The Last Known Hurdle

The other day I went to a Ray LaMontagne concert and I had a wonderful time, but I also shed a few tears. This folk rock musician has a smoky voice that moves me to my very core, but that’s not why I got emotional. This event was a very significant hurdle in my grieving process.

Back in March I e-mailed Chuck and I said, “Ray LaMontagne is coming to the Florida Theater in July! I LOVE his music!” He responded, “Buy the tickets. I’ll give you the cash in two weeks.” Yay! I was so excited! I loved going to concerts with Chuck. He’d let the music wash over him. With every new positive experience he’d always act like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, almost like a very shy child on Christmas morning, so it was a delight to do things with him. He would also hold my hand throughout and rub my back if he saw me shifting uncomfortably in my chair.

But ten days after that e-mail, Chuck was dead. After the initial shock of that wore off, after I was able to pick myself up off the floor and could lift my head up and start thinking about the practical as well as the emotional impact of this devastating event, I remembered those damned concert tickets.

Now that Chuck was gone, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I got kicked out of my apartment because I couldn’t keep up with the expenses without him. (I actually made it until June. I’m rather impressed with myself.) Needless to say, the last thing on earth I needed was 100 dollar’s worth of concert tickets at a time like this. I really should have sold them. God knows I’ve been forced to sell everything else I could think of. (I still have a ton of Orthodontic Dental Lab textbooks and equipment up for grabs if anyone’s interested.)

But I just couldn’t sell those tickets. They represented the last known thing that Chuck and I would have done together, and I just… I couldn’t let them go. Okay, so I’d have to figure out a way to absorb the expense. I had many a lean grocery week, believe you me.

Next challenge was finding someone to go with. Fortunately my old friend Steve came through for me, as he has done countless times in the past. It’s kind of sad that I had to resort to borrowing someone’s husband in order to go to a concert, but there you have it.

The night of the concert I picked out an outfit that was Chuck’s favorite. I whispered, “God, I wish you were here,” and I burst into tears. I managed to get a grip before Steve picked me up, but when I got in his car I looked over at him and kind of felt sorry for the emotional roller coaster I was probably going to put him through that night. But Steve’s an ER nurse. He is intimate with death and dying. He’s not afraid to talk about it. And we did, quite a bit. He was the perfect friend to take on this particular ride.

So off we went. He took me to dinner at a restaurant that I know Chuck would have loved, and then we went to the concert. And the whole time I imagined Chuck’s hand in mine. (Steve’s a great friend, but not the kind you hold hands with.) And when I sang along with some of my favorite songs, I looked upward. A few times I got tears in my eyes. He was there. (I wish he could have rubbed my back, though. It was killing me.)

So, yeah. Now I’m looking at a future devoid of plans. A blank, Chuck-less slate looms before me. That concert was the last known hurdle that I had to cross in this grieving process. Oh, there will be plenty of others, I’m sure, but none that I can anticipate and plan for and try to mitigate.

So I am sailing my ship into uncharted waters now. All alone. Here there be dragons. But there will probably be some spectacular sunrises and sunsets, too. We shall see.

This one’s for you, my love.

(For those of you who get this blog via e-mail, the video I attached to it can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LWpw3CMCEg )

Author: The View from a Drawbridge

I have been a bridgetender since 2001, and gives me plenty of time to think and observe the world. View all posts by The View from a Drawbridge