Slowly moving my name to the top of the list

The bottom of the To Do list, that’s where I put my personal needs for my entire married life. When Al & I first married I wanted nothing more than to be a good wife and please my husband. That attitude, my own personality traits and Al’s macho Hispanic ideology all played in to it. I was only too happy to cook, clean and pretty much wait on him. Now I know this isn’t how all wives do it, in fact I may be in the minority but it’s what made me happy and kept my husband happy. When the kids came along their needs were first and foremost, pushing Al slightly aside and pushing me further to the bottom. Over the years through lean times, we often struggled to make ends meet but I really don’t think our kids suffered for it…..or at least didn’t really realize they were suffering for it. I hope. The kids only got new clothes twice a year; back-to-school and Christmas. They didn’t get new toys and video games whenever they wanted them. Those things came at Christmas and on birthdays. We always found a way for them to be involved in extracurricular activities, mainly Pop Warner football and cheerleading but it wasn’t always easy. Kids’ doctor and dentist appointments were put before ours due to finances.

When the kids grew up and left home, I turned my focus back to taking care of Al – once again and still, pushing myself to the bottom of the list. Now I’m not being a martyr here, just stating a fact. I hold no animosity about any of this. It was the life I made for myself and I hold no regrets. It was my choice.

Well, Al is gone now and I find it hard to move myself to the top of the list. But my kids are grown and are doing a fantastic job of fending for themselves and are all quite successful, each in their own way. I’m trying to take care of myself now (what choice do I have?) and have made some steps forward.

After Al passed, my children encouraged me to change doctors. We’d had the same family doctor for about 30 years and although our doctor saw Al frequently and knew of his various medical conditions and was fully aware of Al’s habits and history, did not properly test or diagnose him. While I don’t blame him for Al’s death, I don’t understand how he could have missed the diagnosis. It took another physician (surgeon) testing Al before gallbladder surgery to actually pick up what was wrong. He was diagnosed on January 29 and died on March 13. I finally decided to see a new physician and start fresh. In addition, I went to the dentist after staying away for approximately 20 years. These two steps are HUGE for me. I’m actually proud of myself for doing this. It’s not easy but I’m slowly moving my name to the top of the list. It’s gonna take a while before it feels natural but I’m working on it. I think Al would be happy to see me finally focusing on me.

Dream Weaver

You'd think I had a past that involved taking acid or something but I have never touched it in my life. My dreams though, are often like what I would imagine an acid trip "flashback" to be like. I had a friend tell me that I would fit in very well with Johnny Depp (more like Tim Burton!) and the weird movies he seems to favor.

I often wake up with just a glimmer of what flowed through my brain during my sleep. Occasionally I remember themes or scenes. A Nordic god-like man riding horseback rolling lightning balls across the desert floor at me; trying to escape a normal house which suddenly turns in to an Alice in Wonderland type scene with puffy, pillowlike moving walls that close in on me full of vivid, crazy colors; walking down a dark neighborhood street that is suddenly underwater and I'm swimming through it all only to finally "escape" to an area within a canyon filled with dead bodies and talking skulls. I know! I know! What a freak, huh? Seriously, I've never done crazy hallucinogenic drugs EVER!

I do dream somewhat normal dreams on occasion though. Either I just don't remember them or they don't occur that frequently. I did have one of note though just yesterday morning. I don't think it was just any old dream though. I think it was Al visiting me in my sleep. Al and I were in the car with me driving as usual. It was 8:30 in the morning and we were obviously not in Tucson but still in the Southwest. I looked at him and said "What do you want to do now?" He said, "Let's go to Hatch and have a late breakfast at the Pepper Pot!" You see, Hatch, NM and the Pepper Pot hold very fond memories for Al & I.

Unfortunately that's when the alarm went off so the dream ends there. I got right in the shower and with my head under the stream of water, I thanked him for coming to me and spending time with me and then proceeded to sob letting the warm water mix with my tears.

I got out of the shower and made my way through the house and out to pick up the daily newspaper from the driveway. Came inside, sat in my recliner and opened the paper to the front page. And there it was. A sign from Al that he really was there with me visiting me in my dream. The story and accompanying picture was all about bats. Yes, bats. And why would that mean anything at all? Well for at least 15-20 years, Al and I had a running inside joke regarding bats. It all stemmed from a neighborhood family we didn't exactly get along with. The grown daughter of the neighbor woman was an exterminator who got in lots of trouble many years ago for killing bats under a bridge in Tucson. She received some very negative press because of it. Ever since she became known as The Bat Killer around our house. From that day forward, any story or sighting of bats would make us break down in laughter heckling each other with "Bat Killer!" I could practically hear him laughing the other morning and calling out those words to me. I smiled and said aloud, "I knew it was you. Thank you honey."

Huntington Beach ~ Memories....Past, Present and Future

Growing up in the LA area, the favorite hangout spot in the summer was naturally the beach. Not just any beach but Huntington Beach. Hot and steamy summer days full of tan, teenage hard bodies. Once upon a time in my life I was actually one of them. And since Al grew up in the LA area as well, HB was his summer hang out spot too...just a decade earlier than me!

In our early married life while we still lived in the LA area as well as when we moved back for a few years and had Alison, HB was still the beach of choice. I have fond memories of evening weenie roasts and marshmallows on bent coat hangers over HB fire pits.

