Words of Wisdom

"If you can pick up your dogs shit with a snack sized ziplock bag, it ain't a REAL dog..."

- E. H. Willoughby

Tuesday Jingle (on an early Wednesday morn..)

Okay, I know that this is a "blog", and I really do believe in this being a place to express myself through my own original words/thoughts. However, I just can't today, so I've posted the lyrics to a song that sums it up for me at this particular moment. A gold star goes to the one who can name the song title and artist. No Googling (you big cheater!)...

Heaven comes to he who waits
But I know I'm getting nowhere
And all the deeds of yesterday
Have really helped to pave my way
Though there's no one near me now
How come everyone can touch me
You see the torture on my brow
Relates to neither here nor now
Watch me bleed
Bleed forever
Although my face is straight, it lies
My body feels the Pain and cries
Here the table is not bare
I am full but feeling empty
For all the warmth it feels so cold
For one so young I feel so old
Watch me bleed
Bleed forever
It's not allowed to be unkind
But still the hate lives in my mind
I'll make no noise
I'll hide my pain
I'll close my eyes
I won't complain
I'll lie right back and take the blame
And trie to tell myself I'm living
And when it's all been said or done
Where do I go ?
Where do I run ?
What's left of me or anyone when we've denied the hurting ?

Confidence In High Speed

For six months I've been trying to figure out "why" this had to happen to Ethan. To me. To Ava. To Ethan's parents, two of the most selfless, lovely people you could ever meet. And I run through the range of emotions: anger, sadness, fear, guilt, powerlessness, anxiety, depression… You name it. If it's "negative" I feel it on a daily basis. Probably a couple-a-times-a-day-ly-basis. However, every once in a while there will be a moment of clarity. Always a very brief moment, as the positive thoughts always give way to a river of tears, but for a moment of my life I can think positive thoughts while looking back on the relationship between Ethan and I before we got to this... wretched... place…

Our relationship got off to a bit of a slow roll. Actually, and so many of you already know this, our relationship started off going backwards. We actually had a fight the first time we met. Ethan and I would later talk about this night and laugh hysterically. It was such nonsense. I won't share here, but, trust, it's pretty funny. Anyway, a few months would pass before we would find ourselves in each others company once more, and I'm so very glad we did, though it would still be a while before I would realize that. I know there was a bit of effort on the part of a couple of our friends, but I was a very reluctant participant in this dance. I was older. I had a kid. I wanted a serious relationship. He worked in Music. Nope, it would never work. But suddenly he was around a lot, and I got to know him a little better. So funny. And sweet. With beautiful eyes and an enormous smile. So finally on one fateful All Hallows Eve, I decided, before venturing out, that I was being silly and this was a man who really wanted to get to know on a more personal basis. Since that night, I can count on my hands the number of days that we spent apart. WE were instant. There was not a day that went by that we didn't see one another, unless it was absolutely unavoidable - that Thanksgiving was so lonely as he had a standing date with the fellas in Vegas. That would be their last Thanksgiving "hurrah". On that subject, I will apologize guys, I never meant to be the Yoko Ono to your annual blitzfest. so please know that it wasn't intentional… He went home for Christmas that year as well and we talked so much on the phone you would have thought he was on some world-wide expedition for years somewhere, not at his parents house for 4 days. We would move in together very quickly by most standards. That same year I became pregnant with Ava. We got married, and several months later welcomed our little muffin. The year following that, we bought our first (and last) house and settled in for a nice quiet ride into the sunset of our lives.

We packed a lot into less than 4 years. It was like the relationship X-Games, from beginning to end it was fast and very extreme. We loved each other deeply, completely and intensely. Sometimes we fought intensely as well. It wasn't always rosey at our house. For all the kindness in his eyes, he was exceptionally impatient. And, if you're here, you probably know me, and, well, I probably don't have to explain to you just how bad my attitude can get. Those two things didn't jibe well sometimes, so every once in a while we'd mix it up a bit. But, regardless of all that, we never stopped loving each other. Not for a minute. There was no question…

I often think that, despite our slow beginings, the fates knew that we were not destined to have one another for long. As if we were being pushed along by some unknown, unseen force for our love to be fast and be strong. We had to get it all in before we ran out of time. We had a 10 year relationship in less than 4 years. I know and fully appreciate how very blessed I am to have had him in my life, to bear his child - our incredibly amazing little girl - and to have been given the opportunity to love him and be loved by him.

I love and miss him every second of every day...

