The Big D's

No, this isn't a post about my breasts, although 2 out of 2 husbands would agree...my chest is blog-worthy.  If you're looking for boobie jokes, though, I recommend my friend Kristen's blog:  http://seekatzblog.blogspot.com.  (You might notice her top blog post is, in fact, about having sizeable chest melons.)

Of course, my blog is less about dirty, witty humor and more about grief, struggle, and deep emotional issues.  You know, the kind of thing that really makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.  So the big D's referred to in this post's title are....drumroll, please....Death and Divorce.  Fun, right?  I'm sure you can't wait to dive right in!

When I was a new widow, I was desperate to find tools to help me cope with my loss and profound grief.  I devoured books about grief, I struggled through some intensely painful sessions with a grief counselor (which helped as much as or more than they hurt), I joined an online community for widows and widowers for virtual support, and I went to a handful of grief support group meetings.  At these meetings, I struggled to find people like me.  Of course, in some ways, the experience of losing a spouse is universal - the loneliness, the loss of a life plan, the questions over things like whether to wear a wedding ring and what to say when people ask about your spouse.  Yet, being so young, I was not the typical case.  I wanted to find others who would relate to me more closely, so shortly after moving to Austin, I posted a couple times on different websites looking to form a group of young people dealing with grief.  Only a couple people replied, not enough to form a group, so that idea fizzled out relatively quickly.  One of the responses, though, was from a young woman whose long-time partner had left her, and she was grieving the end of the relationship.  She wanted to join a support group to help her cope with this.  I don't honestly remember if I replied to her email or not, given the general lakc of interest I found, but I knew I wasn't interested in being in a support group with her.  I couldn't bring myself to compare our experiences, or to think that we were going through the same thing.  I mean, she was going through a break-up, and I was a widow.  She was dealing with life, and I was dealing with death.  I certainly felt bad for her, but also was almost offended that she reached out to me.  At that point, though, I was really looking for someone who had walked a mile in my shoes, and she hadn't.

A few months later, I became good friends with a woman named Heather, who started to read my blog as a way to cope with her sense of loss after going through a divorce.  Coincidentally, she moved to Austin to heal, just like I had.  She was very careful about choosing her words when she talked about how my blog had helped her, and made a point to say she knew that our experiences didn't really compare.  Still, in that first conversation with her, I realized that we were going through some of the same feelings and emotional aftermath as a result of our experiences, different as those might have been.

Since then, I've had several friends and family members who've gone through divorces.  At first, you'd think that death and divorce are very different experiences.  And they are -- especially if the divorce is mutually agreed upon, or if you're talking about the party who wanted the divorce.  But for those whose spouses made the unilateral decision that they wanted out of the marriage (or long-term relationship), our experiences are more similar than you'd think.  Sadly, I've had several friends in this boat in the last few years -- their worlds, their lives, their futures upended and taken away, sometimes suddenly and sometimes painstakingly over months or years.  None of us chose to have our spouses leave us.  None of us wanted to divert our life paths.  None of us wanted to be alone.  We all had to grieve the loss of our partner and mourn the fact that the future, the life, the plans we had will not happen.

That being said, it is NOT a good idea to say to a new widow or widower, "I know how you feel.  When I got divorced..."  This would not have sat well with me when I was in the depth of my grief, and is not very sensitive to that person who is in so much pain.  You'll just look like an asshole, because it's not the same.  Tread very carefully when saying you know how someone feels because you went through an entirely different situation (this applies to everything not just taking to widows and widowers).  I used to be quite offended when people who were divorced would compare our experiences.  I thought, "That's so different!  In a divorce, someone made the choice for that to happen.  Neither of us chose for Brian to die.  God made that happen to us, not either of us.  We were happy."   Still, in time I started to see some similarities, and this was in part because I was witness to several unwanted divorces.  In each case, it helped that my friends recognized that although we went through some of the same things, our experiences were different.  They were all very good at saying, "This is nothing like what you went through, but..."  And then I would say something along the lines of, "I know it is different, but I also know some of the feelings that result are the same."

In sharing our experiences as friends, we can acknowledge the similarities and differences in our experiences and the feelings we have.  I have come to realize that while both are very traumatic and painful, death and divorce present different challenges.

If you get divorced, you lack the finality of death.  In my case, Brian's body stopped working when he died.  Science dictated that he was physically gone.  No one and nothing could change that.  From that moment on, the grief began, and then the healing.  In a divorce, things aren't so cut and dried.  A lot of people end up second-guessing themselves, and sometimes a couple will give things another try, even in the midst of or after the divorce proceedings.  There is no metaphysical barrier preventing you from working on the relationship, even if it seems dead.  This can delay the realization that a relationship, a life as one knew it, is over.  It can keep a person focused on rekindling the relationship and prevent them from mourning its demise.  With a living ex-partner, there is also much more room for anger.  Of course, it is normal for a grieving widow or widower to have anger -- not just at God, but also at their departed spouse for leaving them (not all emotions are rational, after all) -- but the fact is that for divorcees, this anger is more rooted in reality and can easily be fed by nasty divorce proceedings and ongoing issues between the parties, particularly if they have children together.  Simply put, death is more of a clean break than divorce.  The bandage gets ripped off, and then you start to heal.  With divorce, the bandage is slo-o-wly removed, maybe put back on after you peek at the wound, maybe replaced, before it is eventually taken off.  Only then can the recovery begin.

