You are using an insecure version of your web browser. Please update your browser!
Using an outdated browser makes your computer unsafe. For a safer, faster, more enjoyable user experience, please update your browser today or try a newer browser.
Sorry, couldn’t resist. Too damn clever for my own good.
After getting 3 new tires for the truck last week, I got one new tire and one tire repaired today on the RV. The repaired tire was the one that took a nail on the trip south a few weeks ago (seems like years).
Between the two I have spent about $1200 on tires in the past 2 weeks. Well, tires and lugnuts. I had to replace all 32 lugnuts on the truck for reasons that aren’t interesting. But that was nearly $200 of the $1200 paid.
But with the new tires and the hitch reinstalled yesterday (I am getting too old to lift nearly 100 lbs!) the rig is now ready to go. If I decide I want to go somewhere.
It has now been a month since Jett slipped the mortal coil. My life without her is coming into focus. Some of the changes are obvious but others are more subtle and surprising.
First, the obvious. I miss her. Every day. I don’t miss being the 24/7 caregiver that I became in her final months, but I miss her companionship, her wisdom, her unwavering moral compass. I miss being able to share things with her. The other day I witnessed something in the resort and my immediate thought was “Wait ’til Jett hears this“, followed about half a second later by the cold realization that I would never, ever be able to share anything with her again.
The increased responsibilities. Jett, at one time, handled the cooking, most of the cleaning, all of the social engagements, care for Rusty, the laundry and remembering birthdays and arranging for Christmas gifts. With her illness I took over the cooking, cleaning and laundry, but it wasn’t until she was gone that I had to deal with the full burden of care for Rusty and responsibility for birthdays and gifts. I have created a calendar of birthdays and will soon have to figure out who is on the Christmas gift list. I haven’t had many social engagements yet but when they come it will be up to me to handle the arrangements. I can do it all. But I don’t want to.
Meals. During the final two months I was constantly on the lookout for high-protein foods that I hoped I could get her to eat. She ate very few of the things I bought. As I am too cheap to throw away perfectly good food, I am now consuming the items that I bought for her. High-protein snack bars, Ensure shakes, coffee and chocolate ice cream (okay, not high protein but nutritious and things that she would eat, until the end). I am also trying to clean out the very full freezer that has items like frozen asparagus and cooked shrimp – things that she used for appetizers. I will eat them all. Even when not consuming items that I bought for her or things that she bought to serve to others, my cooking habits have changed. I now eat smaller, quicker meals. I cooked 5 bratwurst and 4 hamburgers on Sunday. Those will be my entrees for a week.
Altered priorities. When we arrived in Florida the item at the top of our priority list was installing the washer/dryer in the shed. That would be the culmination of over 2 years of effort and would thrill Jett who would no longer have to make the tiring trek to the laundromat. Now, with her gone, the urgency is diminished. I can do one trip to the resort laundromat every 2 to 3 weeks, for about $11. How long will it take to break even on a $1500 washer/dryer investment? Years. Yes, the convenience is a factor, but I was driven mostly by a desire to make Jett’s life easier. I think I have a higher tolerance of laundromats than Jett did.
Repurposed table
Freedom to use “her” space. The RV has a bath-and-a-half. The full bath was hers, except when I needed to shower and shave in the morning. The half bath was mine. Now I have full use of the full bath and rarely use the half bath. Similarly, the dining room table was hers, used to keep piles of papers, periodicals and “to do” tasks. Now it is mine and I am using it right now to do a jigsaw puzzle.
Some of these changes are improvements in my life. But I would happily trade all these improvements to have Jett back again.
Last spring, as the “season” was winding down and COVID was ramping up, there seemed to be an air of invincibility in the resort. Lots of going-away parties, nary a mask in sight and no social distancing. It seemed to me that people were taking a lot of risks, but they got away with it – there were no reports of COVID in the park.
