Category Archives: Carl

24 months since Laurie tragically and suddenly passed away from a brain aneurysm. 730 days in and I’m still standing. In those early days of grief, I wasn’t really sure that I would get here. Or that I wanted to. Contemplating life without Laurie seemed nearly impossible and overwhelming. In those early and dark days, I honestly contemplated following her. Through many hours of therapy and gut wrenching determination, I’m still here. Taking each day as it comes and navigating whatever this new journey looks like. Sometimes I do that one day at a time. Sometimes it’s one moment at a time. 

Sunday 11/21/21. Laurie woke up at 815am with a bad headache. She said her eye hurt. As she poured her coffee, she stood with her head against the freezer. She said it made it feel better. She asked me to help her get to the bed. I walked behind her guiding her. She sat her coffee down on the bedside table. She said she needed to get to the bathroom. I put my arms around her to guide her again. She walked through the bathroom doorway and dropped to the floor in my arms. I tried to brace her fall and get her to the floor. As I lay on the bathroom floor with her and on the phone with 9-1-1 trying to save her life, I begged for her to be ok. I begged for her to wake up. The rescue squad took her to St. Peters hospital. Michael and I followed. I arrived to the ER to a team of people working on her. I immediately had to sign papers for her to receive scans and life saving interventions. She was in critical condition. By 1030am we learned it was a SAH (Subarachnoid Hemorrhage); a brain aneurysm. They immediately prepped her for transfer to Albany Medical Center. As we stood in the ER, the staff were drawing diagrams of where everyone would stand in the ambulance to sustain her life support during the ride. It would take a team of 7 people to transfer her. By 130pm we were in Albany Medical Center. They prepared us for the emergency surgery needed to relieve the pressure and bleeding on Laurie’s brain. Michael and I sat in the waiting room. The hours ticked by waiting for word. By the end of the day, we would learn there was no brain activity and no hope of a recovery. There was nothing more they could do. I left the hospital around 8pm; nearly 12 hours after our ordeal started. I cried all the way home. I walked into the bathroom where earlier this morning I had laid with Laurie trying to comfort her that help was coming. I crumbled to the floor in a heap. Sobbing uncontrollably; screaming that this wasn’t real. Begging for it to be a dream. A nightmare.

Monday 11/22/21. We were told to arrive at the hospital at 12 noon. Michael, my sister Cathy and I arrived and we were put in a room to wait for the doctor. I had been told the night before that Laurie was brain dead. I knew what was coming. I wasn’t prepared. How could I be? But I knew. At 12:20pm Laurie was pronounced dead. Several doctors came into the room to tell us and offer their condolences. I asked for them to request the organ donation and transplant team to meet with us. We began the process of carrying out Laurie’s last wish to help others by being an organ donor. They arrived soon after and began walking us through the process of next steps. They were incredible.

Myself, other family and friends spent the next 3 days with Laurie as she remained on life support while the Organ Donation and Transplant Team worked through next steps. My sister Cathy painted her nails. The donation team made canvases of her hand prints. We spent time talking to her. Telling her how amazing she was and how proud we were of her; how much we loved her and were going to miss her.

Wednesday 11/24/21. 3pm, the day before Thanksgiving. I held Laurie’s hands, told her I loved her and would never forget her, that I cherished every moment we had together. I kissed her goodbye for the last time and walked out of the hospital. I struggled to catch my breath between sobs as I walked as fast as I could to get to the parking garage. Once in the car, I fell apart. Not needing to be strong or control my emotions any longer. I was in the solace of my car in the parking garage. The rest is a blur. Laurie was taken to the operating room to begin the organ donation process. At 11:55pm, the team called to say the process was complete. Our journey together on this earthly plain was over.

11/22/23 – 2 years today since Laurie passed away. Life without Laurie remains a challenge. 2023 has been a challenge. We lost Laurie’s mom, Carol in February. Health scare with my dad in July. My own health challenges and a career change after 5 and a 1/2 years at my job. I never expected that this is where I’d be in my life. Supporting my sons, figuring out my next job, maintaining a home, and putting my broken pieces back together. Figuring out how to carry on Laurie’s legacy and remember and honor her life of service to so many others. It’s daunting and incredibly challenging to focus on that somedays when I miss her so much. But I feel her. I feel her connection. Her being. And I know she is still close by watching over us and guiding us on our journey to be reunited someday.

