The Best He Could Do

As a child, I was told I could do better. I was smart and should never be satisfied with the status quo. I should imagine how I would feel if I got an A+ instead of an A. Maybe if I had spent more time, took it more seriously, stopped fooling around. This is how I became a perfectionist. This is also how I became one who expects others to be perfect, too.

Even in Jim's death, I have learned from him. He did his best. I can wish he lived his life differently. I can point out the many times he should have made different decisions and think about how is life, and death, would have been different. But, it was his path to take. It was his row to hoe. Just like I have mine.

Jim's funeral service was this past Saturday. Interestingly enough, the same date as my son's birthday. Two Marines performed the military funeral rituals. The flag went to Jim's young son. People spoke of what it was like to have had Jim in their lives. He did some pretty amazing things like stealing an airport golf cart with his buddy and driving around the airport in it, throwing airport security into a tizzy. He offered a different way of life to a drug addict living on the streets. He didn't know her, but followed the voice in his heart. Nearly twenty years later she continues to do well, is married, and runs her own business.

As I think about Jim, his life, his actions, his funny Jim-isms, (You: "What's that smell?" Jim: "That's your upper lip.") I realize more and more he just did his best and I have to be okay with it. Perfectionism is an unrealistic unattainable goal. It's also not necessary.

I have learned that even though Jim's best sometimes hurt those that loved him, it compounded his sorrow, too. Superman has his kryptonite. Why shouldn't Jim be afforded the same forgiveness?

This is Jim

This is a picture of Jim from April 2012. When he and I first met we went to the beach a lot. It was where we went on our first date. I've written about Jim before.

This is also from April, 2012. Here he was painting my mother's kitchen in her condo. Don't tell her he put his dirty shoe on the counter.

This is from March, 2012. Those are his legs and my sandals. He has great legs!

This is now and Jim was moved to hospice this afternoon. The doctor said he's got three to seven days left, give or take three days. He is dying from end stage liver disease because he is an alcoholic and this last binge was more than his body could take. This is the drinking jag from which he will never recover.

I have no regrets knowing him, having him in my life, loving him, and sometimes hating him. We dated for a year then lived together for a year. After we separated, we still kept in touch. 

There was one point in his adult life when he was able to stay sober. I can't remember the length of time but I think it was at least five years. Maybe ten? He went to AA meetings every night. It is sad that he couldn't keep it going.

He taught me so many things. He taught me meditation, the tools to learn to live in the present, and what Reiki was. He showed me how one big long bear hug done the right way could make everything better. I bought him a Superman mug because that is what he was to me. A big strapping guy that wasn't afraid of anything. He didn't have to work out to be muscular. He just was. He was proud to be a Marine and I learned once a Marine, always a Marine.

At the beach he would hunt the big shells for me, feeling around with his feet. Once detected, he would dive for them with his eyes open! He grew up in Florida, a native, so this wasn't a big deal to him. Just something he could give to me to make me happy.

He would fall asleep on the couch sitting up and I would lie next to him curled up with my head on his chest and his arm draped over me. Safe and secure, these naps were just as good as a whole night's sleep.

It is because of Jim that I have Poppy. 

Knowing Jim, being loved by him when he was at his best, I finally felt free enough to accept myself. I am more me than I ever was because of Jim.

Before I paint too rosie a picture, anyone who has either lived with, loved, or been intimate with an active alcoholic knows life can get sour really fast. But, that's not why I am writing this.

Why am I writing this? Maybe because I'm sad, heavy-hearted, and I want you to know it. I still can't wrap my head around the whole thing. 

He is on a steady morphine drip to keep the pain at bay. He sleeps a lot, has a difficult time talking when he is awake, and the mischievous look that would light up his eyes is gone. 

He didn't have an easy life. I won't give up his secrets now or ever but he suffered. It was because of the depth of his suffering that he understood and accepted the depths of feelings in others. It was the reason why he was also quick to notice offenses, real or perceived.

He is beautifully broken. A fighter in the ring, he's on the mat and the ref is calling the count of ten. His loved ones, quietly watching, are waiting.

Rose and Jeff Continued

Jeff could always tell when she was thinking back to the time she nearly lost herself completely.  It made him sad when she did but he would never show her that.  He was her rock and he knew that.  He also knew that she felt guilty about still wanting him to be strong even when facing the prospect of his own mortality.  He wanted her and loved her and needed her as much as he needed to breath.  He knew that she knew but neither one wanted to say it aloud for fear of jinxing the world they created together.

Time

The soreness and the pain
Must be worth the strain
To make the future better
To make the future last

The sadness and the tears
Pushing down the fears
To make the future better
To make the future last

Learning to be in the now
Shoulders heavy as I plow
To make the future better
To make the future last

Dancing to the music
Sometimes feeling sick
The crowd disperses
Dizzy, yelling curses
Raising my fist
Rage, feeling pist

Ending with exhaustion
Acceptance is my station
To make the future better
To make the future last

Aunt Audrey

Tomorrow my sister Eve, my mother, and I are driving down south to the East Coast to join my cousins and others to say our final farewell to my Aunt Audrey.  I don't know how else to put it except there was an affinity, an understanding, between my aunt and I.

 

Growing up she wasn't my only aunt and even though she lived the furthest away whenever I had the opportunity to spend time with her I always felt the most comfortable and accepted by her.  She laughed the easiest and had a way of making light of situations that instead of making me feel belittled for feeling so heavy I felt the load ease up and saw that maybe I was just a smidgen too serious about the whole thing.  Even though she was no pushover she never made me feel that I was any less when my introverted ways seemingly held me back.  She accepted me and didn't try to change me.  She challenged my thinking by talking to me and putt out other perspectives in front of me.  She knew I would think about what she said and make an informed decision that would be mine.  

 

So, I loved her not only because she was my mother's sister or my cousins' mother but because of how she loved me.  She knew she always had a place in my heart and I knew I was loved by her.

 

Goodbye, Aunt Audrey.  I'll see you again.