This year is different. Shortly after I returned from the funeral (Oct 29) a notice went out that a resident couple had both tested positive and were self-quarantining. Shortly after that a workamper tested positive. Now a pickleball player has tested positive after playing pickleball with 18 people. Pickleball is an outdoor activity so the risk of transmission is reduced, but still… that is 4 confirmed cases and potentially several dozen other people exposed. And the park is no more than 50% full – maybe 300 people, tops. That means that potentially up to 10% of the residents have had some exposure to the virus. It seems inevitable that more cases will follow.
A couple of days ago I ran into (from a distance) one of the regular pickleball players. He invited me to return to the courts and I promised that I would, soon. Well, maybe not so soon now. And I am glad I wasn’t one of the 18 who were exposed last week.
Maybe residents will start to take this pandemic seriously now.
One of the risks of living in Florida is hurricanes. I have no intention of being in an RV in the path of even a minimal Category 1 (75 mph) hurricane. I was fortunate that Florida was not targeted during the two weeks that I was away for Jett’s funeral. But when I returned I had to deal with Hurricane Eta.
Twice.
Yes, in this very busy hurricane season they ran out of names and had to dig into the Greek alphabet – Eta being the 7th letter there. Eta was a very unusual storm. First it devastated Central America as a Category 4 (130-156 mph, hundreds of deaths and over $5B in damage), one of the most powerful storms ever to appear that close to the equator. Then it wandered around the Caribbean Sea like a drunken sailor for many days, crossing Cuba and the Florida Keys and bringing torrential rains to Fort Myers (hit 1), then curving back out to sea for a few more days. Then, on Monday and Tuesday of this week, it finally decided to head straight north, raking the west coast of Florida (hit 2) before making landfall near Sarasota, crossing Florida and continuing up the east coast of the US as a tropical storm.
Frankly, it was little more than a nuisance for me. The main impact was rain. Lots of rain. The first pass dumped maybe 4 inches of rain on my site and the second pass probably added 2 to 3 more. The winds were strong, but the highest gusts were probably around 50 mph. Enough to rock the RV, but not particularly worrisome. While many sites in the resort experienced minor flooding, mine had none at all. The drainage ditch behind the site filled but didn’t overflow. As the RV is on wheels and the shed is on blocks, even a foot of water would have caused no real damage. I might have had to replace some mulch.
Flooded drainage ditch, second pass
Had the forecast been worse, what would I have done? Well, the good thing about hurricanes – if hurricanes can be said to have any good qualities – is that they move slowly. More slowly than an RV. So I would have hitched up and tried to outrun it. Millions of other people with the same idea would have made the travel very slow, but still faster than the hurricane. And if I couldn’t find a campground with a site available… well, my RV has a bed.
The greatest issue in this case was the condition of the truck. While it had traveled nearly 6,000 miles with nary a problem in the past month, it was due for an oil change and was in fairly desperate need of some new tires. But it could have hauled the RV a few hundred miles to avoid a hurricane.
One of the reasons that I had to hurry home from the funeral is that I had committed to being a poll worker at the local precinct for the Nov 3 General Election. I was given the job of “deputy” which is actually pretty responsible, despite the fact that I was a complete newbie. One of the duties of the deputy is to swear in all of the other workers. So I had to arrive by 5:30am and, as my first official duty, swear in the other 10 poll workers.
Deputy Sparky
Then I participated in setting up the polling place – assembling the voting stations, running extension cords to the registration verification tables, putting down the 6-foot separation markers (to minimize the chance that voting in the pandemic would kill anyone). Then I had to go outside, measure a 150-foot perimeter, put up signs banning political activity within that perimeter, put up the “Vote Here” signs, put on my vest (see photo) and make sure no one entered the polling place before 7am.
After the polls opened I had to monitor the flow and keep the crowd from building up inside the polling place. In truth that was only an issue for the first 2 hours. The line of people waiting to vote may have reached about 30 people at the peak, but things flowed pretty well. The last 10 hours had only minor lines.
For 12 hours I was not allowed to leave the building. I brought food and drinks in a cooler that the Lee County Elections Commission thoughtfully provided. While the work was tiring, it was not overwhelming. But I was very happy when we could close and lock the doors at 7pm. I think the final tally of voters was somewhere between 500 and 600.
