Our Wedding (10/10/2010)

Would you like to see photos of our wedding?  I would.

Andy and I were married on a little beach in Wellfleet, Cape Cod on October 10th, 2010.  

I don't know how I got so lucky to marry someone that wonderful, but here we are.  

And there we were.

The boys, Andy's sister and mother, my parents, sisters and grandmother, my aunt, our dear friends Alison, Elaine and Chuck, Jan, Lindsay and Alex, and Elise and Alex celebrated with us.  Our friend Alex Dunn married us, and my sister Alexa did a beautiful job photographing.

We rented a house and had a small wedding of about 17.

We decorated the house with lots of colorful paper, fabric and balloons.

I ran out on a rainy day by myself and chose my wedding dress soon after getting engaged in New York.  Andy proposed to me on October 16th, 2009, in front of the Flatiron Building in Manhattan.  We often walked 23rd Street and Lexington Avenue together, since we had both attended the School of Visual Arts. 

I didn't mean to cut my mother out of her first daughter's dress buying experience, the truth was I was so excited about the wedding I just went and did it immediately.  I found a nice Oleg Cassini dress that was pretty inexpensive and a feather hair pin with some rhinestones.  Andy's sister Darlene did a beautiful job on my hair that day.

I loved my satin dress with a single shoulder train.

I did my own makeup and wore a pearl necklace my father gave me.

It was brisk, bright and crystal clear.

My dad walked me down the aisle right a huge gust of wind came up from the shore.

My necklace was something borrowed, and there were blue "Veronica" flowers in my bouquet, made by a friend of the family.

Andy gave a moving set of vows about how he felt like he was Frankenstein's monster, just a shell of someone made from dead body parts until my love brought him to life.  He felt like we were made for each other, (and that he hoped unlike the Bride of Frankenstein I wouldn't scream and reject him) - only the love of a real partner; a true friend; a true love - can bring someone to life from feeling dead.

My vows were taken from a letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams.  I always loved their relationship and their sentiments were so beautifully expressed.  Then I started blubbering so much no one could understand me.  (But that's OK -- they got the idea.)

Alex did a wonderful job officiating.

Right after the ring ceremony.  Andy always joked he was fat here but I didn't think so.  

And anyway he always looked handsome. 

I love what he chose to wear.  He always had such style and taste.

I love this picture of my grandmother.  Grandma Betty has the greatest laugh.  (Betty & Veronica!)

It would be the last time she'd leave Iowa before being confined to the senior complex in which she still lives today.

I love this picture of Elaine so much.

It would be too windy for us to eat outside so we cozied up in the house.

We ordered Thai takeout for our wedding dinner.  Andy and I just love Thai food, so we got tom kha gai, chicken skewers, peanut sauces, thai chilis, coconut rice and jasmine rice and dumplings.

Jan and Elaine wrote our names in front of a real pirate ship.

(Well, the last convicted pirate in the state of Massachusetts - he stole lobsters!)

Our cake was funfetti.  We wanted lots of color around the house and made the decorations.

I always loved that Andy hated the "shoving cake in the bride's face".  He told me;

"I just find that mean.  I would never do that to you, even joking.  It just seems rude."  

That always stuck with me.  Andy was always giving me small kindnesses like that.

I also loved the way the golden hour began as we were dancing and doing the cake-cutting.  

My grandmother baked us the simple Pillsbury "Funfetti" cake (as per my request) and Lindsay and Alex picked up bride and groom cupcakes from Sweet in Boston.  The bride flavor was carrot cake with fall spices and the groom was classic vanilla bean with a red heart.  We also had a rich chocolate.

We did want a bigger ceremony but as wedding planning became unwieldy and money ran short we made it very small at the last moment.  

We always wished we invited more people and had plans to have a second wedding, or renewal of vows and invite everyone we wanted to the first time plus new friends.  

We didn't get to do that, but I will still look on this day forever as one of the happiest of my life.  I can feel the strong ocean wind, the rich sunset warmth and his arms when we danced to Lou Reed's "Perfect Day".

My favorite people ever.

The sun reflecting off the water shines in our eyes.

Family!  My parents were happy they finally added a son to the mix.

We could walk right down to the sand from the porch.

Audra put up sweet touches around the house.

We wanted the house to be filled with color...

We ate and talked and danced and played games and laughed until dark.