Memories Fade, But The Scars Still Linger...

It's been a while since I last posted something, so I thought it was high time to revisit my blog. I've been really down in the dumps lately and not felt much like writing because… well… not that any of the previous stuff is HAPPY, but I think this has been one of my lowest points in a while and literally nothing that comes out of my mouth (or the tips of my fingers, as it were) is positive in any way shape or form.

I'm starting to feel things that I didn't feel before. I mean, I've been reeling in grief since 8AM February 18th, however, I'm suddenly very aware of it all, in such an astonishingly BIG way. It's like standing in front of me staring at me, when I step right, it steps left, when I step left, it steps right. Laughing. Just laughing at me. "Hahahaha! You can't get past me"…

I've read from some other widows that I've become acquainted with over this miraculous thing we call the internet, that, contrary to the idea that time inherently causes you to feel better, sometimes when you get to that 6 month or 1 year mark things can sometimes seem worse than they were previously. I guess that's about the time the numbness starts to wear off and reality starts to actually sink in. I think perhaps, that's where I am at. I think the reality of Ethan being gone is actually beginning to become apparent in so many ways. That's not to say that I wasn't missing him before, that's not what I mean. This is about having to make an effort to remember what he felt like, or smelled like, or what his voice sounded like because our memories, as sophisticated as they are, are not as powerful as our bodies' natural healing mechanism. Look at it like this: you fall down and you get a cut. What happens? You bleed. It scabs over (you can see it so you know the wound is there, though the actual injury is behind you). The scab disappears in time, replaced by skin (you remember it but it doesn't actually "hurt" anymore, and that spot will never be the same again since the skin has been mingled with scar tissue). Eventually that scar will fade with time. Not completely going away, but sometimes you actually have to look for it, or only notice it when someone (or something) points it out as a reminder. I would suppose that the healing of the surface of the skin is not that different than the healing of the heart…

Thing is, as much as I want to remember everything about him, I also want to heal. I don't know how you can do both because one, just by nature, works against the other. Again, I don't mean to say that you ever forget entirely. But you start to forget some of the things that sometimes you are so desperate not to. I don't want to have to remember those sensations, I want them to still be real, like they have been. But, now those sensations are beginning to become distant, and I am starting to fear that in time they will disappear altogether. What is this new level of emptiness that I have to look forward to? This absolute vacancy… With guilt to boot (shouldn't I always feel his touch or hear his voice, on command, by my own minds desire?)…

Here's a little tid-bit that I've told a few people in the last day or so, but I'll put it here for the rest of you… I recently had some work done on the house. Stuff that REALLY needed to get done, and it looks WONDERFUL, Ethan would have been very pleased indeed. Anyway, not the point… So while they were there finishing up some drywall work in our master bathroom, I guess they noticed a little DIY patchwork on the wall in the master bedroom (you really couldn't help notice it, it's right next to the door at "eye level" and was not painted, so was a big white square…). Well, I guess they thought since they had the plaster out, they would fix it up for me (without asking). When I got home, I went upstairs to look at the work in the bathroom. When coming out of my room, I noticed that they had corrected the hole-patching job next to the door. It took my breath away and I had to keep myself from crying. The next day when they came back to finish their work, I said to the contractor, "I see you fixed the patch job by the door." "Yes," he said, "we had the plaster and the drywall, so we went ahead and fixed it for you". Now, under normal circumstances I would have thanked him profusely. However, not today. You see, Ethan put a lovely, ahem, fist sized hole in that wall back in about January. Yeah, I can be a little hard to live with sometimes (a few of you may be familiar with the sharpness of my tongue), and… well… I guess I really pissed him off that day… anyway, about a week later he "fixed" the hole in the wall with a little drywall and a whole bunch more plaster than necessary. "Look what I did" I remember him saying with a huge smile on his face. I looked. The wall looked pregnant. It was hilarious! But that was him. Great mixer, REALLY BAD handy man ;) So, as much as I knew that one day I would like to have had the wall fixed properly, I wasn't ready for it yet. Every day I would look at that bad patch job and laugh and remember how much he wanted to be a husband, a father, caretaker of our homestead, and though he wasn't exactly the next Bob Villa, he would always be ready and willing to get out a hammer (fun!) or the drill and put something up (usually crooked LOL) or whatever, always a willing victim to my home decorating madness (well, I don't know how "willing" he was, but he would just smile and go "get it out of the car because I can't lift it" LOL To make matters worse, he was usually tricked into assembling whatever it was, too (always a sucker for the batting eyelashes :) ). So I guess my point is, when I walk out of my bedroom now, I look at where there used to be a memory of my husband, and all I see now is perfectly smooth drywall. Yet another piece of him stripped away, I was totally not prepared for it, nor having to "search" for the memory of his embrace…

Tomorrow, You’re Only A Day Away...