I then had to participate in the teardown of the polling place while the paperwork for the final tally was being prepared and the results uploaded. I had to sign off on the final numbers, along with 3 other workers, and had to verify that the ballot boxes – needed for a recount that won’t happen – were locked and secure.
All-in-all it was a positive experience. The team – a pretty balanced mix of Republicans and Democrats – worked together efficiently and congenially. I felt I made some friends. It was a great example in how people with different political views could work together toward a common goal. Congress: take note.
Thanks to my neighbor, Mark, for walking Rusty at noon. He (Rusty, not Mark) wasn’t happy to be left alone most of the day, but at least he didn’t have to hold his water.
I stayed with my sister-in-law Christine the night of the funeral. We played some Hand, Knee & Foot in Jett’s honor. The next day I loaded up the truck with everything left in our storage unit and terminated that contract, then had some pizza with my lovely granddaughter Liliani. Sister-in-law Kim took off her minister hat and put on her chef hat, serving me yet another wonderful dinner. The next morning I departed, starting the long (and pretty lonely) trip home.
I took the “southern route” (I-95 rather than I-84) through New York City and regretted doing so. I encountered no fewer than 4 delays due to accidents. I didn’t get to Alexandria until nearly 8pm. But I was served another wonderful dinner (spaghetti and sausage) when I got there. Rusty was happy to see me, more or less.
The next day, Monday, Rusty and I drove to Knoxville TN where I stayed 2 nights with an old college friend. Another home-cooked meal (see a pattern?). Wednesday I drove to Chattanooga, mostly in a driving rain (tropical storm Zeta). I had wanted to get to Atlanta, but it just wasn’t worth it. I got a room in Chattanooga at LqQuinta (*very* nice – I will have to look for LaQuinta the next time I need a hotel). The storm had passed by morning so I decided to push through to Fort Myers. 10 hours with one refueling stop (and to walk Rusty). Got home at dusk Thursday night.
I met Jett on the evening of June 21, 1997 – the summer solstice. From that night until her death at 2:53pm October 15 we were pretty much constantly together. Our first date was a trip to Rockport and Gloucester. She loved Cape Ann, as did her mother. When her mother died in 1979, Jett buried her in Rockport and obtained the plot next to hers for herself. When her mother’s headstone was engraved she engraved hers too, but of course it was incomplete. We visited Jett’s grave on that first date – the same grave we will visit today for a rather less romantic reason. The headstone is still incomplete but will be finished soon as the missing data – the date of death and her last name at time of death – are now known.
Barb Rifkin, our common friend who didn’t fix us up because she didn’t think we would be a good match, has admitted that she was wrong. We were a very good match because we had shared interests and goals. And we were fearless. Dive into housing rehab and rental? Fly to Paris for a weekend? Go to Mexico on vacation when my mother was warning us about banditos? Go on a cruise when there were frequent reports of sickness and disaster? Sell our 2000-square-foot home, move into a 400-square-foot RV and travel the country full-time? We did all of those things and did them eagerly. We loved adventure.
If there was any doubt that we were compatible, the fact that we survived in a 400-square-foot RV for 8 years without killing each other is proof that we were. We may have disagreed but we never argued. The decision to go “on the road” was the best decision we ever made. No regrets. We traveled over 40,000 miles to all “lower 48” states. The well-worn truck in which she traveled those 40,000 miles will lead the procession today. We met great people, saw great places. We wanted to be “on the road” for 20 years or more . We loved our life together.
But we didn’t get 20 years of travel; we got only 8. And, in truth, we had fewer than 6 good years on the road. Starting with our transatlantic cruise in 2018 which we had to abort due to Jett’s low hemoglobin, she never felt really well again. Our travel became a matter of getting to a destination so that she could rest. I got out on my own to see places but she rarely felt well enough to accompany me. Yet nothing seemed to be seriously wrong. The hemoglobin problem was resolved by large doses of B12 and she got a clean bill of health from her doctor in the summer of 2018.