Finality of loss is a double-edged sword, however.  One of the hardest things to accept in coping with death is knowing that you will never EVER hear that person's voice or laugh again, that they are truly gone from your life on this earth.  That is a hard realization, and one that you never have to embrace if you're mourning the loss of a relationship and not the loss of your spouse's life.  It is hard to wrap your mind around the idea that this person you loved and spent your life with does not exist anymore and is gone from this world.  

Related to that is the fact that death will almost invariably cause you to examine your spiritual beliefs.  When someone you love is gone, you wonder where they are, if they are with you, whether they are in a better place, etc.  You might question everything you've ever been taught, you might be sick with anxiety over the soul of the departed, you might find faith anew in signs from beyond.  Whatever your experience, death takes you down this journey whether you intended to think about such things or not.  You can remain blissfully ignorant or choose to not worry about such things if you're divorced, because you don't have that feeling of responsibility for or a vested interest in the soul of someone who has left the physical world.

Another difference is in the way death and divorce are treated by the rest of the world.  Divorce carries a stigma and shame, while being a widow or widower causes people to bestow a strange mixture of pity and admiration on you.  I was praised so much for being so "brave" and "strong," yet I don't see how I've done anything praise-worthy.  Bravery is choosing to face daunting odds -- running into a burning house to save the children inside, rescuing a dog whose fallen through the ice into freezing cold water, etc.  I just lived the life I was given; I'm no hero.  I simply did what I had to do.  What else could I do?  On the other hand, the rules about how to move on are clearer for divorced folks.  It's assumed that you'll date again and go on with life.  You probably won't cry on your new partner's shoulder when an ex-husband's birthday rolls around, but you very well might do that on your late spouse's birthday.  By the same token, only one of those is socially acceptable, so at least a widow can continue to grieve and heal while forging a new relationship.  It might be that dating divorcees feel more pressure to keep their residual pain and emotional hang-ups hidden from new partners.

I could go on and on about these losses, how they are similar and how they are different.  I will say that there are many similarities in how someone who chooses neither reacts when life hands them one of these anyway.  I have had conversations with other widows and with divorcees about our feelings of loss, about how to cope with being suddenly alone, about having to grieve the futures we thought we were going to have, about how to re-enter the dating world as adults who never thought we'd be there again, etc.  I think my experience has given me an insight on what my friends were going through, no matter the reason they were there.  Although our experiences were different, some of our feelings were the same.  We are all trying to walk the path of recovery, healing, and finding happiness again.  In doing so, we have strengthened our resolve, our friendships, our emotional intelligence and our ability to support each other in hard times.  What hasn't killed us has made us stronger.  

It's easy to get caught up in our differences, but sometimes it turns out that our similarities are stronger than they appear.  Rather than worry about who has had it worse or whose pain was greater (How does one quantify that anyway?  And why would you want to?), I have come to see that the path I've walked has made me a more empathic, compassionate person and I can relate to people a lot more than I could before.  Having walked with pain and grief, I know what it is like and I know that, regardless of the source of one's woes, you can come out stronger and better for it.

How have you dismissed someone's pain and hurt because you think you had it worse?  Is it possible your experiences are more similar than you care to admit?  If you focus on how people are feeling rather than the outward cause of their pain, you'll come to find that heartache and loss are the same for everyone.  Sharing feelings doesn't have to be a competitive game of who has it the worst; instead, it should be about drawing on your own experiences to help you be compassionate and understand toward others who are hurting.  

Contrary to Popular Opinion

I've been struggling with some thoughts or experiences I've been having lately, and I think this is part of the reason I haven't been blogging as much (that, and planning a wedding takes a lot of time!).  The reality is that I'm no longer struggling with how to manage my grief, but how to life my life and move forward.  It's a different phase of widowhood, and in some ways, it's hard to acknowledge these experiences and feelings.

I've worried about how or whether to share everything.  I think about what other people will say or think - especially Brian's friends and relatives.  Still, I started writing as a way to not only process my emotions and experiences, but also to share my journey with others who are in my shoes, to let them know that what they are feeling is normal.  I feel like I'd be disingenuous if I didn't share some of these things that have been rolling around my head, things I've been afraid to write about for fear of being seen as a bad person or a less-than-admirable widow.  I've wrestled with these fears and with the thought that I want to be sensitive to others who grieve Brian's death, but I've decided that it's time to share more about my journey now, in the interest of full disclosure.  I know there are other widows and widowers who read this blog and who, like myself, are years out from their loss and who are navigating life and love in a different way than they were when the loss was fresh.  I have to keep reporting from the field for them as well as for myself, so here goes....

Sometimes I will go an entire day, or more, without thinking about Brian.  He is forever embedded in my soul and in that way, he is with me every moment of every day.  That being said, I don't necessarily miss him or talk to him every single day.  People tend to say things like, "Not a day goes by that I don't miss him and think about him."  That's not the case for me, and I'm sure there are a lot of people in my shoes who would agree.  Don't get me wrong -- I think about him a lot, and talk about him freely and frequently.  But it's more in the manner of telling stories about an old friend and recalling memories than it is me mourning his death or longing to see him again.  There is no joy or purpose in doing that, but telling stories keeps his memory alive and makes him a part of my life on an ongoing basis.  In my mind, that is a better way to treat his memory and a healthier thing for me to do.  It's also what he would have wanted.  When he died, I had to mourn the loss of what would not come to be, and one part of that was crying over the fact that we wouldn't grow old with his friends (Hart in particular), telling the same stories of our silly youthful antics that we had already told and re-told a hundred times.  I thought we'd all be old fogies together, telling those same tales.  I realize now that the stories will live on, but now it will be Hart and I telling them to Sheldon.

