#74 A Memorial to Jay
In a few days, it will be three years since Jay left. At his memorial service, the pastor said something about putting "memories in a crystal jar". I liked the thought, and decided to do exactly that. I have a crystal jar on the bookcase in the livingroom, and I have filled it with tiny slips of paper, like from a fortune cookie, each a memory of something special about Jay.
• The way he played video games with his tongue and whole body
• When something (a hammer, a pen) wasn’t where he expected to find it, he said "It escaped!", and seemed truly surprised
• He always tried to think honestly about his feelings, never hid anything from himself or me
• He never tried to talk me into skiing, never indicated in the least that he missed it
• Twinkling eyes
• He supported me against his father’s strong disapproval when I found the McDonald’s outside Versailles
• He couldn’t spell worth a damn
• He gave me the clouds and the moon
• "Carrot cake is a vegetable, right?"
• He loved Pleiades, volcanoes, and meteor showers
• In many ways, he was like my beloved mice - quiet, made nice warm nests, worked hard, personally very clean, and, like a mouse, he left the remnants of his tasks scattered behind him
• How huge he looked behind the windshields of his tiny cars - one wondered how he would ever unfold to get out
• The way he pronounced "oops"
• The mountain of his shoulders in bed, the angle of his hip
• When he stood at the bar of the Marlboro Inn in his three-piece dark suit, among the hunters and farmers - how tall he seemed, how impressively broad his shoulders
• After his diagnosis, he joked that he didn’t understand all the fuss - after all, his illness was just "all in his head"
• The way he could snatch flies right out of the air - and always released them outside
• He explained that there are things that are very clear and understandable, until you try to explain them - there are some things that just shouldn’t be looked at too carefully
• He was unaware of how big and powerful he was - he was timid about walking the streets of Binghamton after dark
• He never complained. Not once. No matter what
• His delicate tapering hands
• The way he gave off heat when he slept
• How playful he was
• The dangerous toiletries
• When he worked on something, he made a terrible mess of his environs, but the work itself was done neatly, delicately, and perfectly
• He acknowledged male hormonal urges and prohibitions - even better, he was able to describe male attitudes and thought patterns so that a female could actually understand and sympathize with them
• The way he couldn’t resist "improving" everything he bought
• How confident he was of his ability to understand/handle/fix anything
• Everybody says you have to work hard and constantly at a good marriage - it wasn’t work for him, he did what came naturally, and it was good
• The way his uni-eyebrow and beard were all one piece, and his nose hairs blended into his mustache
• The way his tongue helped him concentrate
• How sensitive he was to my moods, and always said and did exactly the right thing
• Joy in little things, like Ninja and Baby plowing a figure 8 in deep snow - "Just what I always wanted - a doggy choo-choo!"
• That silky spot behind and below his left ear
• How soft and liquid his eyes could get
• Lying on the ground looking at stars
• Pizza! Pizza, pizza, pizza!
• He was so clean about his body that it took me ten years to discover that he had a severe problem with seborrhea on his scalp, face, and ears.
• He remembered perfectly everything he heard or read
• Music confused him - too much information all at once
• Elfin hairs on the outer curve and lobes of his ears
• His absolute joy in yummies
• LOUD!!! sneezes
• He never got petulant when I consistently beat him at word games like Super Boggle, and he played happily because he knew I enjoyed them
• His delicate artist’s touch
• The wonderful lopsided smile when he saw me coming down the hall at the rehab center
• In the last months, when he was having hallucinations and delusions, he listened to me and believed me, even though everything he "saw" and felt told him differently
• Near the end, he said that one of the things he appreciated most about me was the way I so thoroughly understood him. He didn’t realize that was only because he opened himself so completely to me.
• Incredible force of will - he hung on until I told him it was time to go.
• The cloud formation a few days after he died - his face, with a winking moon eye
• The meteor shower a few days after he died - I got up at 5 am and went out to the deck only because I knew he would want me to, and I counted >50 in the first 2 minutes, then I stopped counting. Later, the newspaper and the astronomy club reported a peak of 30 per hour! I got a private show. I truly believe he arranged it for me.
Is it any wonder I'm still in love with him?
(October 27, 2004)
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