But 10 months later in May 2019, as we started our trip north for the summer, she went into the ER in Palm Coast FL with severe back pain. She was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, metastasized to the brain and the spine. The tumor on the spine, of course, was the source of the back pain. The diagnosis was a shock – there had been no sign of cancer less than a year earlier – but it wasn’t a surprise as she had smoked heavily for over 50 years. Our planned 3-day stay became a 5-week battle of survival.
She nearly died there. She was presented with the option of entering hospice and was told if she did that she would be dead within 2 weeks. Her family – who rushed to her bedside – convinced her to try one round of chemotherapy. Just one. Then she could decide if hospice was best.
She did one round of chemo and it didn’t go well. But she decided to try immunotherapy and the results, for a year, were fantastic. Her doctor actually called her response “miraculous”. All of her tumors shrank. Her last MRI, just a month before her death, showed that the tumors were continuing to shrink. But she continued to lose weight and became very frail and unstable. I told her daily that she needed to eat more. That malnutrition was becoming more critical than cancer. Nothing worked. She would nibble, then push it away. I believe that in the 2 weeks prior to her death there was not a day when she took in more than 500 calories.
The end, when it came, was sudden, unexpected and very gentle. We arrived in Fort Myers on Wednesday, October 7. She arranged to see her oncologist the following Monday, but when Monday arrived she was too sick and asked me to cancel. I refused and instead went to see the oncologist myself. I described Jett’s fragile condition, my concern about her weight and her increasing hallucinations and mental confusion. She was sensing that her mother was near. And her grandchildren. The doctor said that people nearing death often saw or sensed the presence of departed or distant loved ones. She suggested that we talk to hospice as they would be better positioned to intensively treat her malnutrition.
The hospice nurse arrived at 4pm on Wednesday and spoke to us for 2 hours. Jett was cheerful, responsive and helpful. We agreed that she would enter hospice, with the understanding that if she could regain some weight then cancer treatments would resume. The papers were signed at 6pm.
At 8pm a truck arrived, delivering oxygen. I thought this urgency was unnecessary as Jett, despite her lung cancer and COPD, had never needed oxygen.
At around 9pm she called me into the bedroom, as she often did. But rather than requesting coffee or assistance into the bathroom, she pointed at a pile of bedding and said “Why did you kill that other cat?” Of course my response was “When did I ever kill a cat?” She looked at me, accusingly, and said “I read it in a book.” She fell asleep soon thereafter. She may have mumbled a bit as she drifted off, but nothing intelligible. Her last words were to accuse me of killing a cat. That is either silly or too deep for me to comprehend. But, like so much else about Jett, it was truly memorable.
Around 11pm that night I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Her light was still on and her eyes were slightly open. I asked if she was awake but she didn’t reply. I believe now that she was already in a coma.
But I wasn’t particularly alarmed until I tried to wake her at 8am Thursday. Usually a light touch woke her but that morning nothing worked. Touching, shaking, shouting. No response. And her eyes were half open. I called hospice. A nurse arrived and confirmed that she was in a coma. I started sending out the alarm.
That nurse left around noon and another arrived at 2. Between nurses I was alone with her and sat with her, The morning nurse had put her on oxygen – the oxygen that I didn’t think she would need just 12 hours before – but she was breathing partially through her open mouth. I thought her mouth was dry so I wet a washcloth and rubbed it gently on her lips. Though she was completely unresponsive in all other ways – no movement of her limbs, her eyes open and staring into space unblinking – at that moment a single tear escaped her dry eye and ran down her cheek.
That tear.That tear will haunt me forever. Was it an involuntary response of a comatose woman? A recognition of impending death? Or, perhaps, a final, farewell kiss? Her way of telling me “I love you and I loved our life together.”
Today, if you see a tear escape my eye and run down my cheek it will be my way of telling her “I love you and I loved our life together.”
Some of you were probably wondering whether this blog would continue. It will. But, as you might imagine, I have been rather busy these past two weeks. I want to document it all, as much for my own therapy as to inform you.