Everyone watched the sunset melt into the waves.

The tide was out for our wedding but the next morning it would come roaring and crashing right up over the pirate ship again.

And all too soon, it was over.

I also can't stop listening to this song, which somehow makes me feel back at the house on the beach, and the day after the wedding when everyone had left, and we walked along the sand before leaving the next day on our honeymoon in Japan.  That day, the first full day we spent as a married couple, we would often say was another happiest day of our lives.

Gowanus Orchestra x Hem "In A Cavern In A Canyon"

A perfect day.

Happy 16, darling.  I love you.

He came home

 

I had just about lost my will to keep up with this blog.  As the second week since burying him approached, the crushing weight of lost love began to crack my foundation further.  I cry all morning, I cry all night.  I cry seeing his picture, I cry reading his name, I cry thinking of all the stories I wish I asked him to record so I could listen to them again...

I began to feel the real truth set in: No one loves me anymore.

** Don't object, let me finish. **

The love of friends, children and relatives is not the love of a spouse.

It's not that their love doesn't count.  It absolutely does.  However, it is a unique role for one person only.  And that person is dead.

No more hugs, no more kisses, no more dancing, no more inside jokes, no more shared memories, no more tenderness, no more being protected from any number of threats, no more hand holding, no more laying my head on his shoulder.  

Never.  Again.

I went to him in the cemetery many times, putting out orange mums and talking to him, happy to see others had been there as well.

However, the sadness ate at me day and night.  I hadn't dealt with Anger in my grief, the vast majority of which was Bargaining, Depression and a fair amount of Denial.  But Rage began growing.

I began to feel myself recoil when some people who have not lost a spouse, been through a cancer journey or the like would give me "Words of Wisdom".  Often times more of a slogan.

These people mean well, and are most likely at a loss for words -- and I don't want to lash out in my grief and frighten, so in my head privately words would burn: 

Yeah?  Is that how you got through it when it happened to you?

Do you want to imagine it?  So you'll really know?  I'm not sure you should...

I stop myself.  Don't want to burn bridges.  So I go back to missing him, talking to him, putting out every meal for him.  Eventually even that sacred practice would start to hurt.  I started crying over the sink one morning, pouring cream in his coffee saying "Jesus Christ, why am I doing this... why do I do this..."

I began to sink lower and lower.  The busy work of estate settling became excruciating.  

Having to track down his publishing contracts and looking at the art he dearly wanted to finish but couldn't.  Seeing the plots for novels he dreamed of writing.  Photocopying his death certificate, photocopying our marriage license (seeing our 16th anniversary coming up in just a week) unable to even bring myself to take money out of his wallet - it just doesn't feel right... and dreaming about him...

A: "Which Joker are you going to draw?  Which version?"

V: "I don't know...." 

Then he gets up from his chair, says to me 

A: "Hey, are we OK?  Me and you?"

V: "Yeah of course.  What do you mean?"

And as he walks away, still turning to look at me smiling, turns into a ghost and disappears into the wall.

Missing him is becoming too much to bear.  By now I've cried so much my lower lids sting from the salt. 

One morning as I was driving to mail a copy of our marriage license to a bank, a giant white GMC truck came screeching up to my driver's side window, almost smashing me into oblivion.  It was my fault.  As my mind began to wander, thinking of Andy, I completely missed him coming and cut him off.  Rightfully he was livid, yelling and waving his fists.  I cowered in my seat and tried to find a place to pull over and gather myself.

The only person I wanted to talk to, to be held by, to be comforted by - is gone.

My rage began to intensify and culminated in emotionally-intense and terse text exchanges with friends, screaming matches over the phone with family, smashing a basket of food on the floor and running into the basement to wail and slam on Andy's heavy bag until I collapsed on the dusty cement in tears.

And then, something wonderful happened.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

The sun came out and I decided to go for a drive up one of our favorite roads to take in the fall color and clear my mind.  I turned up the music and felt the autumn air in my lungs.

I sat on a sunny hillside for a very long time.  Doing nothing.

I stopped at a small farm stand to get some pumpkins.  I imagined Andy was with me, choosing the shapes he liked.

I drove to the cemetery to talk to him.  Then, before coming home, I felt compelled (even switching my turn signal at the last second) to stop by a lake where we had lunch 10 years ago.

