deep in the ocean, there lies a wave for you

I am inspired to write this post by Bobby Finger’s nod to the song “Ruin My Day” from Jon Brion’s 2001 album, Meaningless.

Meaningless reminds me of my four-month stay in Los Angeles in the summer of 2005. At first I was so lonely; I called my mother and then-boyfriend in the middle of fits of gulping sobs, knowing they could do nothing about it, wanting them to take responsibility for the consequences of a decision I made myself. It was terrible of me, like burying them in the sand and walking away from the mound.

I was 21 and about to enter my senior year of college. I was living off a settlement from a car accident in a subleased apartment in Westwood. I had a car. I went to an internship three days per week and took a class some nights. It took me a few weeks to see how good I had it. (And right now, I’m pretty disgusted to think it took me that long.)

Eventually, though, I learned to relish this alone time. I read on the outdoor patios of coffee shops with honey-flavored coffee drinks. I strolled through art museums, skipping rooms that didn’t interest me. I stayed home and chain-smoked cigarettes on the apartment’s tiny patch of deck. I listened to piles of previously undiscovered records in hours of traffic. Being by myself is the best, I realized. I can do whatever I want.

Halfway through the summer, my boyfriend came to visit me for an entire week. That Friday, we got in line at Largo at 4 p.m. and sat on the sidewalk, the sun-heated concrete searing the backs of our thighs. (The one person in line before us was obvs insufferable.) During this time, Jon Brion was playing there weekly. The table seats sold out weeks in advance, but there were 12 or so bar stools available on a first-come, first-serve basis. Chris and I were determined to get two of them, and we did. And sure, we saw him together, but the experience of watching the show is my own. I cried when he played tracks from Eternal Sunshine (duh).

This album, which I listen to straight through like a movie, reminds me of that entire summer, when I came to rely on my own reserves.

(P.S. A brag: While in Los Angeles, I got to go to the office of NANCY  MEYERS because she’s an AU grad).

I haven’t wanted to work at my second job for a while. Last year I didn’t have a choice but to stay (or find something better, which seemed harder). When I started my new day job last August, the need for secondary, part-time employment waned enough for me to really consider quitting.

It was hard letting go, though. I worked there for over six years. I worked there even before I met Clark (a time that sometimes seems too far away to consider). I’d spend hours getting drunk in the bar downstairs when I was 22. My position there was one of the first things I told people when they asked about me, one of my defining factors.

I could tell I wanted to quit in my brain, but my body would tighten up whenever I thought about actually sending the email or making the phone call. But this is the place where Clark used to ride his bike to visit you! This is the place where you printed out the necessary papers to apply for Clark’s Medicaid! This is the place that ordered food trays to be delivered to Clark’s funeral! This is the place that you stood, crying and watching Neko Case sing two nights in a row when Clark was almost dead because you had to do something that was only about you or you would lose your mind!

No one who works there still even thinks about those things, or thinks about me in that way. These things are mine alone, along with my decision to stop working there and move on. It can still be that place even if I don’t go there as often. And if I decide, after a while, that it’s just a place — that’s OK, too. I still keep my relationships with some of the people, which is important to me, so it will stay that way.

As these ties to Clark and the past begin to fade, I temporarily panic over what that says about me or my identity. I think, though, I’ll soon be comfortable with thinking the loosening of these knots and their eventual undoing doesn’t mean anything bad.

It’s Clark’s birthday. Or rather, since he has not aged, Clark was born 36 years ago today.  I was all set to be fine when I woke up this morning, but I have, admittedly, cried a few times today.

I’m crying for strange reasons, though. Like how I feel differently now than I ever anticipated.  I feel guilty for not having a gathering of friends planned for tonight like I did the past two years. For not wanting to acknowledge it publicly (besides in this blog post) – I think I posted something on Facebook or Twitter last year – or talk about it at all, really. I’m fine; I can handle myself. Very few of my closest friends have even mentioned anything to me about it, which may have made me angry or anxious last year, but this year I am glad. I’m struggling with being fine, I think. Who could have predicted that?

A few weekends ago, it was perfect outside. Jeff and I spent the day tooling around the Hirshhorn and National Gallery. At the Hirshhorn, I told him how Francis Bacon said he met his lover George Dyer when Dyer attempted to burglarize his home. It had been a long time since I last got to talk about about Francis Bacon with someone who didn’t know much about him but cared to hear about it.

Dean and Britta were performing 13 Most Beautiful …, their album of song tributes to some of the most stunning screen tests by Andy Warhol, at the Gallery. We slumped against the wall and shared a magazine while we waited in line, and he held my hand during their performance. I never listened to Luna, the band Dean and Britta previously played in together, somehow, though it seems like something I would have been very interested in being very into when I was in high school and college. Anyway, it’s just my thing. I love these songs.

Then we ate bar food and drank beer at the Red Derby. Jeff knows most of the bartenders there, and the server was reading US Weekly and reading interesting and hilarious bits from it out loud to us. After our meal, we went to see Ted Leo in a church basement. A lot of people I know through Clark were there. I walked in and was a coin that had been flipped. With tails facing up, the part of me who took care of Clark dwarfs the part who loves Jeff and dreamy music and art museums. I am struggling in my search for a balance.