Immediately following Jett’s death I contacted a funeral home in Rockport MA (where she would be buried) and they contacted a funeral home in Fort Myers to arrange transport of the body. Her body would be embalmed in Fort Myers, then flown to Massachusetts.
The local funeral home arrived promptly and removed her body by 6pm, well befor Jett’s twin sons arrived at 9pm. They were too late to be there when she passed, but were able to view her body the next day, Friday, after she had been embalmed. I am glad that they did not see her in her bed; she looked much better in the funeral home. It was a very sad few moments, seeing her lifeless body in the company of her grieving sons.
I decided that I wanted to drive the truck to Massachusetts, to clean out the storage unit after the funeral. Her sons agreed to accompany me. Rusty, too. I was grateful for the company. And with three drivers we were able to drive straight through. We left at 9am Saturday and arrived in Alexandria VA at 1am – a 16-hour drive, of which I drove maybe 5 hours. Her sons handled the rest.
Devin at the wheel, waiting on the train
It would have been a 15-hour drive had it not been for a wrong turn and getting stuck at a railroad crossing of the world’s longest train. I estimated it to be over 200 cars long.
I stayed in Alexandria two nights, to get “some pins back in my box” as Jett would say. Rusty stayed in Alexandria when I drove to Worcester MA on Monday, to spend the night with Jett’s brother Ray and his wife Kim, an ordained Methodist minister who married us and who agreed to officiate at the grave.
Tuesday was spent making final arrangements. I drove to the Greely Funeral Home in Gloucester MA to pick out a casket (a very nice solid pecan one) and a crypt, select mass cards, approve the obituary and pay for the whole thing (just over $12K – very reasonable, I think, given that the body had to be flown up from Florida).
I then went to the cemetery in Rockport to take a photo of Jett’s headstone, took that to the monument office to arrange for engraving, then back to Gloucester to find a venue for the after-burial luncheon. My first choice was booked, but I found an acceptable alternative, at Oliver’s Harbor Restaurant. I wanted an outdoor space, for increased safety during the pandemic. What they had was a patio area that had been enclosed with plastic, with plexiglass partitions between the tables. Having the luncheon would be a risk, but I felt it was a risk I had to take.
I stayed with Jett’s sister Christine Tuesday through Friday. Wednesday was devoted to shopping (I needed a better shirt) and working on the eulogy. She and I drove together to the viewing Thursday night. It was my first view of Jett in her funeral dress, with makeup applied and I have to say that she looked wonderful. Jett would have approved. She didn’t look gaunt and seemed at peace. Lovely, really. Kudos to Greely’s.
One concern I had about the viewing was grandson Zachary. He was very close to Jett and had never seen a dead person in an open casket. I thought he might freak out but he was very comfortable. He had no qualms about holding Jett’s hand. It was very touching.
Zachary giving his grandmother a final goodbye
Besides family and a few close friends that I had called, we were visited by several people from the Rockport area who knew Jett from long ago. Several others showed up the following day, at the graveside, in response to the published obituary.
One detail that I settled on Monday was the set of pallbearers. The obvious choices were her sons in front and her brother Raymond and I at the back. But who in the middle? As I was driving, the answer struck me like a slap on the face: her sister Christine and her niece Allison. Allison and Jett were very close. Allison said Jett was a “second mother” to her.
As it turns out, a seventh pallbearer was added at the last moment: my son Frank. I was grateful that he wanted to participate, as a sign of respect.
The hour before the procession was devoted to eulogies and remembrances, all of which were very touching. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. In addition to the roughly 20 people there, two of Jett’s nephews – Christine’s sons – were able to see the event remotely via Zoom.
I gave the final eulogy. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I choked up many times and had a hard time reading my notes through my tears. I will publish the eulogy tomorrow.
The procession went very smoothly, led by our big brown diesel dually. I had originally considered riding with someone else, but then realized how totally appropriate it would be to have our big truck leading the way. This is the vehicle in which Jett rode over 40,000 miles, visiting all “lower 48” states.