Sometimes I fight to get out of bed: to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes, I remember why I’m still here. Sometimes I’d like to forget. I’m learning to navigate uncharted territory full of bumps, detours and roadblocks. I’m not sure what lies ahead for me. I keep thinking I’ll have some epiphany of what this new life is supposed to look like. I know that’s not realistic or likely. But it is a hope on how to get through some days. Time marches on. It always will whether I want it to or not. Nothing is the same and tomorrow will continue the evolution. I’m here for the ride. Wherever that may take me.

Landslide Lyrics

I took my love, I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too
Oh! I’m getting older too

Oh-oh, take my love, take it down
Oh-oh, climb a mountain and you turn around
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Well, the landslide bring it down
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Well, the landslide bring it down
Oh-ohh, the landslide bring it down

11/22/21 to 5/22/23

18 months since Laurie tragically and suddenly passed away from a brain aneurysm. 546 days in and I’m still standing. In those early days of grief, I wasn’t really sure that I would get here. Or that I wanted to. Contemplating life without Laurie seemed nearly impossible and overwhelming. In those early and dark days, I honestly contemplated following her. Through many hours of therapy and gut wrenching determination, I’m still here. Taking each day as it comes and navigating whatever this new journey looks like. Sometimes I do that one day at a time. Sometimes it’s one moment at a time.

11/22/21. We were told to arrive at the hospital at 12 noon. We were put in a room to wait for the doctor. I had been told the night before that Laurie was brain dead. I knew what was coming. I wasn’t prepared. How could I be? But I knew. At 12:20pm Laurie was pronounced dead. Several friends and family spent the next 3 days with Laurie as she remained on life support while the Organ Donation and Transplant Team worked through next steps. Wednesday 11/24 at 3pm, the day before Thanksgiving, I kissed Laurie goodbye for the last time and walked out of the hospital. The rest is a blur.

May 23, 1997 – the first weekend after Laurie and I met face to face for the first time on May 17th. 26 years ago. That weekend of May 23rd/24th would be the beginning of a journey that we’d hoped would last forever. We spent the weekend together in Rochester at an AOL party. It immediately felt “right”. The spark. The connection. Laurie and I would remember those days often and all of the subsequent weekends that we’d spend together. I’d travel to Utica, Syracuse or Rochester. She’d sometimes drive to Albany. We were finding ways to explore how this new found relationship might work.

May 22, 2009 – Laurie and I managed to get away for our first vacation in a long time. We wanted to celebrate the anniversary of our first weekend together from 12 years earlier. We stayed in a friends cottage in Bar Harbor, Maine. We had an amazing time. Even with the car breaking down on a Sunday afternoon in Acadia National Park. We spent time reconnecting, seeing new things, making new memories.

May 2021- in the midst of the COVID pandemic, Laurie and I made time to get away to Cape Cod for the weekend to celebrate the anniversary of the first weekend we spent together. It was cold and windy. We made the best of the weekend and had a great time exploring new places on the Cape we hadn’t been to before. We took a ride to find the Kennedy Compound. We were successful and couldn’t believe how big it was and how close we could actually get to it. It’s one of the things that I loved about Laurie. She was always up for an adventure and we had plenty over the years. We enjoyed driving together ALWAYS and exploring new places and things.

May 22, 2023 – life without Laurie is a challenge. Sometimes I fight to get out of bed: to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes, I remember why I’m still here. Sometimes I’d like to forget. I’m learning to navigate uncharted territory full of bumps, detours and roadblocks. I’m not sure what lies ahead for me. I keep thinking I’ll have some epiphany of what this new life is supposed to look like. I know that’s not realistic or likely. But it is a hope on how to get through some days. Time marches on. It always will whether I want it to or not. Nothing is the same and tomorrow will continue the evolution. I’m here for the ride. Wherever that may take me.

7/22/22 – 8 months since Laurie passed away.

I recently read a message in a group that resonated with me.

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

Haruki Murakami

This storm has been ongoing for 8 months now. It hit without warming or preparation. No one knew this storm was coming. There were no warnings. No hints that circumstances were about to change in ways we never could have imagined. But here we are in the midst of this circling storm. Left with no choice but to find our way through it.