In less than a few hours, the clock will roll over to midnight. It will be August 18, marking 6 months since Ethan's passing. This has been looming over me for a couple of days, like a fierce storm on the horizon; you can see, it, you know it's coming, but maybe if you hope hard enough, it will make a quick right and leave you be. While this would not be impossible for even the most wicked of hurricanes, not so with the ticking of the clock. That next second is already destined to arrive and turn into a minute, an hour, a day… 6 months… And so it is there, staring me down, trying to "see what I'm made of". But, Tomorrow, I'll save you the trouble. You win, will you just leave me alone now if I throw up my hands? No need to pass through here, displaying your finery, "proving your points" and such. We both already know that you are greater than me. One portion of you, one moment, one tenth of one of your seconds, is greater than the whole of my parts. I can not handle you, Tomorrow.

To all of my friends, those of you who think that I am strong, that I'm a "tough cookie", that I'll be alright: I'm none of those things. Yesterday was a nightmare, I barely made it through today, and I think Tomorrow just may destroy me all over again…

Dream A Little Dream

In the last few days I've spent a lot of time on the internet, mostly seeking out others like myself that are in dire need of other people to speak to about their feelings and their loss. I've stumbled upon the saddest, most heartbreaking "club" you could ever know, one who's membership consists of reluctant, unwitting women and men, some unbelievably, and sadly, very young, the common denominator being the collective "unimaginable".

There are those for whom much time has past but the pain still runs deep and the emotion is still like a fast moving river that time can't seem to slow down. Then there are those who are taking steps large (re-marriage) and small ("I left the house today") to try to reconstruct what remains of their dismantled lives, shaken to the core by events they couldn't control, like a small town after a catastrophic earthquake. There are those that are new to this club and need guidance and support from those that have come before them, and many of those "club elders" are more than happy to reach out their hands for those of us to grasp a hold of. This simple act of human kindness has struck me as quite remarkable. I have seen many, many postings of widows saying "please reach out to me if you'd like to chat" "or email me if you need anything", and, unlike the common-folk, these people actually mean it. You see: they know what it's like to have people tell you those things and NOT mean them, so they wouldn't imagine uttering those words themselves unless they truly did.

I've often sat and wondered what these people were like before this "experience". I wonder how it changed them as a person. Not their lives - we all can just imagine how drastically most aspects of their lives have changed – but their actual person. What kind of person were they before, compared to now. Some of these people are so compassionate and willing to help, were they so before? Experiencing a loss such as this, the loss of a spouse, can put so many things in a perspective in a way that many of us couldn't imagine beforehand. You find that which matters most begins to crystallize before you. The concept of time becomes very apparent, which I think is a major thing that changes for most of the younger people that find themselves walking this particular road. Until reality is thrust upon us, we tend to believe that not only are we going to live forever, but also that we are going to live out all of our days with our partner, who's going to live forever, too. We make plans for the vacation we're going to take, not next year, but the year after that. What we're going to do when we retire, and so on… Now that's not to say that you shouldn't make plans, however, I guess I am just a little more reluctant to believe in the future, so I may as well not waste time planning for one. I spend most of my time these days thinking about what will happen to my children if I die. When I think of the future that is what I think about. Morbid, I know, but it's my reality. I have no faith that tomorrow is going to arrive (and I usually curse it when it does), so I try not to think about it because when I do, it's never positive. I guess that's the biggest thing that's changed about me. I am an Aquarius, we're well known dreamers. Dreaming is part of my makeup, part of who I am. But my ability to dream has dissipated, and I don't know if I will ever witness its return. Ethan would probably be very upset to hear me say that. We were dreamers together, he and I. That's what we did, that was our bond (well, that and a secret passion for 80's hair metal, shhh, don't tell anyone…). We dreamed about our family - our kids going to college. We dreamed about our home - about that deck we were going to build, and the hot tub we were going to install (when we got rid of that God forsaken radio tower – looong story for another day). We dreamed of the long and successful careers we were going to have, of our future achievements. We were a team, and we were truly each other's biggest fans. I've never in all my years known what it was like to actually make someone proud of me until I met Ethan. He encouraged me at every turn, and stood beside me when I needed to follow my heart (whether it was the best financial decision or not). We looked forward to sitting in our house, complaining about "kids today" because we were 70, and, well, it would be our right…

But now it's all gone. And the dreaming has stopped. So that's what has changed about me the most, I guess. I've absolutely lost my ability to dream…

Mindful Of Ones Matters

The psyche is such a strange thing. We have no control over it, it seams, regardless of whether or not we "think we know better", or try to follow the mantra "mind over matter". Truth is, matter will always matter where the mind is concerned and there's not a darn thing you can do about it.