We were new to this side of the city, and I have happy memories of us slowly walking the grass, talking about decorating the house for Halloween, and ranking the pizza and subs from the market now within walking distance of our new place.

I found the picnic table where we sat and shared sandwiches.  Our first picnic to celebrate closing on our house 10 years ago this week.  The sunlight filtered through the fall color just like it had a decade ago.  I pictured him sitting next to me, sharing an Italian sub.

 

When I came home, the sandwich I left on Andy's plate had a single bite taken out of it.

 

I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of doing this.

 

Suddenly I erupted in uncontrollable giddy laughter.  My heart felt an overflow of love and warmth, the way I would feel when he hugged me.  I felt his presence in the house again.  Tears welled up and I started jumping up and down, flying into the bedroom to clutch his pillow and laughing:

 

"You came home!! You're back! 

You came back...

oh sweetheart... you came back...."

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Many, many thanks to such beautiful people:

Noelle, Kim, Alexa, Audra, Kate, Courtney, and Patty

 

Some shots from the day:

 

 

 I love the Japanese word 木漏れ日 (komorebi) or "sunlight filtered through trees"

 

 

Being at church again after the funeral

I was not prepared for the shock upon returning to mass today.  

Our church has been a part of our lives for 10 years, and the people there are family.  When we closed on our house exactly 10 years ago this week, it was Andy who found the church when I suggested I'd like to go back after being away from it for many years.  Faith was a part of my life as a kid through confirmation, but I lost interest after college for a while, then suddenly moving in to this house felt like I wanted to go back.  He didn't question it just said "Ok, we'll find a place."  And the church became a second home to us for a long time.  Andy even headed up the Coffee Shop teams there for a while and volunteered on the Parish Council.  

He was so good at that, knowing how to manage groups of people, how to organize things, how to help people work toward a common goal.

It was "Welcome Weekend" and a old friend was meeting me there to check it out and see if it was a good fit for her and her kids.  It has been persistently stormy, windy and rainy.  A supremely deary weekend.  Even so, running from the parking lot, felt almost like a normal Sunday.

However, when I got to the entrance and started walking in, I suddenly felt a flash of being back at the funeral procession just 11 days ago, reliving that morning.  I was overcome with tremors but was relieved to sit with James, who gave me a tight, meaningful hug.  I played with Andy's watch and wedding ring, unable to take his coat off.  

I stared at the blue aisle carpet, picturing his casket there, the flower arrangements, the Deacon in white, hearing his hymns.  I remember what it was like to concentrate on his face on the program.  "Hi sweetie..."

The readings for the week kept saying phrases like "he humbled himself even to the point of death... he shall not die... he shall not die... he shall not die"

Finally, after Communion I had to leave, weakened again by the sensation of profound grief, the memories of following his casket as it was being pushed out beyond the sunlit doors, watching him being carried into the hearse... still fresh...

With the help of Sarah I was able to make it downstairs to coffee and donuts, greeted by many loving and supportive friends.  It was difficult, but I made it through the day.

Dr. Bob, a nice older gentleman at our parish always left the current sudoku clipping for Andy and me every Sunday.

I opened the envelope he had left for us over multiple weeks of Andy's time in the hospital.  It broke me to see "for Andy Fish" turn into "How's Andy?" turn into "Please call me, how's Andy doing" into "Fish Family" and finally "Veronica"...

It was so terribly painful to see that evolution... but managed to get through it again with friends' support.

 

In other news:

The boys are away at Baltimore Comicon and I was excited to hear from an artist friend that actor / comic writer David Dastmalchian toasted Andy at the Ringo Awards this weekend.  The Ringos are the Emmys of the comic book industry.  He did it because Andy helped him through some difficult moments he had struggling on his sobriety journey.  They also bonded over Kolchak the Nightstalker and Svengoolie episodes.  David and Andy had a genuine friendship and our family was touched he thought of him like that.

Congratulations to our friends and colleagues in the industry who won and were nominated, I feel honored Andy and I get to work with such incredible people!

And so...

I can honestly say I felt Andy come through in a couple of ways this weekend.

So far I have felt him in: (and I say this in all earnestness) two monarch butterflies (who followed me from the bank), an elegant and friendly Husky dog (Andy always wanted a Husky), a neon orange sunset (his favorite color), a strong gust of wind and then in following songs which we loved very much:

 

 

Talking Heads "This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)

 

We loved watching the concert "Stop Making Sense" and I even got Andy a projector and screen one year so we could watch it in grand style in the living room. 