Another thing that I never thought would happen is that my memories of Brian are fading somewhat.  There have been a few times when I think about a memory of my past and I can't remember if it happened with Brian or with Sheldon, or whether Brian was still alive when a certain thing happened or if it was after he died.  For a long time, everything was starkly divided into two segments of my life:  before Brian died, and after.  Now, the line isn't as sharp.  The other day, Sheldon asked me if Brian had liked a particular food as we cooked dinner together.  I honestly wasn't sure.  I no longer have every preference, every memory, every quirk of his embedded into the surface of my brain and at the top of my mind.

It's weird to admit these things or acknowledge them, but they are part of the inevitable process of time moving forward, my brain getting more crowded, and the significance of the little details fading as the rest of my life unfolds.  I don't remember if he liked bell peppers because it really isn't that important.  I know I'll remember and cherish the most important things, but I'm finally able to see what is and isn't important.  I think when someone dies, you put them on a pedastal for a while and everything connected to them takes on more importance, more than it even did when they were alive -- that's why I struggled to throw away his pomade and toothbrush, when they were things that would have made their way to the trash can without a second thought when he was alive and they were all used up.  Now that the dust has settled a bit, things have fallen back into their natural order a bit more.

Whether I think of Brian consciously or not, whether I remember the small details or not, he is always in my heart and has irreversibly guided the course of my life, from the city I chose to live in to my selection of a new life partner.  I don't have to pretend to conform to certain expectations or ideals of what widowhood is to honor him, and I'm not going to anymore.  Brian valued truth, and it's time for me to share some of the less romantic realities of what my life is now.  This is part of my rebuilding.

Young, Widowed & Remarried

It's official - Sheldon and I are married!  Okay, it's actually been official for over three months now, but I had to take some time to reflect on everything and decide what to share.

We had a pretty short engagement -- about six months.  We wanted to get married as soon as we could because we saw no reason to wait -- we are in our thirties, we've been living together for a couple years, and we knew we were ready.

One thing that made me so sure about Sheldon - although anyone who would meet him would understand why I love him - was the fact that I had been in love and married before.  I knew what work went into running a household and into tending a marriage, and I knew we could do that well together.  

It felt a little weird to be planning a second wedding (though it was his first) -- I felt a little bashful or ashamed of the attention that is showered on brides-to-be.  I didn't want an engagement party or bridal shower, although I did acquiesce when some friends wanted to throw us an engagement party (and I am glad I did).  We did have bachelor and bachelorette parties, but nothing too crazy.  Sheldon and some of his buds went to the beach for a weekend of fishing and golfing.  I had a girls' weekend in at the house, making wedding decorations Friday night and wine-tasting on Saturday with my friends in Texas and our mothers.  Sheldon drove the van we rented for the occasion.  I had a lot of fun planning the wedding, particularly with the encouragement of my good friend Gabby, who was an enthusiastic personal attendant/co-planner, with a hot glue gun burn on her arm to show for it (oddly enough, it matches one I got the same night as we made centerpieces around my kitchen table together).  Still, I have to admit that I felt a little weird inviting people to my second wedding in a decade's time -- I was afraid to infringe on the lives of my family and friends by asking them to commit to another weekend of wedding activities on my behalf.  I was ambivalent about having a gift registry, but in the end realized people would bring gifts anyway and we picked out a few things we could use or that needed to be replaced.  We also picked a couple charities for people to donate to in lieu of gifts, one of them being the animal shelter where Brian had volunteered.

We ended up having a fantastic wedding - and I have to say, I think part of that was also because I'd planned one before.  It's funny - brides expect or feel pressured to create a "perfect day" on their first attempt at pulling off such an event!  At least this time around, I knew what was important and what wasn't.  I had consciously vowed to be more calm and to not worry so much about the details.  I knew from having gone through it before that it doesn't matter if there are personalized napkins, or if the white of the cake doesn't match the shade of the dress, etc.  It's about love, celebration, and the union of two lives into one family. 

That doesn't mean I didn't pay attention to the details though...we put in a new mantle and repainted the fireplace in anticipation for the reception, and Sheldon was very detail-oriented in getting the yard to look perfect.  We hung white string and globe lights in the backyard, I acquired tablecloths and runners on Craigslist, I oversaw the making of centerpieces (painted bottle vases), yard lanterns and hanging lanterns, and the list goes on.  Instead of a guest book, my mom made a fingerprint tree -- she drew a tree and guests put green "leaves" on with an inkpad and their fingers or thumbs and signed next to those.  We did the flowers and food ourselves, with me making up the gin lemonade the morning of the event.  We had a port-a-potty brought in for outside, and the two bathrooms inside had flowers and baskets of toiletries and the like.  We cleared out two rooms of our house to turn them into the buffet room and the coffee lounge.  There was a dance floor and a photo booth.  We had a bartender who served beer, wine, gin lemonade, old fashioneds, manhattans, and a fine selection of whiskeys and mixers, with cigars to go along.  Oh, boy, were there details....

