Our story

We met at a bar called Tramps on Friday, May 3rd in 1990.

There had been a phone call on Wednesday during which we had made that date. Technically, we met on May 1, 1990, I guess, but according to our Beck love lore, it’s always been May 3rd, now 35 years ago.

On Friday, I was at a table in Tramps, 21st Street near 6th, with a no alc beer in its bottle when Burt arrived. On time, at 6pm, I think, maybe 5 or 5:30. We spent the rest of our evening walking, making our way east and north across the isle of Manhattan.

I was thinner on that May night 35 years ago than I had ever been and so I wore a pink pencil skirt. Burt remembered that skirt with genuine nostalgia years later. By our wedding date in May 1992, I was no longer thin.

In the last 5 years, whenever I would acknowledge my being fat, he’d say no, you’re not that fat.

It strikes me as sweet and I am appreciative of how love can distort, and of how much more than the physical is [or, was] between us.

Well, now, is, definitely.

I do know that when we were younger, though we were never young together, my weight did bother him. We have come a long way, indeed.

Burt and I talked during our many hour walk that long ago May night. I do not remember our conversation, nor what all Burt told me.

I am sure Burt told me a great deal; he was a true talker. And a grand charmer. One thing I do remember his saying was I really like you.

His sincerity could never be doubted, I think, although I was surprised. I was so surprised that this declaration of like stuck with me.

I like you led to I love you, and there were numerous such over the coming years. We were an affectionate pair.

The other memorable exchange between us occurred at dinner at the Metropolitan. We had walked alot, and I was hungry.

After we ate, Burt asked if I was aware how fast I eat. I said “super Olympic” and he laughed. My answer lasted in the files of our stories for years.

Also notable was that the driver in Burt’s homebound cab told him that perhaps he, Burt, would marry me. He had told him what he’d said to me; I like her, he said.

We had not parted without making  a date for Sunday. It was my suggestion we go to the Boat Basin restaurant in Central Park. Burt is impressed that I offer to pay for the meal; I paid my share but on Friday, I hadn’t had money with me.

Due to my recent tour with Debtors’ Anonymous, I did not carry credit cards. Burt paid for my salad on Friday. He liked that I took responsibility on Sunday for brunch.

On Sunday, we went from the Boat Basin to a place to rent a tuxedo [I’m coming to it] and then to Burt’s apartment. Another long walk, proving Burt’s words in his personal ad true. He’d said he liked walking.  Against my better judgment, we did have sex on this second date. The rented tux represented some bit of a future for us; Burt was going to join me at a charity gala.

When I had issues with some of Burt’s issues and broke up with him, he avowed that the black tie gala was a committment.

Good thing that he insisted on being honorable.  I fell in love on the dance floor at this event. I invited Burt to dinner with some friends and it was during that meal, I found that I adored him.

Ups, downs, sideways, for the rest of our time together, and now afterward, adoration proved to be my uplift and my home. I think it went both ways.

Burt not only truly did love me, he made me feel loved. I carry that feeling with me all the time.

Grieving

There are so many words but

I have only used loss; I’ve only

Said “I’m mourning” or “I mourn”

I have said “I miss you” and I’ve

Mentioned that as I missed you,

You were also missing. I knew

You were lost and losing little

Bits of yourself over time which

I noticed you had lost. A whole

Concept, a man-made construct

Time was lost to […]

Grieving

Unexpectedly

Had I mentioned this in an early posting? I remembered it in a support group today and thought it might help with a loved one at the start of dementia.

Burt, I know I did mention this, dove into dementia with both feet  from the get-go.

His symptoms were astonishing and a little overwhelming, and I was urging we visit a neurologist.

Burt’s resistance seemed par for the course, but upon discussion a deeper reason emerged.

I succeeded in coaxing Burt into an appointment.

Burt was sure, however, that a neurologist needs to operate to get inside his brain.

I had never entertained that such a fear was possible; I did address it as best I could.

I turned to the 24 hour call center at the Alzheimer’s Association for a voice of authority. Of course, it wasn’t enough, but I followed up with other authorities in our life. A trusted neighbor confirmed the fact that neurologists don’t do that. I think I had the neuro’s NP speak with him.

Everything with Burt was subject to negotiation, but knowing what he was thinking eased the process for me.

I realized that what he might have been thinking could seem very far-fetched to me. It was very real to him. I was so glad that he knew I was not just by his side, but on his side.

We had had to negotiate the date on which he would agree to see a doctor in the first place. Now I was negotiating around this fear he harbored of what a diagnosis entailed.

I wonder, in retrospect, where I found the patience to negotiate.

Honestly, I mean, wouldn’t an argument have been more my style?

I am surprised that this bit of wisdom emerged for me as Burt was struggling:

Don’t assume anything, least of all what’s going on in your partner’s head. Having dementia must be very scary, be there to assuage and reassure.

Reminders

I’m getting him picture frames.