It's so strange how one day can be really hard to get through and the very next day can be okay. That's not to say that there is ever a day that goes by that I don't think of Ethan, but I am able to do it without falling apart sometimes, and other times the smallest thing can trigger a memory that sends me into a tail spin. For example, some days Ava can accomplish a new milestone and I can smile and hug her and think about how proud her dad would be, other days a similar accomplishment will cause me to cry and hold her as I think of how proud her dad would be…

I get told, or it is insinuated to me, often that I need to "relax", that I "can't do anything about it, so deal with it". I'm supposed to shut off my minds natural propensity (to grieve, to worry about my children, my finances, the future of my family and home situation…) and override it's pre-wired behavior by telling myself that I'm okay? I'm supposed to lie to myself until I've talked myself into believing those lies to be true. I don't know if I can do that. To talk myself into believing I'm okay would be to talk myself into believing that what happened to Ethan was okay, and it's not and never will be. That fact brings to me the conclusion that I will never be okay. I am doomed to be trapped in this prison of emotion for the rest of my life, and I don't know what to do about it… Like a really God-awful rollercoaster that I can't ever get off.

I just want to get off…

I Miss You...

Ethan:
Today I was walking in the mall with the girls, wasting time waiting for our food from California Pizza Kitchen (silly me, I shoulda called first, I know…). Anyway, Ava was running around with a big pie eatin' grin on her face and Mychaela and I were trying to pass an old couple but we couldn't because there was too much stuff down the middle of the walkway… I realized after a few moments that the woman had just been carrying on non-stop the entire time. The couple were probably in their 70's, at least, and they were holding hands walking through the mall and the woman was blabbing his ear off (in Spanish), Occasionally he'd chime in "mm-hhmm" or something like that. All I could think of was you. And then us. And that we would never be 70 and holding hands walking through the mall, me talking your ear off about something (probably my bunions) and you just saying "mm-hhmm". Until, of course, you got tired of the mall and started your "where's the layaway department" routine in the middle of Nordstrom. (BTW, I know I acted mortified when you did that, but I only reacted that way because you were so very pleased with yourself for embarrassing me. I really thought it was funny).

I miss you desperately. When I saw that couple today, I almost cried. I don't understand why God lets some people have each other for so long, yet others get one another for a mere moment. It's not fair. It's really not fair…

I love you a million times,

Stephie

Gotta Start Somewhere...

Just under 6 months ago my beautiful husband was killed in an automobile crash (I won't call it an accident). In the early morning hours of February 18, 2007, he was struck by a wrong way drunk driver who was traveling the wrong way in the fast lane of the US101 freeway here in Los Angeles. Aparently he died instantly, though I have a hard time finding peace with that and always wonder if he suffered before he passed away.

I will never forget the phone call I received from the coroners office (yes, phone call) at 8AM on that Sunday morning. When the phone rang, it woke me up. I instantly noticed that I was in bed alone, however, it wasn't unusual, due to my husbands work hours, he was either still at the studio, or had maybe fallen asleep on the couch downstairs like he'd done on previous occassions (he'd come home still "wired" from work and sit and surf the web. I'd come down in the morning to find him curled up with his laptop on the couch...). Then I was struck with an angry thought as I reached for the phone, thinking "I can't believe these telemarketers are calling at 8AM on a SUNDAY morning!"... There was a woman on the other end of the phone who asked me if I was Stephanie Cooper. Once I confirmed that, she asked me if I was related to Ethan Willloughby. "yes" I said, "who is this". "Are you his wife?" she continued. "Yes, who ARE you and why are you calling?" I was getting angry at this "telemarketer" for the line of questioning and was about to tell her to "f"-off when she replied that she was "xxx" from the Los Angeles Coroner's Office and that my husband had been in an accident.

The words "coroner's office" echoed in my brain.

Immediately I cut her off: "where is my husband?" I couldn't breathe.

"Your husband was in an accident."

