My husband died on Saturday. Have I written about him? I doubt it. Ed and I haven't lived together since 1975 (unless you count a few weeks in 1986 when we were sharing an apartment but not a bed). Anyway, even though we were separated and I knew we could never live together again, I still loved him and we were still in contact on a regular basis over the years.
Ed was in prison most of the past 32 years. He got out a couple of times but I don't think he managed to stay out for a whole year each time and then he was back in for another offense. He was a sociopath and could explain away anything--infidelity, bank robbery, lying to me (well, lying to anyone), anything. I never knew when the stories he told were true in the historical sense or only true in his mind but he told great stories. He claimed to have been injured in Korea (we discovered he had only been in active military for 3 months and the Reserves for another 6). He had one adventure after another to hear him tell it. He grew up in the Italian-American neighborhood in Kansas City--another source of colorful stories, these involving the children of mafia bosses.
I don't know if it makes any sense or not to love someone like that--OK, I KNOW it makes no sense to love someone like that but I loved him. He was the only man I ever truly loved and I know he loved me.
Other than the two times I was so angry with his behavior that I didn't acknowledge him for over a year, we talked on the phone every Saturday or Sunday morning at 9:00 for years. He called just as regular as clockwork. When he didn't call I knew there was trouble in the prison. They were on lock-down. There might have been rumors of a riot or a couple of knife fights or even just receiving a couple of bus loads of new prisoners all at once (especially if they were gang members and rival gang members were at his prison). We carried on our non-spousal relationship 15 minutes a week for years at a time.
It has been hard these last few days. I sent an email to all my immediate family and only my father responded with anything resembling concern for how I was doing. The rest have remained silent. They all knew I was not going to get back together with Ed from nearly the very beginning of his incarceration, so almost 30 years ago. I guess they assume I had no feelings for him after all these years. I feel amazingly alone and sad. My friends have been great! My daughter--what can I say about her? She's amazing. She has tended to the arrangements and helped me do my work and kept up with all of hers as well. She, too, has gotten virtually no support.
When I asked my sister if she had received the email I sent two days before she said she had but was waiting to hear what arrangements had been made to respond. That wasn't exactly the response I was hoping for but it's what I got. Anyway, I'm sad.
The good news is that I'm grieving rather than shoving it inside to fester along with all the other events in my life I didn't want to feel at the time. I'm being sad. I cry sometimes, I nap when I'm tired, I don't attempt to be overly cheery on the phone (though I don't share my grief with strangers, either). It's a hard balancing act. If we were looked upon as a couple I would be taking several days off to lie in bed and cry or whatever it is grieving widows do.
I'm going to go be sad, now. I recorded the original version of Oceans 11 last night and I'll watch that in his honor--it was one of his favorite films. I'll go find a downloadable version of My Way by Frank Sinatra and listen to it--that was his all-time favorite song. I may even try to find the old John Wayne version of The Alamo to watch.
I'll come back with wonderful vacation stories another day.