It was a lovely day. The graveside ceremony was brief and solemn. 18 of us then proceeded to the restaurant. I was originally planning on providing wine and beer for a toast, but when the time came I decided that the only appropriate toast had been given, by me, at dinner Thursday night after the viewing: “I wish you were here.”
After the graveside ceremony
I was also originally planning on having only appetizers, but Christine insisted on a full luncheon with her picking up the tab. The food was good, the service was excellent and there was even some laughter. It was a fine end to a very sad couple of days. Thank you, Christine.
I stayed with Christine Friday night, then traveled to the storage unit on Saturday, cleaned it out and terminated the contract, then stayed with Ray and Kim Saturday night. I departed early Sunday and took a long, slow trip to Alexandria (4 accident delays!) where I had an excellent homecooked meal.
On Monday Rusty and I departed and traveled to Knoxville TN where I stayed two nights with my old college roommate and his wife. On Wednesday we departed Knoxville, intending to travel to Atlanta. But I encountered torrential rain, thanks to Hurricane Zeta, and stopped in Chattanooga TN for the night. By Thursday morning the storm had passed and I decided to push through to Fort Myers – a 10-hour drive. We arrived around 6pm Thursday night.
Over 3,500 truck miles and no problems. A minor miracle. I am grateful because I really was not emotionally ready to deal with a truck breakdown.
We met at a Parents Without Partners dance on June 21 (the summer solstice and the longest day of the year) in 1997. She had come at the request of another PWP member, though she was reluctant to do so, thinking it would be a waste of time. So she sat in the corner, talking to the president of the chapter. As luck would have it, I was treasurer and had to get the president to sign the check to pay the DJ. I sat down at the table, Jett on one side of the president, me on the other. We greeted each other, then began chatting in a very flirtatious way (and why not? Jett was thin, blond, vivacious). The president soon said “I think I had better get out of the line of fire” and left. We moved closer, chatted a bit more, then began to dance. She told me later that she never would have dated me if I had been a lousy dancer. Fortunately for an old white guy I could dance pretty well (Test #1). I had a similar standard, but the way she moved her hips convinced me that this was a woman that I would like to know better.
After the dance we joined some other members for a 1am breakfast at Bickford’s. Jett had brought no money (she knew that, being thin and blond, men would buy her drinks and she really didn’t expect to meet anyone). I paid for her muffin and coffee and she picked home fries off of my plate. This meal intimacy absolutely infuriated a female member of the party who had been trying to get some dates with me and she stomped off. Not everyone was happy that we met that night.
After breakfast we found a place to park – in her car (no way was she going to get into a strange car with a strange man). We talked until sunrise. Then she had to leave because she had to do a Sunday shift at the department store where she worked. I could go home to sleep. But before we parted ways she asked to see my chest hair – she couldn’t date a man who had no chest hair. Fortunately, I had plenty and showed her (Test #2). I asked her if she shaved her legs. I knew she did, but that was a damn good excuse to put my hand on her leg.
She also asked me if I would be her date to her brother’s wedding, 2 weeks hence. I said I would. Then I suggested a date for the intervening week (no moss grows on this stone). She suggested a road trip to Rockport MA, about an hour away. I said fine.
Rockport, which I have featured several times in this blog, is a lovely town. It is also where she spent many summers of her youth and was her “go to” place to find serenity. It was also where her headstone was located, next to her mother’s, in the Beech Grove Cemetery. So, yes, on our first date we visited her grave.
I will visit it again next week, to put her body beneath her headstone.
After Rockport we went “over the bridge” to Gloucester MA where there was a carnival. We rode the ferris wheel and she ate onion rings. Or, to be precise, she ate the breading of the rings – she didn’t actually like onions, so she pulled the onion out of the breading first. Strange woman. I liked that.
Then we had a drink at a Gloucester pub and had a lively and erotic chat that at some point involved the bartender. We actually got him to blush. He said that was a first. We were very proud. We made a good team.
I will draw a curtain on the rest of the evening. Suffice it to say that from the moment we met at the PWP dance until 2:53pm yesterday, we were an “item.” Barb – the woman who had invited Jett to the dance – had known both of us for several years. She had been trying to fix me up, but not with Jett – with a librarian she knew. She never thought that Jett and I would be a match. She was very mistaken. We were a great match.
