (Food was great, BTW – I may have cleaned off an entire tray of steak myself)

After all that, I needed a drink. But it was a dry wedding. So I went with two people I met there for a beer around the way.

Beer at a Biergarten

Later on, another woman, who caught me during cry number six or so, told me she had whiskey in a flask and gave me some of that.

Told the bride and groom that I wished them every good thing, which I did and do.

Me: (to groom) My married life was the happiest time in my life. (choking) I hope it is for you too.

Jon, Annabel, and Logan

Left early and made it home by 11PM.

The next day, a friend of mine – who just got married herself not that long ago and knows about my single life – asked me how it went so I told her, per the convo above.

Rose: You need to meet some old family-money type girls. Like trust fund babies.
Me: Yeah, these looks aren’t gonna last forever – especially in my advanced old age. I’m time limited.
Her: (laughing) Botox.
Me: I’ll have to botox my entire head. 

Wedding arch in daytime in Brooklyn

The truth is that that’s not the entire story of the night.

And Gradgirl stopped by over the weekend but these are other stories for other times, I suppose.

Waitress: Do you want to start with some drinks?
Me: Oh, yes.

Picture of a Polaroid
That’s sweet tea and whiskey, courtesy of a prepared young woman.

 

Location: home, drinking again
Mood: back to being heartbroken
Music: all out of love, I’m so lost without you
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