Tonight I write with only healing on my mind

As my beloved brother Mark once said and I quote, "Family, who needs it"? At the time he murmured those now etched words into my mind, he had probably had enough of the drama that he was being pulled into by our beloved Bob in his active addiction phase.
Although I seemed to be the only one foolish enough to actually believe that Bob would achieve long term sobriety again, I never did loose hope, Mark on the other hand was much more realistic and quite frankly was done participating in uncomfortable family holiday dinners with so much tension in the air. Who can blame him? If given a chance, neither Bob or myself would have wanted the drama either.

As I look back and take that painful walk down memory lane I am reminded by the lyrics of one of my favorite "Counting Crows" songs, that the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow that it brings.

So I started my last ten days. I have the once in a lifetime opportunity to wipe the slate clean of a past life filled with so many moments of ups and downs that have transpired these past several years in my world.

I am facing one of the cross roads of a life that one must make and pray that the gamble will pay off. I can no longer stay in my home of 21 years because of the circumstances of Bob's sudden death and as my Mother in Law made sure to remind me, that Bob did not provide for me as my "Father" did for her. I am going to lease our home out hopefully for several years, with the hope that I will be able to save it for my son. I thank god for the fact that Saul did include me in a Trust, everyday.
Had it not been for that, I would have been forced out of my home two years ago.
The past two years have given me the time to start to heal. There is a post traumatic trigger ever present replaying the final moments of Bob's life here every time I drive down the PCH past Rambla Vista. I hope that time will ease that memory. "Pick me up Steph, please pick me up", Bob's final words are branded in my brain, unfortunatley along with his once beautiful face.
There really is no telling when the grief will end,if ever.

Last week my son and I had to go through every article of clothing, books, personal items and other things that he had at home for his entire life left "Home" for all these years. We also started to watch marked and unmarked video tapes so that we can copy them to DVD's to preserve them.
It was an un-explainable experience. So gut wrenching that I could not bear to ask him to go thru the remaining things we have stored here of his father's. For the second time, I had to do it. I couldn't stop myself from putting a shirt to my face, hoping to catch just a slight scent of Bob. A few times I actually convinced myself that I could smell him here with me again. Wishful thinking or delusion. There really is not much difference at this point.


I unexplainably broke out into a sweat while watching the tapes, got sick to my stomach and had to go and throw up. At first I thought I ate something bad at dinner, but as I leaned over the toilet bowl, nothing came up. I was simply involuntarily taken over by years of emotion. Bottled up, repressed or simply forgotten memories in a flash forward synopsises of the past 20 years of my life.

Unfortunately the first home video we watched just happened to be the beginning of the end of the good times. I looked at the stress on my face, saw the pain in my eyes and actually did a sense memory of how miserable our lives had become. Each day was hanging with the dark cloud of another relapse looming in the near future.

I was trying my best to keep my family together, to preserve what was once a family that was the envy of an entire community. "The Picks" the happy three-some, out and about town, going to the market, the movies, dinner, karate or whatever.
I had to leave the room during that video and run to the bathroom.

The next tape was just by a random selection two weeks before the birth of my son.
My life at that time was like a fairy tale. Two people talking to their unborn son, telling him it was OK to be born any moment now.
We were so funny.

Then the next part was Matt being held by his sister and his grandfather. It was like being all together again. We were all so new to the home video filming that we were all so self conscious of the camera. Funny stuff, looking at our teeth, our chins, especially me because I had gained so much weight. Looking at the sweet child that Marisa once was and looking at myself kissing her head. Realizing that I have lost so much more than I can bear to think about. Everything that mattered to me back then, has been ripped from my world. It has nothing to do with money, but with family.

But the unexpected knife through my gut was Bob doing his comedy improv stuff to the camera,He had just started acting at the Lee Strasbourg's School and any chance he had to be in front of a camera was a golden moment for him. Matt and I had not laughed so hard for over two years now. We laughed so hard until it hit us.
Those days are gone forever, never to be given back, ripped from our lives leaving the hole as big as a crater from space. We both started to cry.