I struggled, too, with how to behave as a widow planning a wedding.  Should I pay some tribute to Brian, such as a mention of him in the ceremony or flowers at the altar in his memory?  I was afraid of insulting his memory if I ignored him, but afraid of drawing attention away from Sheldon and my union if I did.  I worried about what people would think either way -- if I did honor him, or if I didn't.  In the end, I decided that rather than a formal tribute or token mention of him in a few written or spoken words, I'd let his influence shape the day organically.  Some of the musical selections were songs or artists he had liked, or that he had introduced to me.  There was a photo from our wedding in the DVD slideshow of our lives that Sheldon and I played at the reception.  Several members of his family were there, and many more friends who came into my life through him.   My one big way of honoring him was more private - I found an antique locket for my "something old" and inserted photos of Brian and me on our wedding day in 2004; the locket was tied to my bouquet.  In the end, I didn't feel the need to draw attention to him, but I also didn't feel the need to exclude him.  I do feel that he was there with us.

Aside from the fine line I walked trying to plan a wedding celebration appropriately as a widow, there were the inside thoughts and feelings about what a marriage is, what it really meant to be traveling this road.  Again, but with a new partner.  I thought about what the vows mean, what a marriage is.  I know Sheldon will be there in good times and in bad, because he has been a rock through some of the worst times of my life.  I thought about how much more I understood the gravity of the promises we were making now as opposed to the first time, when I was so much younger and didn't really know what we were getting into.  I thought about the fact that I can't just call Brian "my husband" anymore, because that title belongs to Sheldon now.  I cried about that and struggled to figure out new terminology.  (I alternate between "my late husband," "my first husband," and "Brian" depending on the context.)  I wondered how Brian felt about all this, and sought some guidance to explore and handle these thoughts.  I wondered how Brian's young nieces were interpreting all these events, and how I might be perceived by others.  

Worse, I thought about the fact that the unthinkable could happen again, and I had a nightmare about it just the other night.  But I realized that not getting married wouldn't change that risk -- just by loving him and sharing my life with him, I risk the pain of losing him, but I have chosen to be with him anyway because I couldn't go through life afraid to life to avoid pain.  I chose to go out on a limb and love again.  I thought of the Garth Brooks song "The Dance," which was played on the DVD tribute to Brian at his funeral.  The chorus is:

Now I'm glad I didn't know

The way it all would end,

The way it all would go.

Our lives are better left to chance.

I could have missed the pain,

But I'd have had to miss the dance.

I knew that I had to keep dancing.  So we rented a dance floor.

   

Lawfully Wedded Widow

It's been interesting to be in my shoes and planning a wedding.  Lots of things come up that wouldn't be an issue to a "normal" bride.  Some random thoughts on that below.

Am I going to change my name?  Yes.  I'll be taking Sheldon's last name, and will be making Brian's last name my new middle name.  I plan to keep using "Boka" professionally, though, as all my professional references, degrees, certifications, publications, appearances, etc. are under that name.  I don't want to have anyone who is called as a reference to say, "Who?!" because they don't know me with my new name.

In terms of weddings, they bring out opinions from everyone.  About everything.  Who should or shouldn't be on the guest list.  Who should walk me down the aisle.  How many chairs should be on each side of the aisle.  What everyone should wear.  Whether we should have a cake or not. 

In all these opinions, what I really need to focus on is making the best decisions for Sheldon and me.  Still, these decisions are not easy.  On top of the normal 1,001 decisions to make, there is this:  What is the best way to honor Brian's memory and role in my life, while not taking away from what the day is, which is a celebration of the love between me and Sheldon? 

And of course, wedding guests love to critique.  It's at the corners of my mind, what people will say about ways I do (or don't) pay tribute to Brian.  I don't think I'm going to share the details of how I plan to do so before the wedding, or in any written form in the program or anything.  Those who are close enough to me will know from having talked to me how I will be honoring him that day.  Those who were close to Brian may recognize his footprint on the day in some of the details; and those who weren't close to him don't need to be specifically told which details can be traced back to him because they will all fit together beautifully whether you know the back story or not.

So what's my wedding going to be like?  It's less formal than many.  A ceremony in the park and a reception at our house, in the backyard.  There will be a dance floor and bar, and buffet-style bar-be-que.  I'm buying my flowers from a grocery store and making bouquets and boutonnieres with help from family and friends.  We are making most of our own food, with help from a neighbor.  We'll have a friend of a friend as the bartender, another friend as DJ, and a friend is officiating the ceremony.  We are writing our own vows, which will certainly be shaped by what I've gone through before (because that has shaped my ability to love, and it set the stage for our love).  We are making our own decorations, a process that has been in the works for a few months and is really coming together well now.  My dress is white, and I bought it from a traditional bridal store, but it is not full length and fou-fou-y.  The guys are wearing khakis and white shirts.  No monogrammed napkins, no ice sculpture, no lighted waterfall on the cake (until recently, we were thinking no cake at all).

Most of all?  Love.  Lots of love.

I can't wait for the wedding day to arrive!

 

Torn

Lately I've felt pulled in a million directions.  Am I doing all I need to be, all I can be doing, all I should be as a real estate agent, a lawyer, a fiancée, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a soon-to-be daughter-in-law, etc.?  How about as ME?  As Wendy?  Am I taking care of myself? 