One of the very best vacations we ever took was when Al was a general manager at Chuy's here in AZ and bringing home some awesome monthly bonuses. Al was working long, hard hours there and our family was certainly growing up. It kind of felt like this would probably be the last family vacation where we'd be lucky enough to get all three kids to attend and they wouldn't be resentful of the family time. So it was decided. We'd spend a week at Huntington Beach and just relax. Little did I know what Al had up his sleeve. The five of us packed up and flew to LAX, rented a car and made our way through the streets of LA. Past Randy's Donuts, then a little detour through Bel Air/Brentwood/Beverly Hills to gaze at mansions. Finally we arrived at our destination, Huntington Beach. We had reservations at the Hilton on PCH directly across from the beach but what we didn't know is that Al had booked an amazing ginormous suite with a massive wraparound patio/balcony. We were in shock. It was so luxurious and unbelievable, not the kind of thing we ever indulged in. We spent that week lying on the beach, swimming in the ocean, visiting family, and hitting some of our favorite places. It was the best week I could ever have asked for. My entire family all in one place, enjoying each others' company and just relaxing. It was a trip we often looked back on with very fond memories.

So when I was in the LA area for the family reunion just over a week ago Alison, Lesley and I knew we had to go to HB. Funny, sitting at Jack's on the boardwalk holding Isla while Lesley ate her shaved ice, I gazed out over the sand at the teenagers, young families and adults and saw different stages of my own life mixed in with all of theirs. I squinted hard and saw my teenage self playing volleyball in the sand, turned my head and caught of glimpse of my very young family holding those bent coat hangers with charcoaly hot dogs over the fire and caught the eye of an older me walking on the boardwalk holding my husband's hand, trailing behind our 3 teenage kids as we all headed back to the hotel for our last night of paradise.

I can only hope my kids will keep HB alive in their hearts and lives as they raise their families and enjoy a trip here and there to our old stomping grounds.

Cordova Descendent Family Reunion

PIC IS OF THE NAVARRO PART OF THE CLAN (minus Al Sr & Jenni...bathroom break)

Isn’t it funny how sometimes time, distance and circumstance just kind of peels away revealing the sweet fruit of life? I had a wonderful experience this weekend and I’m so thankful I was able to participate and just BE.

To clarify for those that don't know, Al's mom was a Cordova. She married a Navarro and while the Navarro clan clearly stands on their own, the Cordova's are a huge clan and are absolutey amazing people that I am PROUD to be part of.

As far as I know there have been two past Cordova Family Descendent Reunions in the past. Sad to say it, but our family has never been able to participate. Those who know me best know that financial situations over the years have been such that they’ve kept us away from these reunions. Previous ones were held in the Ventura area and frankly, that location made it virtually impossible for the AZ Navarro’s to participate. We’ve always struggled with money and barely gotten by so to think of taking time off of work and traveling all the way to the Ventura area with three kids was ridiculous. Well, when Al got sick family members wanted to make it easy for him to participate (knowing it would be his last) and were willing to move it closer to Tucson…either near the Colorado River or closer to Al’s dad’s home in Anaheim. But then he passed and the reunion still was taking place. To make it easier on Al Sr (my FIL), the decision was made to have it closer to him.

So what was once going to be ALL the AZ Navarro’s turned in to me, Alison, Lesley & Isa, hit the road to attend the reunion at Puddingstone Dam/FG Bonelli Park (whoo hoo….hang out place from my teenage times!!). We hit the road leaving at 6:30AM…originally planned to leave at 3:00AM…amidst a totally over packed Toyota Camry. Several stops and adjustments for a baby who doesn’t exactly like being stuffed in a car seat for hours upon hours, we arrive in the LA area and decide to go straight to Huntington Beach where so many memories are held. But wait…it’s the end of August…why are we freezing our asses off? Oh well, I fork over the 15 bucks for parking and we make our way down to Jacks. While I wanted strips with cheese (the fav) I ordered a slice of the worst pizza EVER and Les got her all-time favorite shaved ice treat. We took a few pics, Isla was hilarious with her new toothy grin and then we were back in the car ready to head to Tommy’s. Awwwww, Tommy’s. Such fond memories of that place in the ghetto of LA. Standing on the street corner at Beverly & Rampart eating a wondrous chili cheeseburger while standing along a little counter that juts out from the wall of the surrounding parking lot…well, there really are no words to describe the feeling. If you’ve been there and grew up with it then you know. Wow, I’ve really digressed. The traffic was so horrendous that we bypassed this necessary stop and went straight to our hotel. Next morning we got ready and headed the 4 miles to the family reunion.

It was AMAZING to see people I’ve seen 4 months ago, 1 year ago and THIRTY years ago!! We talked, we laughed, we ate, it was fantastic. The first bittersweet moment was when the “cousins” all posed for a picture. Al should have been in that picture. He loved his family so very much and while they were all arranging themselves, I could actually hear him yelling out “Just take the damn picture!”. He’d be so funny and enjoying it all.

I admit a couple of tears fell as I watched them gather and take the picture. When it came time to take a smaller family photo, his sisters were receptive to holding his photo during the pic. I hope I didn’t dampen the happy mood by offering his framed photo to them. The rest of the time was spent talking, laughing, eating and having a great time. Another little bittersweet moment occurred when a little trio of old Mexican men came by offering their musical services for the bargain price of $10 per song. Thankfully Andy paid the old guys and they played a beautiful little song that Al would have loved.