There have been some pretty dark and bleak days in these last 8 months. Days I’d sit in the middle of the kitchen floor and cry. Sobs from deep within a heart that some days feels like it’s been shattered in a million pieces; never to be whole again. Stabbing at me from the inside. Fighting to get out. I’d sit in Laurie’s office. Motionless. Empty. Staring at her computer. Her desk. Her crafts. The room full of her life, but it felt so lifeless and empty. Her paintings. Her unfinished projects. Memories and things that she treasured. They appeared as if they were frozen in time. Just as they were the morning Laurie left our home for the last time. Without warning. Without saying goodbye. No final hug or kiss.

This home has sometimes been my solace for these last 8 months. My safe haven. My place to fall apart. Pull myself back together. And put on a brave face and walk out the door everyday to face an uncertain world. But this home has also felt like my prison. A place that has locked me in emotions, fear, anxiety, depression and allowed me to hide from a world that I’m still not entirely ready to face. Sort of my solitary confinement if you will. My mind says that’s not healthy. My heart says stay and hide. You are safe here.

I recently attended a BBQ at a friend’s house with other mutual friends from the recovery community. When I received the invite I immediately responded “yes” but knowing I wasn’t sure I was ready to do that. In fact, right up until the last minute where I had to decide to leave to be on time or decide to stay home, I still wasn’t sure. But I pushed myself outside my safe place, my hiding and said, “No, you have to go do this.” And so I did. It turned out just fine and I had a great evening with friends and new people I had never met before. Perhaps I was finding the way out of prison. Finding a way to rejoin society in whatever this new version of “life” was going to be.

That led to me attending one of the first community events that I’ve been to since Laurie passed away. People I hadn’t seen since Laurie’s passing sought me out and offered their condolences; their friendship and their love. it was an emotional day. But a good emotional day. What struck me driving home that day was how much I’d missed my friends; our friends. And how amazing it felt to feel the touch of another person. Not in an intimate way. But a friendly, supportive way. I’d missed that. By locking myself away, I had also buried that connection to others.

I’m beginning to restore those connections. To see friends. To be around people. And learning to let myself feel connected again. So far so good. I still don’t know where I am in the storm. Maybe just the fringes of the storm with much more of it to experience. Maybe I’m in the middle. Having survived the onset of the storm but beginning to push my way through to find that next opening; that next ray of sunshine peaking through the clouds. Maybe I’m starting to see light. Like some of the storm is lifting. Maybe all that matters is that I’m still in the storm. Standing. Fighting. Pushing my way forward. I do know one thing for certain though. When this storm starts to clear and I can see a way out, I will not be the same person that walked into this storm. That’s for damn sure.

In the end, we’re all just walking each other home; one storm at a time.

I’m not sure how to even begin to touch on today. It’s been six months today since Laurie passed away.

I was not prepared for what happened and I certainly wasn’t prepared for what would come after. Dealing with the loss was hard enough. The sadness, other emotions, loneliness, fighting to get out of bed when I just wanted to hide from the entire world. But I can’t hide no matter how much I’d like to. I’m now a single income household. I have a home to take care. I have to work. I have things that have to be taken care of. Simple things like making sure the animals go outside and get fed, the dishes get done, floors get swept, the lawn gets mowed. Laurie and I would share doing these things. But now, they all are simple things that become overwhelming in whatever this “new normal” is without her.

Everyone tells you “don’t rush to make decisions.” Unfortunately, the reality is, there are decisions you are going to have to make. Every.Single.Day. And you’re going to have to make them alone. Sure, people will give you input; sometimes even if you don’t ask for it, but at the end of the day, there is no one to make those decisions but you. Everyone may not agree with those decisions and that’s ok, but it adds to the complexity and emotions of what’s happening. Laurie and I spent 25 years together making decisions. And we didn’t agree on all of them. But we talked through things, worked out compromises when necessary, and arrived at a decision. That’s part of having a partner. I miss that. I miss her input, her guidance and suggestions. I try to ask myself “what would Laurie say?” or “what would Laurie do?” It does help me work through some things but it’s not the same as having her participation or validation. I can only hope at the end of the day, I’ve made decisions that Laurie would be happy with.

I have a lot more to figure out. I’m not sure how to do it. Some of the upcoming decisions will be life changing. Good, bad or indifferent, they’re coming. I’m working every day to prepare myself to make them alone.