I've been having trouble sleeping and have had anxiety lately.  Not panic attacks, but heartburn, loss of appetite, tearful spells, and insomnia.  It seems that my to-do list grows and grows, even as I feebly cross things off.  And every time I turn around, I get another text, email or phone call -- and more often than not, it's someone needing something else.  Last night I went to bed at half past midnight (had to stay up to see the exciting double-overtime Spurs playoff win!) and after laying in bed awake until 3-something, finally got up and started doing things in the middle of the night/morning.  I started making a to-do list, emailing, and organizing for today.  Then I went to the couch to watch TV until I dozed off about 4 or 5...only to wake up a few hours later. 

One thing's for sure....I've neglected writing.  I've neglected self-reflection and me time.

But enough about me -- I feel like I'm letting people down all the time.  I know there are people waiting on me for things -- favors they've asked of me and that I agreed to do, cards I've been meaning to write, gifts I've been meaning to order and mail for various occasions, a guest room that remains unsuitable for the family visiting in a couple days, a stool sample I need to collect and get to the vet (nothing wrong - just routine testing), etc.  How do I get all these things done, and fulfill my social obligations to all my family and friends, while working and planning a wedding?  I feel like there are a lot of balls in the air, and it seems more keep getting thrown in my direction.

I'm trying to find some balance again....but please, bear with me while I tread water for a while.  Soon enough, I'll find my way back to a place where I can stand comfortably with my head above the water.

So Much to Say, So Much to Say...

But, most importantly, this:

Sheldon and I are engaged!

I am one happy woman.

There's been a lot of stuff happen that I haven't written about yet or that I am working on writing about -- the proposal, the holidays, a death in the family, the IRS, dental work, running.  So I kind of stopped writing for a while because I wasn't keeping up with things as they were happening -- but I thought I'd just do a quick blurb to the blogworld to say this:

I am a widow, and I am happy.  I love my life. 

I still cry about Brian's death, I still talk to Brian at times, and I will always talk about Brian.  Sometimes certain situations are made harder because of my grief or because of things that go along with being a widow.  But I've also learned and grown so much in the past three years, and I believe I am a better person now than I was when Brian was alive, when I was sort of blissfully ignorant to the realities of life and death.  I have a greater capacity for love and compassion than I once did, and a greater appreciation for happiness and life.  I am in a better place now than I ever have been.

Let me be clear -- it is not as if getting engaged has "fixed" me or taken away my grief.  Does it make me happy to be engaged to Sheldon?  Yes, more than I can say.  Does it put me in a better place than I was?  Yes, because I love him and my life is better with him than it was without it.  He is a wonderful person and I am lucky to have him as my partner.  Does it mean my grieving is over?  No.  That will be a part of me forever.  Does this mean I will no longer think about Brian, talk about him, talk about my loss, think of myself as a widow?  Of course not.  It's just that now, I will be a widow and a wife.  And I am happy.

We are getting married in a few months.  I'm sure I'll be blogging a lot about the upcoming wedding, my feelings and emotions that this brings up, the practical questions for a soon to be wedded widow, etc. on top of a ton of other things I've not yet covered.  For now, a blog icebreaker was in store to announce our happy news.

I am in love and I am happy!!  This year marks a new beginning for me, a new chapter in my life, and I look forward to writing the rest of my story.
 

3 Years and Counting...

Today's marks three years since Brian's passing.  The day was so awful, so painful, so surreal.  It will forever be burned into my being.

Still, more than that day, I will always remember him.  Here is what I posted on Facebook today:

"It's hard to believe three years have passed since we've heard you laugh, seen you smiling and playing air guitar, or felt your arms around us. I miss your voice, your zest for life, your common sense and quick wit, your musical stylings, ...the way my head fit in that space in your chest, and laughing until we cried. I thank you for loving me, for sharing your life with me, and for making me a better person. Brian Steven Boka, 12/16/78 - 1/17/10....but with us always.

 

Those of you who knew Brian should do something fun and indulgent to remember him today. Those of you who didn't....well, he'd want you to do the same! Honor him by enjoying whiskey, wine, music, your favorite foods, playing Rock Band, spending time with friends, board games, cuddling with pets, watching silly YouTube videos, playing some vinyl, or having great sex."

 

I am having trouble posting pictures for some reason, but I also put up several pics on FB that were some of my favorites, that captured his spirit and joy.

 

More on this day, and lots of other stuff, to come soon....

 

In the meantime, enjoy life!  Brian did that as much and as well as anyone you'd ever hope to meet.  I plan to honor him by continuing to do just that, along with a bottle of one of his favorite wines.

The Life of Brian

Tending bar at the Boka Bear Den

Brian would have been 34 today.  I have no question about what we'd be doing for his birthday if he were still alive -- getting together with friends for the Bears/Packers game.  He was the biggest Chicago Bears fan you'd ever meet.  The only question is whether he'd want to go out to a sports bar or have people over to watch in our living room and the "Boka Bear Den"  Bears bar we had in the basement.  Probably the latter, so we could share victory boots of keg beer from the Bears keg-o-rater, and possibly make up some kind of blue or orange shots.   



Shots, anyone?  (Mexico, 2008)

That was Brian.  He was the life of any party, and particularly enjoyed getting quiet people out of their shells.  He was big, loud, funny and smart.  He had a soft side, though, and would cuddle our kitties and speak baby-talk to them.  I'll never forget the day he was petting Ellie on his lap and said, "Oh, you're Daddy's little purr factory."  By the same token, there was a time he referred to someone (not to their face) as a "monkey sack of shit."  He had a knack for stringing together obscenities and insults into hilarious and oft-repeated catch phrases.  He was very smart and had a large vocabulary.  More than anything, his intelligence came in the form of common sense.  He could look at any problem or situation and analyze it quickly, and simply, in a way that would make you think, "Wow, it really is that simple."  He would tell you what he thought whether you liked it or not, and whether it was what you wanted to hear or not.