Before I knew it the day drew to an end and we were back in our hotel.
The next morning we headed to Alicia’s and spent the morning with family eating breakfast, looking at some emotional pictures of Al’s last hours and laughing at the events of the day/evening before and the ridiculous family that we all belong to. Then it was time to hit the road. It was nice to come back home, as painful as home can be sometimes, it’s still home. The place Al & I made TOGETHER, the place we were most comfortable, the place that brought us both together and the place that will always be just that….HOME.

Without a Net - Bitter Air

You know, no one taught me how to be a wife or a mother. Like most people, I started off a bit like a fish out of water, flopping around, sometimes gasping for the familiarity of my uncomplicated, past life. But slowly I adapted. I learned to breathe a little differently and things began to make sense and become "easy." The fish grew legs & lungs and stood upright, proudly taking on it's new environment.

The thing in my life I've always been most proud of is the deep commitment, love and loyalty my family has always been known for. It was always recognized by other family members, family friends, coworkers and even my own childrens' friends. We knew we had a level of dysfunctionality (who doesn't?) but we recognized it, embraced it and proudly were The Navarro's. We took in a number of our kids' friends & boyfriends/girlfriends and welcomed them in to the tight folds of our family and treated them as if they were our own. I think of many of those "kids" as family still.

So how is it that I'm back to being that fish? Flopping around, struggling for the cool water to take the place of the dry, miserable oxygen that has been filling me lately? What causes a family to fall apart? Was Al really the glue that held us all together? I honestly thought most of it was due to me and my unfailing love and dedication to my family. But it's turning out to seem that it wasn't me at all, I had fooled myself all these years. How else can I explain why my family has become something I don't recognize at all? Damn, it really hurts too. It's almost like the tears I cry lately are no longer just tears of grief for my deceased husband but also, for the seemingly "death" of my family. That's exactly how it feels. I feel like everything I've sacrificed over the years, every time I defended my children, every time I stood up for them and gave when there was no more to give, was all for nothing. It's like a slap in the face. Love and respect? I thought it was there for me. I didn't know it would disappear as if I don't exist.

Yeah, I put it here because I guess I'm too much of a coward to say this outloud. That would make it real. This is MY blog, MY raw emotions, MY pain. I'm entitled to feel what I feel. And right now, nothing feels right. NOTHING.

I don't feel like that little fish gently placed in a loving, little net and moved from one familiar tank to a strange one but still surrounded by those who mean the most to me. Yeah, more like a fish tossed roughly to the shore, all without a net left to let the bitter air burn me as I gasp and flop around.

But tomorrow is another day. I'll find a way to move past this feeling. What that way is, I don't yet know. But I'll be damned if I let Al "see" how scared I am for my family. We told him it was okay to go, that we'd be OK. Do you think he sees the truth?

My confessions.....please absolve me of my guilt

Guilt. Such an ugly, nasty, hollow word. It conjures up images of cheating, scandel and inappropriate actions.

My guilt doesn't come from any of that. It's different but nonetheless, it's my guilt. Was I a Jew in a different life? Is that infamous Catholic guilt somehow embedded in me? It's there, there is no denying it. I am guilty. I don't ask for forgiveness. It is part of who I am right now. A widow. Huh? Wha? Widow? Aren't they old ladies dressed in black who mope around with hankies tucked in their sleeves? What the fuck. It's me.

• I feel guilty that I'm here and Al isn't.
• I feel guilty that my family isn't respecting Al's strong belief in his FAMILY and putting judgements and feelings aside to be just that....family.
• I feel guilty that I try to avoid being at home so much because I miss him so much and don't like to be there without him.
• I feel guilty that we're going to a family reunion for Al's side of the family and we were never financially able to attend while he was alive.
• I feel guilty that I feel weird about even considering bringing his urn & ashes to this reunion as my sister-in-law requested.
• I feel guilty that Al's high school buddies' annual golf trip wasn't what it should have been and they probably had some sadness during what should be an amazing, ridiculous, fun-filled, alcohol-infused golf-fest.
• I feel guilty that I may have influenced his decision to go to hospice where he died so quickly. (omg, I said "died". Is it becoming easier to say that???)
• I feel guilty that I've gotten to know his long lost son and he didn't have that opportunity.
• I feel guilty that I'm going to Puerto Penasco next month and he'll never go again.
• I feel guilty that I'm going to have a Tommy's burger when I go to LA next weekend and he'll never go there again.
• I feel guilty that Brian doesn't have his best friend anymore.
• I feel guilty that last year he told me he thought he was dying and I told him he was crazy and dismissed it all.
• I feel guilty that I experienced my first crazy, monsoon downpour today and I know it was his favorite thing about summer.
• I feel guilty that the pirate will never be heard again.
• I feel guilty that I emptied out his medicine cabinet and threw away all his prescriptions.
• I feel guilty that I'm sleeping on his side of the bed when it was his "protected territory".
• I feel guilty that I'm getting air-conditioning in OUR house and he hated air-conditioning and swore to never have it.
• I feel guilty that people who loved and cherished their friendship with him miss him and will never see his face again.
• I feel guilty enjoying Big Brother, our favorite show that we loved watching together.
• I feel guilty that he doesn't get to experience the joy of watching Isla progress, grow and change before our very eyes.
• I feel guilty that he'll never meet Marshall's baby girl.
• I feel guilty that he won't be there to watch all his grandchildren and future granchildren reach their milestones like kindegarten graduation, getting their driver's license and just watching them grow up.
• I feel guilty that I'm sad because he would want me to be happy and not dwell on the fact that he's gone but rather be joyous over the life and love we had.