 

Dave Matthews Band "You and Me"

I used to make fun of Andy because I'm actually not a giant fan of this band, but he turned me with a few great ones, and now when I hear this I think of how much it meant to him.  I can hear how he saw our relationship through it and it makes it so much more meaningful.

.................................................

Many thanks to all the people who helped me this weekend:

Kim and Rob, Elaine and Chuck, Jeena and Josh,

Jan E., Heather and Jessica, Alison C.,

Katy and Scotty, Donna, Pat and Dan, The Whites,

The Kellys, The Bergers, The Moughans, The Balboas,

Lisa, Erin and Emily, Mike D., Joann

and everybody at our church

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

 

This cover struck me in particular today, it moves me so deeply.

Somehow it made me think of the young couple Andy and I once were, the home we built, of the baby we wanted so badly, of the happy memories we created in this house with the 3 boys.  I know the next hurdle after being solitary will be how I can possibly fill Andy's shoes as a parent to them.  More than anything in the world, I won't let my relationship with them to slacken or drift. 

They are the greatest treasures in my life, not only as pieces of him living on, but as individually wonderful people.

 

Rufus Wainwright "Maybe" from Annie The Musical

The weight of loss and missing your other half

I felt Andy coming through this brilliant sunset.  He loved watching the kids play, too. 

 

 

With the funeral many days behind us and regular life settling in, the intense heaviness of being without Andy sets in.

Much of our 20+ year relationship have been spent constantly together, working, living, talking, traveling, everything.  He was and is the love of my life and I'll never be the same.

I hate canceling his accounts, filling out paperwork to verify he no longer is on a policy, no longer drives our cars, that he isn't in this house anymore.  That he isn't a person anymore.  I hate it.  I hate seeing his death certificates, hate mailing in his driver's license, hate saying over and over again to a credit card company, "No... he's not with me... I said he's deceased...no, that's ok..."

 

 

The kitchen table.

 

I always set a place for Andy, breakfast, lunch and dinner.  

 

Thank you to everyone who sent us cards and flowers.

 

I hate not cooking meals together, I hate not hearing his laugh, I hate not hearing his wonderful stories, not being able to text him, or get a call from him.

I miss the way he'd put on cartoons on every Saturday morning before we went out, he'd choose to put on something like Rocky & Bullwinkle or The Superfriends.  I miss his presence in the house.  I miss the feeling of his hugs and his hand on my cheek.  I miss the way his eyes smiled when he grinned.  I miss the sound of his voice.  I miss his love and affection.

Whatever we focus on expands, and it's very difficult not to focus on what is lost.

In the days following his burial I was overcome with intense guilt over all the ways I could've been a better wife, ruminating over wasted time, stupid things done and said, precious minutes one can never recover.  There are no do-overs, only memories, and in my case, Andy always helped to reassure me of things, to help me remember, to help calm me down.  I have to do that for myself now and it feels impossible.

And with memory comes the capacity to falsify records, to forget the other person's perspective while digging out from your own panic.  I am so grateful and lucky our last words to each other were "I love you."

In marriage you often hear your partner's same stories and jokes.  Suddenly, when they are not there to say them again, desperation kicks in.  "Andy, tell that great story again about the supermarket... how does it go again?  You have to tell it, you tell it so well..."

There is a part of me that doesn't believe it happened.  

There was no wake, no funeral.  No one was in that box.  

This is all a nightmare and it will end soon.  

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I went through old emails we wrote each other in 2013 while I was away in Japan for a month, and the outpouring of love for each other was just so intense, the emotions just were all-consuming.  Like the last letter he wrote me before we started cancer treatments.  I kept sobbing and saying over and over again "Andy, I miss you please come home,..." and suddenly I felt like he was there.  Warm red light filled the room, the wind kicked up and I felt like he reached out through the brilliant sunset out the studio window.

Many thanks to the people who have reached out to comfort me and our family

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

 

 

Lovely Jan taking care of me with quiche, soup and madeleines.  Jan was at our wedding in 2010.

 

 

Jan also gave me seeds from this plant to add to our own garden.

 

Alexa stopping the ice cream truck for us when she stayed with me after the funeral.

 

 

 I made smaller bouquets out of the fading funeral arrangements.  I can't manage to change the date.