Life was always more fun with Brian around

At a fundraising gala

Brian was honest, sometimes almost to a fault.  He didn't pull any punches when it came to speaking his mind, and one of his less endearing traits was that he didn't care who he offended with what he said; he valued honesty over feelings.  Still, he had a great way to use his strengths to bring out the best in people and situations.  He fared quite well in business and quickly moved into positions of leadership and authority.  He was a wonderful manager -- he had the ability to improve an organization at its lower levels by bringing out the most in his employees, while he also had a talent for thinking big-picture and improving a company by making sure departments worked together and sharing ideas for change and development in planning meetings with higher-ups.  He took great pride in helping poor performers on his team turn things around, in mentoring team members to prepare them for promotions and career growth, and in being a leader at the office. 


The college days

He was a rock star at ING, where he took on more special projects than any other manager and managed to excel at each one.  He had been identified as a top talent there, becoming a part of a very small group (consisting of 1-3% of employees) who were being groomed for higher management and who would be sent to training and leadership camps around the country.  I would have loved to have seen what he could have done for that company and for himself.  He was savvy enough to convert his bosses' praises into compensation, and always fared well at review time.  He was, simply, a business genius.  He wasn't afraid to ask why things were or weren't done a certain way, wasn't afraid to suggest new things, wasn't afraid to address any elephant in any room, and wasn't afraid to negotiate for the biggest raises and bonuses possible.  After he died, people who had worked for him at other places, many years ago, came to pay tribute and so many people said wonderful things about him.  In a world where many people dislike their bosses, he had raving fans in his employees.



My best friend

Brian had a unique voice.  He didn't like it, but I loved it.  I miss hearing it, though it's in my memories clear as day.  He did some radio work in college, where he was a communications major.  He had a radio show for a semester or two on the campus radio station, and he and his freshman year roommate (who went on to spend a few years in radio for a career) did play-by-play announcing of basketball games for the Simpson Storm.  He also did an internship at the Muscatine radio station, impressing everyone he worked with there.  He loved sports and also did an internship with a sports newspaper in central Iowa.  This came easily to him, as he had written for the Simpsonian, the college newspaper of our liberal arts school.

Brian loved friends, family, food, fun, and life.  Yet he was picky, and had funny tastes.  He disliked fruit in general, and despised berries.  I remember a big fight we had once when he wouldn't take even one bite of a strawberry-rhubarb cake I'd made (that was a labor-intensive dessert, I might add).  He was stubborn; what can I say?  He hated topiaries, barn quilts, and doilies.  He never shied away from telling me if he didn't like an article of clothing or accessory I picked out, either.  He liked my hair best when it was long and I didn't have bangs.

With Picaboo Whiskers Boka, our firstborn :)

Brian loved animals.  He doted on Princess, the dog his family had when I met him, and cried when she died.  Then, he doted on Murphy, the dog his parents never planned to have but couldn't resist when he showed up one day.  He was a wonderful "pet parent" to Picaboo and Ellie, and loved having a kitty on his lap.  He was on the board of directors of a no-kill animal shelter and enjoyed volunteering there as well, with events (dog washing and silent auction fundraisers, for example) and with animal socialization, such as when he worked with a puppy to get him through obedience classes to make him more adoptable.




With our neices, Lily and Lauren

I wonder if we would have had children...if so, I wouldn't be surprised if they had names that harkened back to the Bears -- he always wanted a cat named Walter, but we ended up only having girls.  He was great with kids, a gentle giant, though a bit unsure with babies.  He was afraid of "breaking" them and felt awkward being such a big guy holding someone so tiny.  He didn't know much about babies, either.  When our first niece, Lily, was born, we went to see her in the hospital the day after she was born.  He was holding her and commented, "Look - she already has fingernails!"  I guess he thought those sometimes grew in later, like hair or teeth.  I laughed until I cried....something Brian did a lot.  Once they were kids, he did much better and could relate to them in a special way.  I always was amazed at how well he could connect to my sister and cousins -- he did that with kids and adults, with ease.

Brian could read people like a book.  He had an uncanny gut feeling about people that would prove, time and time again, to be spot on.  If he warned me that someone was sleazy, they usually proved to be just that.  He also had an ability to talk to anyone, to get people to open up, and to get people to leave their comfort zones and grow.

He was never afraid to jump in and sing along...

Brian was passionate about music.  He was not a great musician, though he played trombone in the high school band and started playing guitar in college.  I loved when he would play guitar and sing, even if he wasn't the most advanced player or the best singer out there.  If he was looking at music online, I'd sit on the floor of the home office while he played.  Sometimes, he'd sit on the corner of the bed while I laid there and listened.  He had a three-ring binder and dozens of pages of loose music in his guitar case.  Sometimes, he'd take his guitar and a bottle of red wine to the basement to relax.  Other times, it was a book and a bottle, and he'd play his records down there.