When I open the cabinet, there’s the espresso cups we got from drinking, sadly, bad coffee at Matto. Burt pleased me by going with me and suffering through a cup, then escorting me to the subway. I don’t remember where I was heading, but it was a lovely morning.

This is pretty much the train of my memories. The objects in the pantry or the mug closet remind me of Burt; memories flow from there.

The first reminder, the little cups which were mostly for Burt’s use, of course made me smile. Burt’s espresso cups. From there, that day came flooding back to me. And then, a lot of lovely mornings with Burt. 

What would I do without these lovely reminders, stepping stones to my memories, I wonder.

I know something else would bring a legion of good memories. They would rush at me, and offer me a new good morning.

What prepared me for my role as caregiver

This writing prompt prompted me to consider what life was like during my journey with Burt and where it is now…

Life after your spouse dies has a new landscape. When added into that structural change is the fact that you spent many years as a caregiver, well, that’s a now what moment. At least it has been for me.

If I am honest, I have to admit that nothing readied me for my years partnering Burt through dementia.

I did it because he got ill. I did it because we took vows, that bit about in sickness and in health: I did take that seriously; I had been aboard for the good stuff, so here I was for whatever came our way.

I chose to keep him close and at home as long as I could. As it turned out it was as long as he lived, but it might have been otherwise. It wasn’t a given, and if I had had to put him in care, it would not have violated my vows. I would have taken care of Burt in whichever way was needed. I have no illusion that keeping Burt at home was noble or better than placing him. I kept him at home because I could.

I was privileged to be able to manage to continue his care in his home, our home to the end. I was grateful that the end was not prolonged or difficult. I think his last days were confusing to him but there was no pain, no discomfort, no extraordinary sadness. He seemed okay with it all. And if it was good for him, it was fine for me.

I think that my adjustment to life without having to give care has been a more arduous joirney than my last years with him. I knew where I belonged and what I needed to do while he was alive. And, it’s weird saying this, but Burt in dementia was a fun guy. For the most part. Fun and funny. 

His absence is a puzzlement. I’m figuring it out, but I miss the getting to know you part that I have had to leave behind. I guess, simply put, I miss Burt.

Burt’s watch

Burt bought himself a moderately expensive watch some twelve, 13 years ago.

He was proud of how well he negotiated for his Hamilton; he loved and wore it even when it no longer kept time.

[Let’s face it, by then Burt wasn’t much on keeping time. In fact, he’d lost most sense of time in 2020.]

One of our neighbor’s was my go – to watch guy. We talk about the Swatches I choose to wear. He offered to find me a guy to fix the watch.

When I gave K the wristwatch, I wasn’t sure what I would do with it if/when it worked.

I am very appreciative that K was able to clean it up for me on his own.

Now I know that I want to wear Burt’s watch, just as I wear my engagement and wedding rings. It just feels right. Burt loved this watch.

Friendship

Inspired by an episode of IMO

Burt had been my best friend in so many ways for the 30 years of our marriage before his illness. We shared so much. We went to lunch and we went to the theater. We even worked together.

Listen to the IMO episode where Michelle Obama and her big brother Craig Robinson discuss friendship with guest Julia Louis- Dreyfus.

My long – term, and some new, best friends were a side hustle. We had lunch. We talked. We met in gym classes.

While he was suffering, from the get go, I called upon these other besties.

They pointed me to a diagnosis. They helped him navigate his confusions.

As Burt’s dementia progressed and morphed, I found new and great friends. They emerged in support groups. They gave care for Burt. They were neighbors I had liked but now also depended upon. They were good to Burt.

In Burt’s physical absence, and to be honest dementia creates an absence as it progresses, I have come to rely on these many best friends.

I have found new friends as I re-entered into activities outside of home.

I am maintaining that circle of friends I had for decades, and welcoming new BFFs. That’s the best.

Nearly 12,775 days

As I glance at the photo of our wedding, I say to Burt “That was the best day of my life.”

It was, but actually, nearly all of the nearly 12,775 days I spent with you were the best.

That day, May 1992, came after two years of getting-to-know-yous and adjustments.

It was a life altering 730 days that lead to the moment when we  exchanged I dos.

The committment was already made somewhere around day 151, I would guess. Maybe a little earlier for one or the other of us, but we were there. All in, I’d say.

So in May we confirmed and we certified. The day itself was a fog of disassociated happiness for me –one I only vaguely remember.

But, we’ve got pix and a ketubeh and some marriage certificates!

A last goodbye

As I opened the envelope from Krtil, I held my breath. Inside was a certificate ascertaining the latitude and longitude at which Burt’s cremated remains were set into the ocean.

I had dropped that paper into a drawer so quickly that it took me a full 24 hours for it to register. The “it” that I was slow to accept was the date it certified that Burt’s remains went into the L.I. Sound. The “it” was the finality of the event.

I wanted to know, but I wasn’t prepared for this documentation.

Burton Beck was buried at sea on Jul 3rd at 8:45am. Rest in peace, my dear, dear Burt.

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