"WHERE is my husband?"

"I'm sorry... He passed away".

"Who IS this" I said again. I was sure that this was the cruelist, most disgusting prank anyone had ever pulled.

"This is xxx from the LA Cororner's Office" she said again.

I remember pieces of the remaining 30 minute conversation after this. I remember her calling my name repeatedly as I lay on the floor unable to breathe. I began, literally, to convulse. The baby began to cry. I was all alone with a 1 year old and I couldn't move. I was paralized. I was ill.

I remember her wanting to call my inlaws in Wisconsin, and having a moment of clarity, I yelled, "Don't you do that to them. You find someone to go to their house". And I remember being alone for the first time for those 5 minutes it took for her to call the sheriff's department in my husband's home town to disbatch someone to my in-laws to tell them their son had been killed.

I remember her asking me if there was someone I could call to be with me, and I remember calling my mother with my cell phone (always by the bed...) while she stayed on the other phone. I remember my mom answering and I remember our conversation:

Mom: "hello"
Me: "Mommy Ethan"
Mom: "What's the matter"
Me: "Mommy Ethan was in an accident"
Mom: "Okay. He's going to be okay" (she's trying to console me. I DO tend to overreact sometimes...)
Me: "No Mommy"
Mom: "Okay, Stephie, it's going to be okay"
Me: "NO Mommy! Ethan's dead!"

I remember her screaming "Oh my God. I'm coming, I'll be right there".

"Right there" was a 30 minute drive.

So I waited with the stranger on the phone. That horrible, evil person that had brought this news that ruined my life.

I remember my mother walking through the door and I collapsed onto the floor, dropping the phone which my step father was there to catch. He could talk to the devil, I absolutely could not spend another minute on the phone with her..

Somewhere in there I had gotten my 1 year old out of her crib and I think I changed her diaper… The next thing I remember was my mom slapping my face. I guess I'd passed out, or at least gone completely catatonic… Funny thing is, having another moment of clarity I asked my mother to call a family member who owns a cleaning company. There'd be people coming, the house was a mess…

Then the people… in twos and fours… with food… The phone calls (an autopsy?... For a drunk driving death?... To rule out my HUSBAND being the cause?... I'm sorry, but he was on the RIGHT side of the freeway… Oh yeah, the jury…)

The tears I cried that day, you'd think that you would run out of them after hours and hours and HOURS of crying, but the body is an amazing machine, and miraculously can create as many tears as you can manage to cry.

The time after that was a blur. I know my in-laws showed up the next day. Then his best friend from Chicago. Then his God brother and his wife. There was a walk through of the site in Malibu we'd be having a memorial service… Memorial Service… It's still not right…

We'd follow that memorial service with a trip to Wisconsin for the funeral. It never seemed to end, but we "had to do something for his friends in Los Angeles", even though I knew I couldn't bury my husband anywhere but in Wisconsin. He came to LA to follow a dream of working in Music, at which he succeeded, gaining his first Grammy nomination shortly before his death. We'd just been at his first, last, and only Grammy Awards exactly one week before he passed away. But with all of that he was just a small town kid from Wisconsin. He LOVED it there. If it had anything to do with beer, brats, Packers, Badgers or Brewers, he was all about it. And I will always respect that. I do regret that I can't go and visit him, and I often feel guilty and hope that he's okay with my decision.

I spend a lot of time these days talking to him. I tell him how much I miss him. How much I love him. Alone at night in my room, I often find myself begging him for hours to come home. At least I've stopped waiting for him to walk through the front door, even though I wish he would. I look at his photos everyday and I am scared about what lies ahead for me and my girls. I probably need therapy, but what I would prefer is someone to talk to that's already been where I am and where I'm going (I don't want someone to sit with their notepad and ask me "how are you doing today?"), so I try to seek those people out. Maybe it's stupid, I don't know, but I do know that I need to do something. Things don't get any easier, at least they haven't for me. The justice system is another blog entry for another day, but the trial is looming and I'm very, very scared that this murderer is going to get nothing more than the proverbial slap on the wrist. But again, more on that another time…

I titled this post "Gotta Start Somewhere" because I've been thinking of starting a blog for, oh, about 5 months now. Suddenly I guess the stars aligned tonight, so, well, here I am. I'll be around regularly, usually to rant, because there is really nothing more you can do in these situations (did you expect comedy?). If you want me to grin and bear it, show up to my office. This is not the time or place for it, this is my place to be honest, and intend to be nothing less here…