Maybe that is what we needed to shake us out of this just pretending that things will get back to normal someday, hopefully sooner than later. "Where have I been for two Years? Matt whispered. I couldn't explain survival or grief or the road it takes you down.
There will never be another moment listening to Saul, tell a story that happened to him a few days ago, or Bob at one of the happiest moments in his life, filled with unadulterated joy of having his two children with him or Mark so relaxed and happy to see the Baby.
The only uncomfortable moment was watching Bob ever so mindful to make sure that Marisa was not the least bit jealous of our new addition. You could see how hard he tried. It was the motto around our house, never make her feel less important that Matt. We did our best, right up to the end.

Those memories you get walking down memory lane come at a price. Both Matt and I have Saul's funny story etched in our brain, Bob's totally hysterical, rather risque comedy bit, that really rivals anything that John Belushi could have come up with. Just off the top of that brilliant mind of his. It still lingers as I write this.
Oh how I loved that man. That kind, loving handsome, brilliant man who came back for a period of almost twelve years, was talking to us and making Matt laugh like only he could do. The laugh that would make Matt run for his inhaler was present again and he did get the inhaler. The Bob that no one outside of the three of us really got to experience. A relaxed Bob not feeling guilty or remorseful about anything. Just happy to be sober and alive.

Those were the best days of our lives.

As Matt and I stayed up well into the morning talking again about life and death and his feelings and perhaps his fear of what will happen someday when I am no longer here, I reminded myself and him that life goes in cycles and he, much like I am doing now, will have to dig down, really deep and keep it together for the sake of his children, because their emotional stability will depend on how well he will be able to cope with a loss, get through the pain, but just keep going for their sake. It is the cycle of life. When you think you can't take any more, that's when your children will need you the most to help them try to cope with their loss also.

I need to remind myself of that on a regular basis when I feel abandoned by my once beloved family because they chose not deal with me talking to them about what was happening to me in the process finalizing my divorce in the Probate system under the direction of my step daughter. Gone without a word, just vanished into thin air, like I don't exist and perhaps listening to me, reminded them too much of their own thoughts and demons. I will never know because silence is golden to some people.

I wish them all well and I hope that I never treat anyone so heartless in their time of grieving and despair. Because much like I had to do with Bob, I have to forgive two of the three because I know it was not intended to wound me, but to protect themselves from the mirror I seem to hold up to all. It is a tragic flaw of mine. Not everyone thinks like I do. So militant and times and so boldly honest almost without thinking of the effect it has on others. I just say what's on my mind, and let the chips fall where they may.
Mine fell on the same table Bob's did, a family that would rather run than fight. Too civilized to speak what was on their minds, just ignore the problem and in time it will just go away I guess. It drove him crazy talking for hours about stuff, so frustrated by the lack of communication.

So be careful what you ask for is a great mantra. I leave a void in the family voluntarily and hold my head up high. Because in spite of everything no one can ever say that I did not defend Bob right up until the bitter end of our divorce two years after his death, because anything he did to hurt anyone he at least was sorry for his behavior and accepted the consequences. I hope we all learn that lesson from him.
Maybe that is his final legacy. Taking a hard look at ourselves in a mirror when only we are looking back at ourselves. You can't fool yourself for too long, it comes back to haunt you. I never abandoned him and had he been the Bob I married and not the other Bob, things would have turned out much different.

I went to an interesting event several months ago, featuring a world famous radio clairivoent and two different people described Saul, Bob and my real birth mother to me in detail. I was simply stunned into tears. I never knew my mother and at first I thought the man was talking about the woman who I called my mother, not my birth mother, that was until he told me that I look just like her. I knew this man was the real deal.
Among the most healing thing that happened that day was that two times from two different people, the first thing that was said to me was that someone keeps saying that they are sorry, so sorry. I know it was Bob and you can stop asking me for my forgiveness Bernie, I was never mad at you.
The second thing I was asked was if I was writing something, I said I was writing the story of my life with Bob, I was told to keep writing. I will.