Oh hell. I just realized that this list is never ending. More wine please.

Really, over a AAA card???

Wow. I sure didn’t expect to fall apart over something so simple. About a month after Al passed, I began changing my bills over in to my name. Electric, gas, cable, phone, etc. I recently received our renewal for AAA. I called to change the account to just my name, remove Al and make me primary, thus decreasing my yearly bill. No problem – they took care of it and said they would send me a new card as account holder. Got the new card in the mail and opened my wallet to rifle through my little stack of various cards….my AAA card, Al’s AAA card….toss ‘em in the trash….couldn’t release my grip on Al’s card….couldn’t throw his card away. Then I started to cry….OVER A DAMN AAA CARD. I feel like I’m slowly removing everything that is and was Al. Soon, all I’ll have left will be memories and pictures. I don’t like this, I don’t want this, I didn’t sign up for this. It’s not fair, damn it.

I had drinks recently with a work friend (male….all very innocent, I assure you) who also lost his partner very recently, actually more recent than Al’s passing. His girlfriend of seven or eight years lost her battle with her disease and he finds it difficult to get through some days and needed to find someone who understands what he feels, someone who is going through the same thing, someone who might be a sounding board when he’s having a particularly rough day. We had a really great time, talked about things in general touching on each of our losses, laughed a lot, drank a bit and said we’d do it again. Towards the end of the evening he admitted that he wants to move forward and is ready to start dating again. I admire him for being able to take that leap and get back out there and find companionship and someday, love. But I’m a million miles away from taking that step. In fact, I don’t see it happening for a very, very long time….if ever. I’d been with Al since I was 18 years old. I basically “grew up” alongside him. I mean, he was by my side from young adulthood when it was just the two of us, through the birth and raising of three amazing children, through the empty nest syndrome, to accepting and loving that we had returned to a life and household with just the two of us. We had really begun to settle in and were definitely renewing our love and commitment to each other. So many plans, so many dreams, so many things for me to keep in my heart. Think I’ll be content to just be the mom, “Masita”, “Grandma”, “Gramamma” in my family for now, maybe forever.

Hope, Love & Remembrance

I've always known about the hospice Celebration of Life services that Peppi's House holds each quarter. I've always worked for a TMC executive that would receive the invitations to attend and I guess I pretty much paid very little attention to these so called celebrations. That is until I got one at home. I remember seeing the envelope in my mailbox and subconsciously knew what it was. But it caught me at a vulnerable moment so I set it aside and didn't open it for a day or two, finally opening it and actually throwing it away. I thought about it and knew it was the last thing I could handle. Didn't those people know I've been avoiding putting myself in situations where I may openly cry and grieve for my husband?

Well as it would figure, my kids all received the same invitation and Alison & Lesley encouraged me to attend with them. I agreed but felt kind of nervous about the whole thing because seriously, avoidance seems to work pretty well for me. They reminded me the morning of the celebration and I asked Marshall to attend too. He said he had to work but would come by when he got off.

I was nervous going in and the girls were right by my side feeling the same. We got to the conference center, signed in and were greeted by one of the volunteers I've known for many years. She asked if we were there for someone, maybe my father. I told her no, my husband passed recently in Hospice and we were there for him. I saw a tear in her eye and she got up and hugged me. And so it flowed. The tears rolled down my cheeks and I wasn't even in the door! We put our framed picture of Al playing golf on the table with the other pictures of loved ones who'd recently passed and then sat down. The celebration was actually beautiful and opened with an emotional, ethnic, haunting type of song performed by a trio all dressed in white with the main "chanter" reaching all of us with his rhythmic song and all-feeling/seeing spirit although he was blind.

The celebration finished off with the reading of each person's name who had passed in Hospice over the quarter. Family members of the deceased (ugh, still hate saying that!) would come forward when their loved one's name was read and they would light a candle from the single candle of hope, love and remembrance that was at the front of the room and carry their candle back to their seat until each person in the room was holding a lit candle. As the names were called out Alison, Lesley & I grew nervous as they neared his name. And then there it was. Alfonso Navarro. It hit us like a ton of bricks. He's gone. His name is included in the list of those who are gone. Really? Is this what he has become? A name in a list? A name where no more moments in life will be added? That's it. No more funny stories, no more silly songs, no more wrapping his arms around us, no more telling me how much he loves me and how my love saved him, no more. The three of us rose nervously from our seats and walked single file to the front and lit our candles. "I love you Al" came from my mouth and the girls murmured something similar. At the end of the reading of names, the chaplain asked if anyone else would like to come up and light a candle. The girls each got up and lit a candle for Al for Marshall and Peter. Marshall arrived as the service was ending and we gave him his candle and program. Peter got his when I got home.

I am so sad for the lives of those whose names were called and no one came forward to honor them and light a candle of hope, love and remembrance. But those people meant something to someone. We all mean something to someone. So cling to that. Even in our darkest hour, we are all special to someone. Maybe years ago, maybe in a way we never knew but we existed and we impacted someone's life....somewhere....sometime.

Batshit crazy or normal?