For today, like our friends and family, I just miss her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her wisdom. Her incredible strength. Her presence. It’s left a void for so many of us. Our chore is to figure out how to move forward without her. Not move on. That’s not possible. But move forward. One step, one minute, one second at a time, while carrying her beautiful memory with us. Guiding us. Watching over us. Walking with us. Unseen but forever present. I’m thankful for having had this time with her. But I will forever miss what could have been.

4 months

3/22/2022 – today is 4 months since Laurie left our lives to become an Angel watching over us. The grief has changed a bit. Things feel more real about the loss as time has marched forward. The loss has set in and taken root. I’ve tried not to let it have a strong hold, but it happens sometimes. In the beginning there were distractions; work, family, friends, new responsibilities etc. Now, it’s harder to be distracted. The thoughts about the loss are bigger, hit harder, stay longer and come more frequently now. It’s a scary, dark place. I try not to dwell there. It feels harder to get out of that place. But I’m trying. Things like thank you’s, opening the mail, taking care of the house and the animals suddenly seem like huge chores. Facing tough, life-changing decisions that need to be discussed and talked about with the one person who you trusted and valued their opinions and guidance, but they are not here. Looking around the house at everything that has to be dealt with is debilitating sometimes too. It’s like my body freezes in place. Hours pass and I have literally not done anything about anything. And then I wonder what’s wrong with me? Why don’t I get things done? Why can’t I force myself to do those things. I know I’ll feel better if they’re done, but that’s not enough to compel me to do them. And on some days I have a clear mind; a burst of energy and LIFE and some things do get done. It is true that I am my own worst enemy when it comes to things like this. On those days, I love who I am, but I don’t necessarily like myself.

Like vs. Love

They say time changes everything. Time also gives you A LOT of opportunity to be alone with your thoughts. Those thoughts sometimes lead you astray. You begin to question what you thought you understood and knew. What was/is reality vs. your perception of what existed.

It’s probably pretty common after the loss of your spouse to start to develop “what if” questions and have regrets. Were there things I didn’t see? Things I didn’t understand about our marriage. Had I disappointed Laurie? What about the things that were left unsaid? Did I show her how much I really love her? Did I take into consideration her feelings, wants and needs? Was I the best husband I could be? Was Laurie happy with the life we built over the last 25 years? I’ll never get answers to those things now. Did people look at our life and think we were lying and living a farce? Did people look at our life and think it was a fairy tale that dreams are made of? I can’t change what people think. All I can tell them is you can think whatever you want. I’m not here to change your mind or convince you of anything. What I can tell you is that Laurie and I are the ones who lived this life and knew every little detail about our marriage and what it was and what it wasn’t. That’s what my “gut” tells me even if my mind is still resolving unanswered questions.

People tell me Laurie was proud of me. That she LOVED me. That she was happy being married to me. Even in the times she didn’t LIKE me very much. Every relationship has bumps in the road. Lord knows we had ours. But the one thing I can say is that I felt like Laurie and I were always a work in progress. Did she feel that way too? Ups, downs, good times, bad times. We’ve been through A LOT in 25 years. Some that would have destroyed other marriages. We always overcame it and always found a way to come back together.

7 days before the aneurysm happened, we took a short road trip to talk and reconnect. It was her idea. I wish I’d thought of it. We drove through the Berkshire’s; one of our favorite things to do. She rested her hand on my leg. I rested my hand on hers. She said “me and you”. I said “you and me”. She said “always”. I said “forever”. We said that from one of the very first times we met. As we continued driving, I pointed out things along the way. Things we had talked about before. Places we had stopped or made memories at. She told me I was the best tour guide she’d ever been with. We laughed. We talked. That night when we got back home, I stood at the kitchen sink doing dishes. She came up behind me and put her arms around me. She whispered in my ear “I love you, even when I don’t like you very much”. I carry that with me now. I hope that’s true. I hope that’s the life we built. I’m struggling with the “what ifs” and the unanswered questions. Struggling with not having the opportunity to say goodbye. To tell her what she really meant to me. We are still a work in progress I guess. And now, it’ll always be that way until we meet again. And I’m left wondering.

I use numbers a lot. Number of days. Number of years. Number of hours. Lots of numbers. Numbers are milestones. Numbers are infinite. Time is not infinite. Life is not infinite.