With his good friends at a Reckless Kelly show (Kansas City)

Brian had a great collection of vinyl.  It all started when my boss offered me a stereo system that he was going to get rid of -- we needed a sound system for the basement bar, so I took him up on it.  One of the components of the 1990 Onkyo setup was a record player that had never even been out of the box.  I declined that, but took the rest home.  Once home, Brian and I were unloaded components and getting the system set up when I told him of the LP player that also went with the setup.  He said, "Why didn't you take that?!"  I said, "Because we don't own any records."  ...."So?"  I had to call my boss that night to make sure he didn't throw away the record player, and thus began a record collection.  It was mostly old rock and folk style music that he liked -- Gordon Lightfoot, Joan Baez, Alabama, CSNY, etc.  I thank him for introducing me to the likes of James Taylor, Bob Schneider, Jakob Dylan, and the Avett Brothers.  But he hated Anne Murray.  He loved watching music DVDs, just hanging out with friends and acting like there was a concert in our living room.  He spent hundreds of hours with his best friend, Mike Hart, doing this.  They would watch Jim Croce, Harry Chapin, The Band, and Crash Test Dummies.  He could tell you all about what the songs meant, why they were written, and how the musicians got their starts.  He dug deep into music, too -- he knew the real talents and had found the real gems produced by one-hit pop bands like the Dummies or Marcy Playground.  When he loved a song or an artist, he would play a CD or just one song on repeat over and over again.  I didn't mind that when he discovered Mason Jennings, but I never really liked Warron Zevon.  Funny how I don't mind Zevon now...

With his brother, in Jamaica

Brian loved to travel, and always picked beach locations.  He loved snorkeling and was a good swimmer, having spent many years as a lifeguard (and eventually manager) at the Weed Park pool in Muscatine.  I spent one summer baby-sitting while he was a guard and I'd bring the kids to the pool as often as possible.  When it was his break time, he'd jump in and swim and play with me and the kids, teaching the little boys wrestling moves (I remember especially the "European upper-cut").  He loved MMA fighting, and I loved being his guinea pig while he learned and practiced moves -- he could really get me with a figure-four leglock if I didn't pull off a triangle choke first (usually he'd have to sort of let me have that).  Another summer, when he was managing the pool and I was working at Applebee's, I would bring him Taco Bell after my shift was over.  I'd eat Long John Silver's myself.

Post-tequila-shot picture!

Brian loved having parties, and our house in Iowa was perfect for that.  It had a big kitchen overlooking the living room.  There was a formal dining room that was most often used for board game nights and Wine Club gatherings.  Downstairs from the living room was the sports bar, complete with a keg and shelf upon shelf of liquor.  There was a bar and stools, as well as a high-top bar table that converted to a poker table.  We had a tv mounted in the corner and the walls were covered in Bears memorabilia -- banners, flags, signed photographs, mounted cards (the Walter Payton rookie card being the prize among them), and posters.  We had a nicely sized fenced-in yard, perfect for bags and bocce.  We never did get the hot tub running though -- something that I predicted when we took it (one of those "free" but broken situations).  All we did was spend a few hundred dollars for a new cover, and never did get the broken parts replaced.  Sometimes home projects slipped to the bottom of the list, behind a 50-60 workweek and at least twice-weekly socializing.  We had a great social life -- parties and nights out all the time.  Even our wedding was planned around one idea -- it had to be the biggest party reception we could arrange, with late-night snacks to stem the tide of alcohol, and a DJ that played til 2:00 am (including some last-minute "Chug-A-Lug" karaoke performed by the groom himself...and no, the DJ did not even have a karaoke machine; Brian just asked him for the mic).  We loved hosting the "Boka and Friends" fantasy football draft at our dining room table every year.  He was commissioner of the league, which has been going strong for 10 years now, always with a waiting list of guys wanting to join.  

The League

I'm proud to say this one-time Vanna-esque sticker girl/beer bitch is now the champion of the league and that the Brian Boka trophy is on my mantel.  A fantasy championship in this league is something he never attained, though he would usually have more points than anyone else -- it's just that every week, his opponent would pull off a miracle win by having players with career and season-high stats against Brian.  He loved the frustration of it, though, and all the trash-talk among the league.  I try to keep that tradition alive as well, even though this year I crashed and burned fantastically (thanks, Cam Newton).

With his best friend Mike

It's no surprise that people stayed in his fantasy football league -- if you were a friend of Brian Boka, you would stay that.  He was fiercly loyal to his friends, and that sentiment went both ways.  When he made a friend, it stuck.  He had the same best friend for 25 years -- he and Hart became buds in first grade, and I have no doubt they would have been best friends for 50 years if fate had allowed it.  They were more like brothers.  He was also very close with other childhood and high school friends, as well as college and work friends.  He had many close friends from every phase of his life.  Many people would name him as their best friend, and it was not uncommon for him to be a sort of big brother and friend to anyone who needed an ear to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, or just someone to have a beer with.  As fun-loving as he was, he was there for the serious stuff too, and was often the one people would turn to in times of crisis or struggle.  I miss his advice, his insights, his wisdom.

Hart's 30th birthday -- sometimes they'd kind of dress alike unwittingly

Words that describe Brian are funny, loud, big, lovable, honest, fun-loving, stubborn, smart, intuitive, tender, perverted, extroverted, indulgent, insecure, crass, leader, pragmatic, inspirational, goofy, and true to himself.  He was someone who would push boundaries and was boisterous and provocative enough to almost get in trouble, but instead would always get away with it.  He was a rambunctious little boy, always getting into fights with his brother (that continued into high school, when he worked for his brother for a while) and finding ways to avoid trouble while doing things that should have gotten him some with his friends.

