Yahrtzeit

        There was a point I feared getting a "real" job that included conferences and business trips. There was a time I was scared to get a real acting job because I was afraid it would take me away from Her for days, weeks... We'd never been apart that long. Even when she had been sick in the past, I would come and see her every single day, stay as long as I could, and come back the next day until I could bring her home.
    There was a time I was so scared the hospital would screw her up. They always managed to do something wrong or hurt her or make it worse, but I was always afraid that they'd screw up so badly they'd kill her.
    Just about a year ago, my worst fear was realized.
    Father's Day weekend last year, Lucia spoke her final words to me. She told me "I love you very very much," and I cling to that. I know how very lucky I am to have had that, because not everyone gets to say that before they go or hear it before someone is gone. I did.
    I was lucky to have every single day I did with her. I used to thank her on a daily basis for her love and affection. I know how lucky I was, and it was my honor to be there.
    I used to tell her "A day without your touch would be torture." It's been almost a year since I touched her hand, and almost 18 months since I held her in my arms. I wish I didn't have the memories of her screams and her tears and her pleading eyes, but I do. I'm haunted by them. But I need them, too, to remember the time we had together. Just the conversations, the love and devotion that lasted through the pain and the torture. I hated having to not only watch her be hurt, but to be made to participate in it, hoping and praying in vain that I was helping to make her better.
    Six months of pointless pain and suffering. If she had come home I would feel differently about it, but she was torn from my arms, stolen from the lives of unknown hundreds who loved her. I don't understand why she was made to suffer the way she was. It pains me horribly that i cant remember the texture and softness of her skin or the taste of her lips. I can't believe we managed to make it through a year. The road ahead is long and dark, but I have a few tricks to make it a little less bumpy. Hopefully they'll work.

I love you baby. I miss you horribly every day. I still cry, I still scream, I still stumble and fall, but I'm learning to walk again. If you could do it, I can do it. You did so much for so many, and now you can rest and watch the fruits of your labors blossom and grow, without pain, without restrictions, without handicap. I feel your presence every day, and I hear your messages and signs. Rest easy, Lucia Anne. We'll never forget.

35 Years And Counting...

        One more week until I'm dead-smack center of my 30s. This is neither where or how I thought I'd be at this point in my life.
    When we're young, we have so many hopes and dreams, fantastic dreams and sky-high hopes. As we get older, these dreams give way to more realistic hopes and smaller dreams. Winning an Oscar or being a famous movie star or writer give way to simply being able to live comfortably in your own home with your family.
    I thought I'd be living the high-life in L.A. as a writer or filmmaker by now. It's possible that can still happen, though honestly I know it gets slimmer with every year. More recently, my dream was to live a comfortable life with my wife and our menagerie, secure in the home we had built together. Even that dream has fallen by the wayside.
    I didn't think I would be a widower before I was 35. I didn't think I'd be restructuring my life and my lifestyle at this point. I didn't think I'd be by myself, not after nearly a decade of being part of not only a team, but a WINNING team. I wanted so much more for myself than this.
    I've taken to thinking of the things I need rather than the things I want for my birthday. Apparently I need new tires. I'm gonna have to finish this later, I can barely think right now.