Do you ever wonder what it is that brings people together, that makes them connect to each other? I'm thankful for those people who come in to my life, many times they come to me through work. After all, it's where we spend most of our waking hours. I had dinner with one of those people tonight. I'm old enough to be her mother but I don't think she sees me that way, just like I don't see her as young enough to be my daughter. She's someone I know I can trust, someone I can tell stuff to (work or personal) and she "gets it". In her way, she makes me feel less crazy when I tell her some of my random stuff by giving me examples of how she's crazy too. Either we're both batshit crazy or else we're completely normal. I prefer to believe the latter.

I left dinner to meet my daughter Alison and one of her friends. I've known this friend for many years, dating back to Alison's junior high days. I never really "knew" her like I knew some of Alison's closer friends from back then but I always liked her. She and Alison reconnected a while back and Alison thinks the world of her. This sweet girl "friended" me on Facebook and I've enjoyed following her life and funny quirks. Because all three of my kids have a rather large circle of friends that are all intertwined, I've seen this girl on rare occasion at a party here, a wedding there, etc. When Al died, she sent me a wonderful message of comfort. This person ...this amazing girl...brought me such comfort tonight. Sure, she made me cry too (Three years???? Really???) ~ but she is so genuine and caring. It's obvious that her heart is true and real. You see, she has been through more than her fair share of pain. She has been through a horrible family tragedy and come out on the other side, dedicating her life and future to helping people who struggle with what her family has gone through. She reminded me that it's okay to hurt, to cry, to WANT to feel and talk about memories of our lives before our world as we knew it was forever changed and frankly, fuck those who judge you for it. What we feel, is what we feel...no apologies.

So don't be afraid to let go and give a little piece of yourself to someone. You never know, that five minutes of caring and compassion could lead to something you didn't expect. A connection with someone who's walked the path you're walking. What you give, you'll get back tenfold.

Sweet smell of love & home....nothing like it

It's late on Sunday night and I'm finishing up my laundry to get ready for the week that lies ahead. I layed several articles of clothing on my bed and put them on hangers. The mundane task seemed almost rote as I hung them in my closet. I've started to totally overtake the large closet Al and I shared. I've been unable to completely clean out his things. His shirts, pants and shoes still take their familiar place in our closet. I hung my items up and turned to look at his various sports t-shirts, golf shirts and those hideous retro pink and green button up shirts he loved so much. The urge hit me to take them all in my hands and bury my nose in them, really expecting nothing since my sense of smell isn't the most defined. But there it was; the unmistakable scent of my husband. We didn't always wash each item of clothing he wore since he wore things fairly briefly. Just to go to an appointment, out with me or to perform some other errand. So when I gathered those clothes in my hands tonight, there it was. Al. I've read and seen things on TV where people smell their loved ones scent after they're gone. I thought it was bogus but it's not. The scent is there, you don't notice it while they're living since it's a part of your everyday life. But when that person you loved so much is gone, there is no denying it. Their scent lingers and it envelopes you. My kids and I have decided that we'll take those t-shirts, golf shirts and hideous pink and green retro shirts he loved so much and have a few "t-shirt quilts" made. I just need to actually take the shirts out of my closet but I'm putting it off. Things are slowly changing in my home, there are fewer and fewer reminders of his daily life. I took all his prescriptions out of his medicne cabinet in the bathroom recently. Now it sits practically empty except for a few different vitamin bottles that sit on the top shelf.

The contents of my refrigerator and pantry have changed as well. Al's favorite things aren't there anymore. My husband was a pretty simple guy but was very set in his ways. I like to cook and experiment with different recipes. But again, Al was very set in his ways. He didn't like it when I'd change up a recipe or spring something new on him. He would always tell me, "Kathy, I'm an old fuddy-duddy and I know what I like. Just stick with what you know I like and we'll be fine." and that was something I loved about him. I'm wondering if I'll ever make chile rellenos again. It's a dish that you pretty much have to serve as soon as they come out of the frying pan. I loved making them for him and bringing them to him hot and fresh on a plate with homemade refried beans. It was one of his favorite things. Chile rellenos....beans....part of the sweet smell of love & home.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a little frightened of “fortune tellers”, people who read cards, palms, etc. I never wanted anyone to tell me anything about my future or my life and I’ve always managed to avoid them. Many years ago, a very close friend of Corky’s (my mother-in-law) read cards and was known to be very accurate. She read the cards for several family members but I told her no way, not me, thanks but no thanks. Years and years later, I had several opportunities to have my palm and cards read. Sure, some of these opportunities were a little hokey. They were people hired to perform at employee picnics and events. Maybe they were just people who were hired for whatever the job required. Perhaps they were a juggler or a clown or a fortune teller if the job called for it. But what if they were for real? So again, no way, not me, thanks but no thanks.

I was also always fascinated by the likes of Sylvia Browne, James Van Praagh and John Edward. Some would say mediums or psychics pick up on signals people give them and are trained to lead those people down a path by the way they answer questions and the body language they give off.

I guess what I’m saying in a roundabout way is that I believe in spirits and that there is another realm. I found this on the internet….”The law of energy states, ‘Energy can be neither created nor destroyed, only changed in form.’ This means that we as energy, are now, always have been, and always will be! We never really die.” I always wished that I could experience seeing or feeling a spirit. For me, its different than someone telling me something about my life and my future so it didn’t bother me. It’s well known that there are ghosts and spirits where I work. The place has been around since the 1920s after all. Being a health care facility, there have been countless deaths here; probably a good portion of them went before they were ready. So sure, the spirits of some of them might have had a difficult time coming to terms with the death of their mortal bodies. I’ve talked to a few people I work with and they have had unquestionable encounters with a spirit here.

