This was our life

I’ve already made my grieving more public than is seemly.

I continue to mourn in writing as a heads up for those of you who may experience a similar circumstance.

An unnecessary heads up, I  admit. We all grieve differently.  Also, we each face our grief  differently at different times as we mourn.

I feel like I have entered a point that accentuates my mourning. I miss him more, perhaps, since his birthday. I miss him more anticipating the one year mark since his passing. Between Nov 7th and Feb 25th I have a lot of grieving to do. Seeing a picture of Burt, bearded and studying his watch, melts me.

That picture sits on the screen of the cellphone I had gotten for him to use. It takes its turn in a sideshow, the phone on a perch next to my bed.

I have read a lot about others’ losses and I am not prepared. My fragility is unexpected. I am steelier than this, I think, as I feel a wave of wish you were here. Wish you weren’t gone.

I want to be honest with you. You deserve that honesty.

I know, with a pang, that Burt’s going was timely. I am not sure how many more years, months, days I could have tended to him.

I speak of my public mourning, but I shed few tears. I am weepy over sad endings or beginnings in books. I tear up, I don’t cry. I did not rend my clothes as was an enviable custom, nor wear a color designated for widow’s weeds.

That term, I think a little too dispassionately, refers to the rended clothing. To the enviable custom.

Burt is gone, yet I sense his presence, his curiosity, his care. It’s the memories of him and not the loss, I recognize when I look at the phone’s screen and the many picture frames decorating the house.

Coming to terms

Every day is different after the loss of Burt; it’s not just in the sense of the cliché.

As a widow, the differences in the days are linked to memory and mood. It is a matter of the ebbs and floods of sorrow and acceptance.

The holidays are notorious for being harder when a loved one is gone. And, with Thanksgiving just 6 days behind us, I’m in the thick of the holidays.

This past week, I ran into some unexpected reminders of Burt when I switched calendars.

The 2026 calendar opens with December 2025, so I put it up to replace the two previous years.

The 2024 and 2025 calendars had Burt’s last year documented by the notations I kept in each square.

Teary, sad, I miss Burt so much. Nonetheless, I decided to toss the calendars. [I took a photo.]

I also found the note from the paramedic who pronounced Burt. I kept that note. I couldn’t throw it out.

I am coming to grips with his loss, but I miss Burt so much.

Last night, Burt and I took a walk

It was a dream, of course, and quite lovely. And elaborate.

Last night, I dreamt that Burt and I were out walking.

We took a short cut through the lobby of a hotel, maybe one I’ve dreamt of before, but not in a long while.

It was like my  dream version of the Williams Club.  Burt and I had worked at the Williams Club, where we hosted events for one of the associations we managed. We greeted members of a real estate group and handed them their nametags.

Anyway, I told Burt “that’s David Letterman” and I stopped to talk with him. 

(It was uncharacteristic that I was the one chatting with a celebrity. Usually, I would be the one to identify and Burt would approach and talk.)

Letterman was with the hotel ‘s owner who steered him away to a ballroom where Letterman, in an imam beard (like one Burt had for a while) was going to be interviewed.

I guessed the hotel owner was going to be the interviewer for tonight.

I said to Burt we’re going to be banned from this hotel for even approaching Letterman.

Letterman was, after all, under his auspices, and a protected celebrity. Like restaurants, venues want to shelter their clientele.

Once we had left the hotel, Burt wanted to walk ahead and went off up one path. He said he’d see me later.

David Letterman, with his mountain man beard and in a very boxy-shouldered, wide,  somewhat-short plaid jacket [it looked like a horse blanket], came out and turned back towards me.

He said “wait a minute that’s the realtamara.” I answered, “yes and I am with Burt.” Letterman said Burt died. I said “yes and he’s mobile again and walking with me.”

After my chat with Letterman, during which I was thinking Letterman knows my work, I panicked because I thought I would not be able to find Burt.

Our walk leaving the hotel was not on a street but on a path in some sort of park. It was paved and there were benches.

I did find Burt after I went on a curving path which looked like one that I had also dreamt of before, one bordering a square and very angular Madison Avenue. [In earlier dreams it was home to a library I think.]

As I rounded one footpath, Burt was coming towards me, in his shorts and hat.

A playlist

This is a little grieving guideline I want to share with you:

Music was a tool that helped us even out the mood with our loved ones while we cared for them. I heard that music that Burt had enjoyed would be best.

Now that he’s gone, I again am turning to songs from a lifetime to soothe and recall.

Making myself a playlist is my current memory project. I have been listening to various styles of music for the months since Burt’s been gone. Of course, I have, but today I ventured to put together a special selection.

First off, it will favor the songs [and artists] that have always tugged my heartstrings. Bette Midler. Carole King. Barbra. Linda Ronstad.

That’s why I’m listening to Dolly sing “mount up and enjoy The Ride.” Her song to her husband just after he passed, around the time Burt did, is also playing.

In fact, I have a selection from her catalog along with Nat King Cole. He was an artist Burt had admired. Unforgettable seems a good pick.

Little known fact, Burt loved Christmas songs, so this is a perfect time to compile a best of list.

The list will go on (heck, it might expand to include that Celine Dion song). Whitney Houston’s famous rendition of the Parton I Will Always Love You is now playing.

The playlist will occupy some of my time and I expect may be unending. A metaphor, perhaps.

Just re-found the track from Dirty Dancing. So appreciate hearing (I’ve Had )The Time of My Life today; it’s true and a tribute to all our years together.

Years ago, before Lewy came into our lives, I used to sing Smokey Robinson’s My Guy to myself while at the gym. It was a habit I returned to after Burt got ill.

Shortly after Burt’s passing, I stumbled across a great waltz, Oh, How We Danced On The Night We Were Wed. I put it on rewind and it hurt-soothed. A metaphor, perhaps, of how we tend to feel at this juncture. The time at which our beloved has left us to mourn alone.

Taxi, taxi

The keychain is on a spare set of keys and seeing it today made me wistful.

Burt’s dad drove a taxi. I found this cab keychain at an outing at the  Museum of the City of New York.

I made it a habit of bringing some item home to Burt from my time out of the house. Food was always a hit, tchotchkes (even when they linked to his history) less so.

As with all gifting, it was the thought…. I was thinking of him, and whatever I did buy was a token of love and caring.

Have I Told You…

In Say it again, I think I was referencing the old song, Have I Told You Lately That I Love You

My friend ACJ thought it might be Do I Love You to which the answer is indeed I do.

In exploring the genesis of Have I Told You…, I turned to Spotify or YouTube Music for samples and snippets. The Gene Autry take is one that works best with Burt gone.

Check out how Willie Nelson or Elvis handled this song. There’s a beautiful Bublé treatment and one old-twangy Marty Robbins version. I am hunting down a Patsy Cline rendition, though I can’t bet there is such a thing.

Love is in the air

Why do we talk about love so much? I know why I talk about it, to wit

  • My gratitude that I found love.
  • My delight that I knew that I was loved.
  • My assertion that, once my love, Burt, suffered from dementia, love would be ever more essential.*
  • Lastly, for all you romantics because love is just grand.

We know that the Christmas season could be called the season of love.

But, let’s look at some other seasons… in Spring, we say, a young man’s fancy turns to love. Don’t we fall in love with the falling leaves in Autumn. And, of course, Summer is hot.

*My signature tagline while I was caregiving said, “Without love this journey would not be possible. “

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