7 years ago today, February 26th 2015, I received the news that would forever shatter my world. My mother had terminal brain cancer and was going to die. I decided to make a post on that anniversary every year, to remind myself and others how precious life is. How FINITE, short and unexpected life can be.

I never imagined when I made that first anniversary post in 2016 that 6 years later I’d be adding to the post another sudden death to remind myself, my friends and my family to live life to the fullest. I never imagined in that post that the hardest thing I’d ever go through was still before me instead of behind me. Here are both of those stories. You never know what each day will bring. Live each day; each minute, as if it were your last. While it seems impossible to think about our own mortality, we must remember our own death is inevitable at a time and place that has already been determined. We have an expiration date of sorts.

The Loss Of My Mother

My annual post & reminder on this day

7 years ?!? How is that possible? So much has changed. So many missed moments with you. Memories not made. Milestones not celebrated. It feels like it was just yesterday that our world was shattered. I’m still trying to pick up the pieces 7 years later. Reading those words today still takes my breath away the same way it did then. Our lives would forever be changed that day. I had no idea when I answered moms call at 8:15 that day that our world was about to be upended in ways we could never imagine.

7 years ago, 2/26/2015. it was a Thursday morning, 815am the phone rang. Mom called me most mornings so it was nothing unusual. Today was different. Her speech was slurred. I could hear the fear in her voice. “What’s wrong?” I said. “I think we need to get to St. Peter’s. My arm is numb. I have a headache” she replied. I knew it was bad instantly. The woman who fought me most every chance she could get about going to doctors appointments was willingly asking me to take her to the hospital. I called Cindy & Cathy. “Meet me at moms. We’re going to St. Peter’s. She’s having another stroke. She said no ambulance. She wants me to take her.” Within 30 minutes the 3 of us met at moms house and we were on the way to St. Peter’s Hospital.

We arrived and let the valet take the car. They rushed mom into the ER and out the other ER doors for a CT scan. The 3 of us huddled with each other and our phones in the waiting area calling family to let them know where we were and what we suspected. After what seemed like hours, but it wasn’t, they brought her back from tests and told us we could only have 2 people come in. Cathy and I went in to be with her while Cindy waited alone for word. They said the doctor would be with us shortly. He came in. I braced myself. I knew it was bad from the look on his face. He stood before my mom, Cathy and I and the words I never imagined I would hear came. “She has 12 lesions on her brain. It’s terminal brain cancer. I’m sorry there is nothing we can do.” Our lives have never been the same since. Time stood still in that instant. Like everything switched to slow motion. I felt my knees start to shake, the blood drain from my face.

I’ll never forget the look on my mothers face as she looked at me and snapped me back to reality and said “Bo, what did he say, what does that mean?” I tried to explain it to her again so she could begin to understand the gravity of those words. Her face at that moment is forever etched in my mind. I’ll never forget the fear in her eyes and what it felt like to stand before my mother, the woman who gave me life, and tell her she’s going to die. She asked me if she’d live to see summer; her favorite time of the year. I told her we’d try to do everything we could to make that happen.

I left her and Cathy in the ER. I needed to tell the family. I’ll never forget the walk from the ER to the waiting room to have to tell Cindy who we’d left sitting out there alone. She knew from the look on my face. All I could do was blurt it out. “Cancer. She’s going to die”. We hugged. We cried. I’ll never forget what it felt like to have to tell my father and our entire family the news. Nothing else in my life will ever be as hard as what I had to do that day. NOTHING!

Mom didn’t live to see summer. She died 41 days later; April 7, 2015. Just 41 days from the day of the devastating news…..

The Loss Of My Wife; Soulmate and Best Friend

When I stood in the ER on this day 7 years ago telling the woman who gave me life that hers was going to end, I never could have imagined there’d be anything harder than that moment. How wrong I was.

97 days have gone by since Sunday, November 21st, 2021 when Laurie suffered a brain aneurysm at home. It’s been nearly 100 days without Laurie. Most days I manage to put one foot in front of the other. Some days I struggle to even get out of bed. My therapist says both things are “normal”. But inside, none of this feels normal at all.

Sunday morning November 21st, 2021 started like any other day, 810am, Laurie getting her morning coffee. She stood in the kitchen and said she had a pain in her eye and a bad headache. She walked to the bedroom with her coffee and said she needed to get to the bathroom. As I stood with her at the bathroom sink, her breathing changed. She said “get me to the bed.” She collapsed in my arms onto the bathroom floor. She laid there fighting her life as I yelled for Michael and laid along side of her and called 911. Within minutes of that, she was in the fight of her life.