I know that Al is still with us in some sense. Not in the way where he hasn’t “crossed over” or anything unsettling. But he is definitely with us. The way I believe that there are spirits and that those we love never really leave us, I also believe in signs. Al has been showing us signs of his presence since he passed away. Some would say that what I call signs are mere coincidences. I choose to believe otherwise. The signs I want to write about….some are extremely obvious even to a non-believer and some are more subtle and something that non-believers would call a stretch of the imagination. Doesn’t matter, they’re real to me.

• The official time of Al’s death certificate reads 7:39AM on March 13. At 7:37AM on March 14, I awoke to my cell phone ringing. The screen said Restricted. I answered my phone but it kept ringing. I looked at the screen and it still said Restricted and was still ringing through. No matter what I did, I could NOT answer the call. I KNOW it was Al.
• The next sign was at breakfast that same morning. We were a huge party of 20 and The Good Egg divided our party in to several groups between two servers. When the check I shared with Alison & Brad came, we noticed it said, “Dining: Big Al” and thought my nephew Jason had put our group name under Al’s nickname, Big Al. Then Lesley showed me her check. It said, “Dining: Marissa”. We realized and confirmed that our server was named Big Al.
• When my kids and I were at Lesley’s discussing what songs should be played during Al’s memorial service, I got in the car to go home, turned on the car and the song we had decided on began as soon as the car started and played in its entirety, finishing as I pulled in to my driveway.
• Yesterday on Father’s Day, I was up early and wished Al a happy Father’s Day out loud. Of course a few tears fell as I spoke to him. I opened up the Parade magazine in the newspaper and looked at the Personality Parade on the inside cover. There was a question about the 80s band Devo. Al loved Devo! Whip It, Whip It Good! We used to have so much fun back in the day singing that to each other and would goof around acting silly whenever the song came on. Then I turned the page to find the article titled At the End of Life, They Offer Comfort. It was all about the incredible, compassionate people who feel the calling to be Hospice nurses. As most people who experience Hospice care will tell you, we were amazed at the gentle love and genuine compassion those nurses showed Al. He was sending me a sign yesterday morning.
• As we were getting ready to spend Father’s Day the way Al did every year for as long as I can remember (eating King Crab Legs and watching the Open), Alison stopped at the store to pick up a 12 pack of beer to bring over. She put it up on the checkout counter along with her other items and then noticed the expiration date on the side of the carton. It was Al’s birthday.

There are many, many other signs we’ve had from Al. My kids and I choose to believe it’s him and he is reassuring us that he is still a part of our everyday lives. They are sweet reminders of the love he had and will always have for his family.

Move to Tucson? Why not?

I’m not really sure where this blog is taking me but so far the ride has been good. It makes me happy to put my thoughts and memories to paper, well to the internet. I have a feeling my posts will be all over the page and bounce from memories with Al to my current life to feelings & emotions to who knows where. Last night I attended a Hospice Celebration of Life where they read the names of those who have died in Hospice over the past few months. It was very emotional for me and I think I need a day or two to process before writing about it so I'm going to go to a happy place, a place that brings me back many years to where my life was put on an amazing path. That path brought me to my husband.

My life with Al began just over 32 years ago. I was so young when we first met, just 18 years old. Our first meeting was when I applied for a waitressing job at a Sambo’s restaurant in Arcadia, CA directly across the street from the Santa Anita Race Track. Al was the assistant manager I interviewed with. He told me later that for him, it was love at first sight. For me, it was anything but. He was my boss and I was a little intimidated by him plus he was older than me; 11 years older. I was however, a bit of a wild child and within a week, my two friends/roommates that were hired alongside me & I were partying after hours in the Sambo’s parking lot with the closing crew. Of course Al was part of that crew. Wasn’t long before we were dating. A whirlwind courtship ensued and we both fell hard for each other. Soon we were planning a wedding.

Al got a lot of ribbing from his family about how young I was. It was all in good fun and we both laughed about it. You see, Al was married twice before me. The first time was to his high school girlfriend. That union was very short lived and a few years later Al married again. I think they may have lasted a few short years and then he was single for a while before meeting me. His history didn’t scare me off though, I knew what I was getting in to. I wasn’t exactly an innocent little18 year old either. Neither of us were perfect going in to this union but we jumped in with both feet on July 1, 1978 and the water was just fine.

About six months in to our first year of marriage, I got pregnant with our son Marshall. Just a few months in to my pregnancy we decided to pack up and move to Tucson when a good friend (Bob Sandberg) was going to open a new Sambo's here in Tucson and asked Al to be his assistant manager and help him open the store. You see, Al had spent a few years in Tucson before when his cousin Ed opened a Sambo's in town and Al was his assistant manager. In addition, we had actually vacationed in Tucson just after we got married and I had a blast. But Holy Culture Shock!! It was quite a different story to. actually live here. Not only did I move away from all my friends and family, but I was stuck at home after finding that no one wanted to hire a pregnant girl. On top of that…..it was hot as hell!!!! And such a different way of life from growing up in Southern California. It was a different pace and people were different. Different in a good way though.