I can't sum up a person and his entire life with one blog entry, and I'm sure I'm leaving out hundreds of words and anecdotes that would more fully paint the picture of Brian Boka.  He was true to himself and sought to bring out the best in everyone around him.  He forever changed me, made me a better person, and shaped me into the football-loving, music-appreciating, dirty-joke-telling woman I am today.

I miss you, Brian Steven Boka.  I love you.  Thank you for sharing your life with me.

Our wedding day -- 06.19.04

Our 5 year anniversary party at our home in Iowa

 

 

What's In a Name?

I have never slipped and called Sheldon "Brian," though lately, I've done it in my head a few times.  I'll go to say something to him and I have to mentally make sure that "Brian" doesn't come out of my mouth.  I'm sure part of that is that we have a friend named Brian who spends a lot of time at our house and, indeed, I find I'm more likely to feel the potential for a slip of the tongue when he is around.  It's weird -- I don't think Sheldon would get mad if that came out, and I would say it's actually a complement.  I think I feel the possibility of this happening because the comfort level between us is so great, and because our life together is so "old hat."  Our year-plus of living together has gotten to the point that it feels totally natural, and like something that has just always been the case.  He is very different from Brian, and our relationship is quite different too, but the familiar feeling is the same.  I think feeling that way has caused my brain to circuit into its habits from when I used to feel that way.  Much as Brian and I used to have our routines, so do Sheldon and I.  Just as Brian and I used to have inside jokes, and could communicate our thoughts with a split-second glance, so do Sheldon and I.  We are best friends, we share our thoughts and fears, our judgments and opinions. 

There is a level of comfort, a level of love, a level of "home" that you feel with a partner, and that's where we are.  It's something that takes time to develop, to unfold.  It happens while you brush your teeth together, while you fall asleep intertwined with someone over and over, while you start sharing the same language and meals, while you let your guard down more and more until you don't care if that person catches you picking your nose or hears you singing in the shower.  It is when you stop feeling like people who live together (with cats) and start feeling like one family unit.  This is where we are, and in some ways it takes me back to when I had that before with Brian.  The details of our lives are different, but the feeling is the same.  And sometimes it makes me go on "autopilot" and almost makes me say the old familiar name I spent so many years saying in that context.

I also worry that when I'm older, if I end up suffering from some affliction that confuses my senses, that I will resort back to that name, or that it will come out from time to time.  What if I'm an old woman asking for my husband, Brian?  How will that make Sheldon feel?  I know this -- it wouldn't mean I love him any less, just as my close calls now don't mean that.  In a way, it's like a mother who calls her children by the wrong names (we've all heard some version of this), running through them until she reaches the appropriate name.  It doesn't speak at all to who she loves more (as though there is any competition of the sort!) -- it means she view them similarly, and that talking to one is like talking to another.  She gets the same warm, loving feeling from all her kids, and sometimes the brain and tongue don't work well together to get the correct names and words out.  I feel the same way about Brian and Sheldon.

The name "Brian" is wrapped in love and comfort for me, and stands for a partner and friend.  Sheldon makes me feel all those things, too, and that's where my brain and tongue sometimes get tied up.

Holiday Road

"It's the best of times, and the worst of times." -- My therapist, today

Today was a tearful session.  My therapist told me that she's very busy this time of year, and that it's the "best of times" for her because it was the "worst of times" for everyone else.  That sounds sick, but I swear the comment was funny because it was delivered with an awareness of how dark it sounded.  Okay, so I'm struggling right now, but I'm not alone.

These months, and this year, brings a lot to the table.  Last month, the day went by that marked 10 years from when Brian proposed to me.  I never would have imagined that my life would have taken a full circle of a detour and put me back into the same place -- cohabitating with a boyfriend, childless, and working on a path to my intended legal career.  But alas, what I thought was a path to one destination was really a much longer and more winding road to somewhere else entirely.  (I'm happy to say that, while it wasn't where I thought I'd be, I quite like where I've landed.)

There are the holidays themselves, of course, too.  Christmas, New Year's Eve.  There are the normal feelings of wanting to see everyone and balance time between immediate and extended families, though my situation is somewhat unique in that "family" includes three sets -- mine, my late husband's, and my boyfriend's.  Sheldon will be meeting Brian's extended family -- grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc. this year.  I have no worries about families blending, though, and we are fortunate enough to be able to take off enough time to see everyone, so while things may be hectic, at least we will be able to join all the celebrations and enjoy the company of so many that we love.  The only downside is that I'm already having anxiety about gift-giving, packing and shipping.  I'm going to have to face this soon, and just start making lists and tackling tasks.

Again, not so bad.  Brian and I used to spend weeks criss-crossing Iowa to see everyone and attend every family celebration, company party, and friendly holiday cocktail parties; it could be exhausting, but I always tried to remind him that, if our biggest complaint was that we had too many holiday events, it was simply a reflection of how much love we had in our lives.  I can't imagine what he'd think of me adding another family and another entire state to the equation, and doing it all from a distance to boot!

No, there's more.  Brian would have been 34 this month.  I will be turning 32, one year older than he ever got to be.  This will be the first time I have a birthday that he didn't get. 

January doesn't get too much easier.  We started dating in early January (1996).  He died in mid-January.  It will be three years this year.  It was two years ago this month that I said good-bye to our home in Iowa and packed up to move to Texas.

This is a lot to get through in the next five or six weeks.  It's going to be a long holiday road.  Of course, I guess there's more scenery to enjoy on the longer roads, and the destination can be unexpectedly fantastic.