By 930am I found myself standing in the Emergency Room in St. Peter’s hospital again answering question after question from doctors and nurses trying to save her life. They needed to sedate her and intubate her. They came back from the CT Scan to say it was a SAH (Subarachnoid Hemorrhage). She was critical but stable. She needed immediate transfer to Albany Medical Center. A medical team consisting of 7 providers immediately made arrangements to ride with her in the ambulance to St. Peter’s. They were drawing diagrams of who was going to stand where in the ambulance to care for her. We finally saw her again about 1:30pm. She was on life support while they prepared to drain the fluid overwhelming her brain. By 6pm she’d had numerous procedures to try and relieve the pressure and bleeding. It was shortly before 9pm they told me there was no brain activity. That was confirmed by additional testing Monday at Noon. Staff placed us in a conference room to wait for the doctors to come speak to us. We knew what that meant. At 1230pm they walked in to give us the news that there was no brain activity. Laurie was gone. She remained on life support so that the Organ Donation and Transplant Team could arrange for organ donation. Laurie was a registered organ donor. Her life lives on because of her gift to others.

Why Share These Heartbreaking Stories?

I tell you all of this not for sympathy or to make you sad or upset anyone because they think I share too much. I tell you these things because this is the reality of what happens in the blink of an eye. Decisions will have to be made. Actions will need to be taken. and your life will FOREVER be changed by them.

So, my reminder to myself, my family and my friends.

When people tell you to never take a day for granted and that your life can change in the blink of an eye, they are right. I know it. I FELT it on February 26th, 2015 and I FELT it again on November 21st, 2021. I literally felt my life change and there was not a damn thing I could do to stop it.

Remember to live each day to the fullest. You never know what tomorrow will bring. Have that ice cream. Don’t go to bed angry. Make that phone call. Buy that dress. Say you’re sorry. Take that vacation. Buy your dream car. Tell someone you love them. You may never get that chance again.

Let me start by telling you that spinach is NOT one of my favorite things to eat. But I tolerate it! 🙂

Laurie would always put spinach in almost everything she cooked so that I’d at least get some “green stuff” in me. Lasagna? Needs spinach. Ziti? Needs spinach. Salad? Needs spinach. Chili? Needs spinach? Marinated Grilled chicken? Needs spinach. You get the picture. I secretly liked that she wanted me to try it and to eat something that has a lot of health benefits. She truly wanted the best for me. That didn’t stop me from giving her a hard time about it.

Right after Laurie passed away, Our Community Cares set up a Meal Train for community members to drop off a meal to us. It would be one less thing we’d have to worry about everyday and it was a TREMENDOUS help to us. But it was not lost on me that the very first meal that was delivered to us by a family was lasagna. WITH SPINACH. I immediately took it as a sign that Laurie’s hand was at work. Michael and I had a good laugh about it. It was a delicious meal and we were grateful to have it. It was made with love for us. Throughout the month of the meal train, several other things arrived with spinach. We laughed each time and said out loud “Thanks Laurie. We get it. You want us to have spinach.”

One of the things I have struggled with in the early stages of this loss of Laurie is going to the grocery store. It sounds so simple and yet, some of you are probably thinking it’s crazy that that’s a challenge. You are probably asking yourself what can be so hard about grocery shopping? I had avoided it because I knew the minute I hit the grocery store, I’d be bombarded with “it’s so good to see you, I’m so sorry about Laurie.” The questions like “How are you?” “Is there anything we can do?” The uncomfortableness of seeing people who don’t know what to say. I wanted to avoid it all at any cost. But I knew I’d have to tackle it sooner or later.