We met some really great people during that time. Most of the people we associated with were employed by the restaurant. We hung out with Bob a lot and there was Greg Dorr and his buddy Grey (Former Tucson Mayor Lew Murphy's son). We went to a few parties at the home of one of the waitresses. She and her husband lived in a quonset hut - a corregated pre-fab metal home in the shape of a long tube cut in half. I'd never seen anything like it! Al hired Geri and Trish as waitresses - two young girls I really got along with. Al ended up hiring Trish's younger brother, a high school kid, as a dishwasher. There was something about him and an immediate bond developed between him and Al. That young high school kid was actually Brian Bradley, probably the very best friend Al ever had. But more about Brian later, he is such an important part of my life that he warrants his own entry. Those early years in Tucson were really fun. We explored the desert, did a lot of dove hunting, learned the hard way not to drink a glass of ice water at any restaurant in Nogales Mexico, and hung out & partied with some great people. One time Al went javelina hunting, brought his "kill" home and buried it in a big deep pit full of hot coals in our earthen carport in a little duplex we rented near Presidio & Palo Verde. That thing cooked all night and day and then we had an amazing party complete with a huge tub of jungle juice and a band. That jungle juice was potent because I don't think anyone remembered to uncover the pit and take the javelina out for quite a few hours. I'm guessing it was pretty good but truthfully, everyone was pretty wasted so who knows! Those were really some good times.



So that was my early indoctrination in to the world I came to love. My Tucson, the place my family continues to call home to this day.

I'm not like you and that's ok

For most of my life, I've felt disconnected to some degree. Disconnected in that I could never relate to the general masses who prayed, went to church and felt a bond with "God." I tried, oh how I tried. Both of my parents were baptized Catholic and they made sure both of my sisters were baptized Catholic as well. But when it came to me, my mom explains that they wanted to give me a choice. So I grew up a child of sin, one who was never "freed of original sin." I was allowed to explore religion as much as a child in the 60s & 70s was able. I often went to a Presbyterian church with my across the street neighbors, the Estabrooks. But really, we went to Sunday school while the adults were in church. Sitting in Sunday school coloring pictures of Jesus and singing songs was about as close as I came to the Presbyterian religion. A few years later I began to explore the Catholic religion. My best friend and her mom went to Wednesday night mass and I started tagging along. I loved the Catholic church. But not like you'd think. It wasn't the teachings or praying that I loved. I loved the physicial part of the church. The paintings, the sculptures, the beauty of the traditions. I didn't quite understand why I didn't feel what others felt.

Life went on, I grew up, got married, had babies and still no connection to "God." I never felt that I was missing something since my husband had lost his connection to his religion as well. Church and praying weren't a part of our lives. The only time we prayed was at our Thanksgiving meal. It was a simple prayer led by Al and it was more obligatory than anything else.

Interestingly enough, Al & I baptized our two oldest kids, Marshall and Alison in the Catholic church. But when Lesley was a baby we somehow made a choice not to baptize her. Weird. It wasn't intentional but it was exactly like what happened with me. We wanted to give her a choice since religion and church didn't play a part in our lives, it felt somewhat hypocritical to baptize her.

Many years later I learned a few general things about Hindu and Buddhist religions. Not enough to understand it and truthfully, I didn't care to explore them. I wasn't searching to belong to anything. I came to realize that I actually DID believe in a higher power. I knew there was something after death, that our loved ones surround us after death and that karma and what we do and who we become in our lives has something to do with our destiny.

I never knew how to express this. I felt like an outsider when people talked about their God and Jesus and the bible. I hate how many Christians look down upon those who believe differently, that anyone who doesn't accept Jesus as their lord and savior will go to hell and be left behind. I always felt it was better to keep my mouth shut and just smile when people talked about those kinds of things.

When Al was told he was dying and he made the decision to go to Hospice, he reconnected with his Catholic faith. He needed something to hold on to, to know he would live on somehow. I'm so happy he did that because it was something he needed at the end. Not long after, I found something that confirmed my own spirituality. Not what you think, I didn't find God. I read a book. A beautiful book, a book that spoke VOLUMES to me. What Dreams May Come. Finally, something that felt in tune with me. I'll treasure that book forever.

As Al was dying, a Catholic priest came in the room and delivered Last Rites. Al's family surrounded him as he lay in the bed just hours away from his final breath. I bowed my head and held my husband as the priest recited the prayers. The love in the room was undeniable. The love Al's family have for him, the love he had for all of us and a spiritual connection for everyone in the room. I know we all felt it - just in different forms and fashions. Al and I connected on a different level than he connected with his children, father, sisters and nephews and their families. But nonetheless, we all connected. Isn't that what it's all about?

I'm thankful my mom consciously made that decision 50 years ago for she allowed me to decide my own spirituality. I'm thankful my husband understood and respected my beliefs. I'm thankful I had 32 years with that man. I need to remember that I had something many people never achieve. A soul mate, a shared love, a lifetime love. And I'm thankful that our somewhat shared yet very different beliefs will allow us to see each other again. Maybe not the way many of you grew up thinking and believing, but Al and I will meet again. I'm confident of that.

Coming up on 3 months

June 13 will be the 3 month anniversary of Al's passing. It's hard to say death or died. Those words are hard to say, they don't feel so warm coming out of my mouth. Thinking of it as him passing or passed on feels much better. I still find it hard to believe. Wonder how long that will last.

I can't say I'm in a better place with my grief though. I still don't deal with it. It's easier to push past it than experience it. I know this is wrong but letting go is scary.