My boyfriend of one year has been given a diagnosis of terminal cancer. He has no family around, and I have been his primary caretaker. We had a wonderful relationship, but we had not discussed long-term plans, and his declining health has changed much between us. It is becoming harder for me to continue at this level. My desire to look after my own needs, personal and professional, and my guilt for feeling that I could be deserting him are becoming overwhelming. What is my responsibility? ANONYMOUS

“… though caring for a sick person can be exhausting, it can also be exhilarating, a chance to rise to your greatest potential, to mean more to another human being than you otherwise could. Strange as it may sound, your boyfriend’s illness could be the best chance you ever get to experience that. Don’t cast it — or him — aside. “

Although the oncologists knew that they were being taped, in more than a quarter of the consultations the patients were not told that their disease was incurable; a similar percentage were not informed of the side effects associated with the proposed anti-cancer therapy. Only five patients of the hundred and eighteen — some four per cent — received what the researchers considered adequate information. In nearly ninety per cent of the taped discussions, the oncologists failed to ask the patients if they understood the information being presented to them. These results are in keeping with prior research indicating that more than a third of patients with incurable metastatic cancer believe that the treatment offered by their doctors will actually cure them.

From “Dying Words” by Dr. Jerome Groopman, published in the New Yorker in October 2002.

I am turning my story into a book, really for real. I’ve set aside time and started working on it. Guess what? It’s hard.

I am in such a good place right now. Even before Clark died, I was never this sure of who I am. I know what I want and what I’m capable of achieving. But … reading old emails from a time when that was so not the case is painful and embarrassing! Here’s a bit I sent to Cella a week or two after I met Clark:

“And then there’s clark. who is bad news bears. he picked me up at the black cat, he’s 31, divorced, FUCKING HOT AS HELL, and is the lead singer of a DC band. he calls me once every five days or so, we get drunk, have sex, eat and watch movies. then he ignores me. if i could count on
him, he’d be my favorite, but he’s totally dicking me around. at least i’m aware of it, and, well, have other options.”

It’s hard to imagine a time where the contents of that email were the truth!

I am so very different, which is such a relief, but man.

I’m also dating someone whom I care about so much. He is overwhelmingly wonderful. I’m reading through old journal entries and notes I emailed to myself, and here’s one from April:

Subject: Dream 4/15/11

Body: This morning I woke up after a dream in which I had just met a person whom I was attracted to, and he liked me back. There were three occasions on which we saw each other in the dream, and on the second one he hugged me and said, “I missed you so much!” He was blond, tall, handsome and shy. He didn’t look like Clark, but I think it was just like when Clark and I first met. Katie Volin was there, and witnessed when he said the thing about missing me. I felt in love with him in the dream, and I felt that he loved me, too. I felt sad all day about it, and looked at men on the street to see if I felt a spark of attraction to them. I didn’t, but I feel this, “He’s out there!” in my body. A sad longing for the theoretical him.

Bridesmaids reference time!

Helen: Oh, she certainly enjoys playing tennis now. It’s funny how people change, isn’t it?
Annie: Yeah. I mean, I don’t know. Do people really change?
Helen: Mmm. I think they do.
Annie: Yeah. But I mean like, still stay who they are, pretty much.
Helen: I think we change all the time.
Annie: I think we stay the same, but grow I guess, a little bit.
Helen: I think if you’re growing, then you’re changing.
Annie: But I mean we’re changing from who we are, which we always stay as.
Helen: Not really. I don’t think so.
Annie: I think so.
Helen: I don’t.

People are responding to my article in GOOD, which is now available online. This one comment in particular struck me:

“Rebecca, I know you’re young, and only spent a short time with Clark, but as long as you have these messages, you’ll never really lose him… Dealing with loss is never easy at any age, but your story shows so much grace under pressure, on the part of you both, I have been truly moved, and for that I thank you. The fact that something so mundane as a bunch of emails has connected you in such a transcendent way to the man you love, you’ve shown a beautiful facet to what is otherwise a horrible tragedy, and I’m honored to have read this story. Thank you.”

This guy’s thanking ME?

Some readers are Tweeting about and commenting on how sad the story is, but some of my friends have said they didn’t even cry when they read it. They sensed my relief in putting it together. Writing it was like successfully completing a puzzle. I’ve felt content the past few days because people are reading my words. More people than ever before know how much I love Clark.

That’s not to say that I’m not going to fucking bawl my eyes out when I see 50/50 on September 30. I can’t wait / am dreading it.

Today is the anniversary of the day I met Clark. I’m honoring the day not by acknowledging it as a reminder of how curious, hopeful and confident I was walking home from the bar after giving him my phone number, but by recognizing that lately I am feeling, for the first time since he died, the very same way. The excitement of possibility has slowly come back. I’m mourning my sadness a little bit, but I don’t feel guilty that it has diminished. I’m doing right by him to enjoy my life and to appreciate when things are good.