And so a few weeks ago I ventured into the grocery store for the first time in nearly 7 weeks. I kept my head down and followed my list. My only thought was just get this over with as quick as possible and get back to the “safe space” of home. Several people stopped me to talk to me or hug me. It hurt. It was sad. But I’ve learned it’s ok to hurt. It’s ok to be sad. I need people. I need contact. And people need to see and talk to me. They need to process their concern and love for me too. It’s a process. We’re all finding our way through it. I even had someone stop me and ask if I was Carl Quinn. I told her I was. She told me she was on a local non-profit board with Laurie several years ago and how much she enjoyed working with Laurie. I expected her memory to make me sadder, but it was actually very comforting to hear her memory of Laurie. She also told me she lost her husband last year. There in the laundry detergent aisle we briefly commiserated about our new found label of being “a widow.” I found I was glad she stopped me. Common circumstances, no matter how sad, makes me feel less alone.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the emotion that would hit me for the things “that weren’t.” All of the usual things that Laurie would put on the grocery list. They weren’t on it this time. No berries. No vinegar. No coffee creamer. No cheese sticks. And yes, no spinach. So there I stood in front of the fresh spinach greens with tears in my eyes praying no one was watching. I was sure I’d be labeled the “weird guy crying in the produce aisle.” I was mourning the things that are “missing”. The things that were distinctly things Laurie brought to our marriage. I know, it’s “just spinach”. But it’s so much more. It was just one more reminder of the things that are different; that have changed. New things that I must accept and process in this new reality of life without Laurie.

I’ll venture back to the grocery store again soon. I’ll see people. We’ll share stories; memories; hugs. It will help me heal. For now, I’m taking it one step, one spinach leaf at a time.

One of my reasons for writing this blog is to help me put memories to “paper.” I want to remember the good times and the bad; celebrations, memories but also the awful loss of Laurie that brought me to do this blog in the first place. But if all I write about is sad stuff, who really is going to want to come back and read more?? My sadness doesn’t have to be your sadness. So I sometimes want to write about more than the grief and loss that I feel from losing Laurie. We made incredible memories and many of them give me a reason to smile. These are 2 of those.

In my last post, I shared how Laurie and I met for the first time. Just thinking about that night brings a smile to my face. There are 2 other “first meetings” I want to share.

On the 2nd weekend I visited Syracuse after meeting Laurie, we found ourselves back at the next AOL party. We had a great time again. When we closed down the club, Laurie and I were going to head back to the hotel instead of going out with friends for the 3am Denny’s run. I wish I could recall why she sidetracked us but I can’t. We ended up arriving at her moms house where she had moved with the boys. We found ourselves sitting on the patio at 3am in the morning trying to be as quiet as possible but that was hard with all the laughing and talking we were doing. I recall being petrified we’d wake up her mother and/or the boys.

Before I share more, let me tell you I LOVE my mother in law Carol. We have a great relationship and I truly look forward to talking with her and seeing her. I know not every man has that, but I do!

Laurie and I are sitting on the pitch black the dark laughing, and all of a sudden I hear a window sliding open and I hear my future mother in law say “Laurie, what are you doing?” Laurie laughed. I was so scared I nearly pee’d my pants. Laurie responded that we were just talking. We were. And her mom responded “Do you know what you’re doing?” I knew what she meant just then! Laurie said we were leaving and she’d be back in a few hours. We bolted for the car. We were 28 and 33 but yet felt like teenagers. That was my first official “meeting” of my future mother in law. Rightly so, she was concerned Laurie had met “the guy from near Albany” online, was going out most weekends with him and now she’d done it, she showed the potential Axe Murderer where she lived! That would become the running joke for years, I could have been an axe murderer. 😱😱😱

Fast forward 2 months and you’d arrive at the first weekend I met the boys. Laurie and I had been dating about 8 weeks. She decided she’d bring the boys down to camp for the weekend at Fox Hill campground and I’d meet the boys on neutral territory for the first time. My brother and I had set up camp for them to arrive. Laurie was late (are you seeing a pattern?). When she finally arrived, we unpacked the car, set up the boys sleeping bags in the tent and headed out to Dairy Queen for our first meal.

I met Laurie on May 17th, 1997. I always remember the date. It truly was the beginning of the rest of my life. From that weekend on, Laurie and I would spend nearly every weekend traveling the Thruway going to one party after another and seeing each other all weekend until she moved here on December 28, 1997. Laurie would always say to me “who is the woman in this relationship?” because I remember dates, times and many of the details of the “firsts” of our relationship. We were married on June 9th, 2000. On our first wedding anniversary, I had flowers sent to her at her job at Taconic Technology. She told her co-workers Therese. Sarah and Kelly how nice it was to get flowers at work and wondered what I had done wrong that I thought it necessary to have flowers sent to her at work. It was her co-workers that reminded her it was her 1st wedding anniversary!!!! Perhaps the dates and milestones stick with me because this was my first marriage and Laurie’s second. She’d been married for 13 years the first time. Maybe the “newness” of dates and milestones were different for her because of her experience. I was determined to show her dates and milestones were important and worth remembering and what a marriage could be. Boy was I naïve! 🙂