My daughter Lesley sent me a text today that she was sad because one of her coworkers told her that they made homemade split pea soup. That was one of Al's specialties. He made amazing split pea soup. It was always something he would make during the winter and he'd make it when I was at work so I don't really know his recipe or his method. I'm going to try to make it though. Just as soon as the summer is over 'cuz it's too damn hot for it right now.

Summer. Al loved summer as much as I do, especially when the monsoons would arrive. For as long as I can remember our entire family would go outside during afternoon storms and sit on the front porch enjoying the cool air and crazy show. It's going to be bittersweet when that first storm rolls in. Everything about summer is Al to me. Hot weather, cooking on the BBQ, storms, trips to Mexico, sitting on the front porch drinking a cooler (Hansens grapefruit soda, vodka and the juice of a half an orange) and turning up Rickie full blast. Rickie Lee Jones, in some ways the music of Al's life. He loved lots of music - grew up in the 60's and liked to call himself a hippie. Long hair, pot smoking, VW bug driving hippie. He loved the Rolling Stones "Sympathy for the Devil" like no other. But like all of us, he mellowed out over the years and went through many music phases. But when he discovered Rickie Lee Jones so many years ago, she stayed in his heart forever. Rickie has become more than an amazing artist for "the Arizona Navarro's" as Al liked to call us. Her music is Al. In fact, her music played in Al's room in Hospice constantly and filled the room as he passed. A very special Rickie song played during his memorial service and was printed in his memorial program.


The Horses
by Rickie Lee Jones

We will fly way up high

Where the cold wind blows

Or in the sun, laughing and having fun

With the people that she knows

And if the situation should keep us separated

You know the world won't fall apart

And you will free the beautiful bird

That's caught inside your heart



Can't you hear her?

Oh she cries so loud

Casts her wild note

Over water and cloud



That's the way it's gonna be, little darlin'

We'll be riding on the horses, yeah

Way up in the sky, little darlin'

And if you fall I'll pick you up, pick you up



You will grow, and until you goI

'll be right there by your side

And even then, whisper the wind

And she will carry up your ride

I hear all the people of the world

In a little bird's lonely cry

See them trying every way they know how

To make their spirits fly



Can't you see him?

He's down on the ground

He has a broken wing

Looking all around



That's the way it's gonna be, little darlin'

You'll be riding on the horses, yeah

Way up in the sky, little darlin'

And if you fall I'll pick you up, pick you up



Don't worry 'bout a thing little girl

Because I was young myself not so long ago

And when I was young, when I was young

And when I was young, oh I was a wild, wild one.

Where is this journey taking me?

I grew up in Southern California and had a fantastic childhood. My dad built and raced sailboats when I was very young. By the time I was old enough to know anything about sailing, he was finished with racing and was a weekend sailboat captain. We spent so many Sundays on the sailboat. I don’t remember how big our boat was exactly but it held me, my two sisters, and my mom & dad quite comfortably. They were good weekends filled with family, saltwater and fun. I’m sure my sisters would tell you differently since they were older and probably dreaded the usual trip to the marina they had to endure instead of hanging out with their friends.

On our way home, we’d exit the freeway on to a loop that seemed to spin us around in the little VW. Mom and Dad up front, my sisters in the back seat and me in the carpeted compartment behind the back seat. As we went around the loop, my dad would always say the same thing throughout the whole loop. “Whhhooooooaaaaa Nnnnneeeeellllllliiiiioooo!”

Whoa Nellio ~ that’s a good term to explain my life the past couple of months. It’s been a strange ride for sure. My husband of 31 years passed away on March 13, 2010. I still can’t believe it. We were supposed to grow old together but he’s not here. I try to act as if I’m ok but I’m not. I know people want to hear that I’m fine, that each day is getting better. Hell, it’s what I want to hear. I recognize that I’m not dealing with my grief. I’m actually afraid to let go. I blink away my tears, I turn the radio as soon as a song comes on that reminds me of him, I medicate myself at night so I don’t have to lie in bed thinking of him. Anything to numb myself when my thoughts turn to him. I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve and rotate my methods. One night it will be my doctor prescribed generic Ambien, another night it might be an over the counter sleeping aid, another night it’s a few glasses of wine. Anything to avoid lying in bed and letting my sadness overtake me. I know it’s wrong but I’m so afraid to completely feel what I know is below the surface. I tried it tonight. I tried to stay up later than usual so I’d be tired and fall asleep easily. But sleep didn’t come. Instead the tears started to flow. It’s supposed to be healthy to cry and grieve but why can’t I let it come? Why do I feel the need to push it aside? I think I’m afraid that once I let go, it’ll be hard to stop. Who’s there to comfort me and tell me that it’ll be ok? Who’s there to put their arms around me and assure me that things will get better? How does one begin to reconcile the grief and move forward?

I’m so thankful for what Al and I had. We had some crazy times in our lives and never stopped loving each other. We built a strong family built on unconditional love. I know my kids will be my guiding light and get me through this. We are a flawed family, one that needs to work on some internal issues but one that will always be that…..family.

I’m hoping this blog will be a healing tool for me. I’m fairly good at expressing myself through written words so we’ll see. This is a first step. My tears have dried and I feel a strange sense of calm right now. Maybe sleep will come. Maybe Al will come to me in my dreams. Maybe I’ll write more another day and keep moving forward. I think I’m ready for the ride.