We dated for a while, then lived together for several years. We married in 2003 – a French-themed wedding in an Italian restaurant with Irish music. We were nothing if not eclectic.
We went “on the road” in 2012. Our RV life is documented in this blog.
Is was a good life. Because she was a good woman.
I can’t even start to imagine how much I am going to miss her. But I guess I am going to find out.
It was sudden and it was gentle. We signed up for hospice at 6pm yesterday, primarily because I thought hospice care would have a better chance of dealing with her malnutrition (I had been unable to get her to consume more than 500 calories for any day in the previous 2 weeks). But this morning, before I even had a chance to get the new meds, I was unable to wake her to take her regular pain medicine. I called hospice, a nurse arrived and confirmed what I already knew – that she had slipped into a coma. The nurse made her comfortable. Another nurse arrived at 2pm to monitor her condition. At 2:45 she urged me to come into the bedroom because she thought death was near. It was. At 2:53pm her loving heart stopped beating.
21 hours in hospice. Must be some kind of record.
I will write an appropriate tribute tomorrow. Tonight I will sleep. Alone. Well. Rusty will be with me. But it will feel very lonely.
Life without Jett
It has now been a month since Jett slipped the mortal coil. My life without her is coming into focus. Some of the changes are obvious but others are more subtle and surprising.
First, the obvious. I miss her. Every day. I don’t miss being the 24/7 caregiver that I became in her final months, but I miss her companionship, her wisdom, her unwavering moral compass. I miss being able to share things with her. The other day I witnessed something in the resort and my immediate thought was “Wait ’til Jett hears this“, followed about half a second later by the cold realization that I would never, ever be able to share anything with her again.
The increased responsibilities. Jett, at one time, handled the cooking, most of the cleaning, all of the social engagements, care for Rusty, the laundry and remembering birthdays and arranging for Christmas gifts. With her illness I took over the cooking, cleaning and laundry, but it wasn’t until she was gone that I had to deal with the full burden of care for Rusty and responsibility for birthdays and gifts. I have created a calendar of birthdays and will soon have to figure out who is on the Christmas gift list. I haven’t had many social engagements yet but when they come it will be up to me to handle the arrangements. I can do it all. But I don’t want to.
Meals. During the final two months I was constantly on the lookout for high-protein foods that I hoped I could get her to eat. She ate very few of the things I bought. As I am too cheap to throw away perfectly good food, I am now consuming the items that I bought for her. High-protein snack bars, Ensure shakes, coffee and chocolate ice cream (okay, not high protein but nutritious and things that she would eat, until the end). I am also trying to clean out the very full freezer that has items like frozen asparagus and cooked shrimp – things that she used for appetizers. I will eat them all. Even when not consuming items that I bought for her or things that she bought to serve to others, my cooking habits have changed. I now eat smaller, quicker meals. I cooked 5 bratwurst and 4 hamburgers on Sunday. Those will be my entrees for a week.
Altered priorities. When we arrived in Florida the item at the top of our priority list was installing the washer/dryer in the shed. That would be the culmination of over 2 years of effort and would thrill Jett who would no longer have to make the tiring trek to the laundromat. Now, with her gone, the urgency is diminished. I can do one trip to the resort laundromat every 2 to 3 weeks, for about $11. How long will it take to break even on a $1500 washer/dryer investment? Years. Yes, the convenience is a factor, but I was driven mostly by a desire to make Jett’s life easier. I think I have a higher tolerance of laundromats than Jett did.
Freedom to use “her” space. The RV has a bath-and-a-half. The full bath was hers, except when I needed to shower and shave in the morning. The half bath was mine. Now I have full use of the full bath and rarely use the half bath. Similarly, the dining room table was hers, used to keep piles of papers, periodicals and “to do” tasks. Now it is mine and I am using it right now to do a jigsaw puzzle.
Some of these changes are improvements in my life. But I would happily trade all these improvements to have Jett back again.