Our first meeting was at LeMoyne Manor where I had rented a room for the night to be in town for the Syracuse AOL party. What???? You didn’t know Laurie and I met on AOL??? That’s a story for another post. She came to my room and knocked on the door. 25 minutes later than the time we had agreed on. That should have been my first clue that there was “real-time” and “Laurie time”. As the minutes ticked by, I was sure she changed her mind about meeting MighteQ from “near Albany” and decided not to come. The knock on the door startled me actually. When I opened the door, there she stood in black jeans, black boots, a blue top and her blue denim jacket holding a gift bag. I remember her lip gloss, blue eye shadow and lashes thick with black mascara. She was even more beautiful than I had expected. We greeted each other and had a brief hug. She gave me the gift bag containing things we had talked about during the week before we met. The thing I was most excited about were the “pop rocks” in the bag. Now don’t get your hopes up about why I was excited about that. That story is not fit for this blog 😉

After some time talking, we decided to head over to the club where the party was at. It felt so comfortable being with her. We had talked for 6 or 7 months online and I was surprised how “ not awkward” our first meeting was. We met up with mutual friends and her best friend that I only knew by her screen name Busty Beffie. As we stood at the bar ordering shots of Aftershock I asked Laurie what she wanted to drink. Labatt’s Blue she said. I ordered an Alabama Slammer. That should have been another clue about what the roles were going to be in this relationship. Every time we went out and ordered drinks, the bartender would always give me the beer and Laurie “the sweet drink”. As we stood at the bar talking with each other and friends, I told her I loved her blue top. That’s when I learned there was a difference between “blue” and “periwinkle”. That should have been another clue how this relationship was going to go. I was “schooled” about the difference between blue and periwinkle. That conversation would follow us for the rest of our relationship. I’d say I liked the purple sheets she bought. She’d say “it’s not purple, it’s grape”. Green towels were “aqua marine”. Red washcloths were “wine”. These would prove to be valuable lessons about lipstick and nail polish colors later in our relationship. I LOVED that periwinkle top. She’d wear it most weekends when we went out. I think I loved it more than she did.

We had a great night getting to know each other. More shots and more drinks led to “tonsil hockey” standing at the bar. Beffie pulled her aside and asked if she knew what she was doing. Laurie told her it was fine! We acted as if we were the only 2 people in the club that night. I’d look at her across the room while mingling with friends and we’d always lock eyes realizing we were always looking for each other in the crowded room. But we’d just met. How was it possible to have that connection already? I can’t explain it, it just WAS. That would eventually become a way for us to ground each other in our relationship and know that no matter where we were or who we were with we’d always have each other at the end of the day. Whether it was dinner with friends, a fundraising event or family gathering, we’d always lock eyes on each other across the room and just knew. We felt it. Always.

We closed the club down that night, as we did most weekends. The lights would come up, the music would stop, we’d say goodbye to friends, except the ones we knew we’d end up at Denny’s with for the 3am after party breakfast and then leave with each other. We made our way back to my motel room and talked until we were both exhausted. She fell asleep on the bed. I made myself comfortable on the floor with a pillow and blanket. She had to be on her way back home soon because the boys would both be up soon and she wanted to be home when they got back up with her mom. I woke her up at the agreed upon time. I walked her to her car in the parking lot as the sun was coming up. We kissed goodbye and I watched her drive out of the parking lot. I knew that night my life would never be the same. She’d later tell me how much that night meant to her and how impressed she was that I’d slept on the floor and gave her the bed; that there were no expectations of anything even though she’d brought the “pop rocks” we’d talked about for weeks before meeting. No! I’m still not going to tell you THAT story. LOL.

That night is etched in my memory where it will forever stay now. I’ll never forget my lesson on the difference between a “blue” top and a “periwinkle” top. I recently checked her closet for that top. I can’t find it. I’ll keep looking. But not finding it won’t take away the memory of opening up the motel door that night and seeing my Crazy Dem standing on the other side for the first time.