Patty65

I guess I think there is a third option as well -- I think some of us did recognize its sacredness while it was with us, we just didn't know it was going to end so soon. I remember being in Italy for school in my early 20s, and walking down the street so often, taking it all in, taking photos with my mind, and just making a mental note to always remember how special this time was, and how grateful I was for it. I did the same with my time with Ron. I spent so long alone with my daughter, so much time healing from other past things, being so unhappy, that when Ron and I were together, I did the same thing that I did in Italy. I made an effort to look around and be grateful. To see myself and Ron sitting on the tailgate watching a sunset and throwing for our dog, and realize how lucky I finally was. And other moments. It didn't scare me. Because of my issues, I know I would blame myself about that last line. I would make myself bad after a while for feeling empty "for too long" (I'm already going there). But that's just my stuff. Thanks for posting that Mitch -- that was really important for me to explore. Sorry I got a little hung up on it.

Hi Polly, Our house has no equity, in fact we were trying to refinance it through HUD and HAMP before it got foreclosed on -- it was already a HUD loan. I was not involved with that, Ron was, but it never got done. Ron will not have anything in his estate but his clothes and some toolsnot sure how the business stuff will work out but we never issued shares to either of us, but I guess I'll have to prove all of that. The only thing is his truck that was paid off and that was in both our names. I will have to speak with a lawyer that I cannot pay for, so for now, I'm turning into the ostrich again. I at least have to make it through the 2-month mark looming this Saturday, mother's day, and our store's one-year anniversary May 11. Probably as long after that as I can get away with. I don't want to deal with any of it. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Here's the other take on it. I've been forgetful always. Ron helped me come up with strategies, but ultimately accepted that his lot in life was to help me find my stuff, and he embraced it. Now when I meet people (or hire people), I say, "I'm messy when I'm working, and I forget things" Ron loved me anyways, they can love it or leave it But I was told when I was very young by a dear family friend who was like a second mom to me, that forgetting (and misspelling) are signs of intelligence. You aren't bothered with the little things, you are too busy thinking about the bigger, more important things. So, you are not forgetful, you are simply intelligent Why not run with it?

Mitch -- that quote, so powerful. Every line ringing true. Our marriage our love was so profound -- but not perfect -- but so profound, and no I didn't realize how much so until the painful abyss that I feel I'm in now. But it is actually the last line that I find hard. What is nurturing emptiness vs. being profoundly empty? I could confuse the two easily.

May I ask why? An escape meaning there's something to escape from... or? Sorry if there is another thread I missed about that... I just ask because the pain at home is so great I'm running from being there. And I hate that because I know it has always been my safe place with Ron.

That sounds like you are taking care of yourself -- ok here I go again, PJ (therapist) nearly 20 years ago when I was 30 (haven't been in therapy 20 yrs, didn't need it when married to Ron), gave me a paper that said "What other people think about me is none of my business!" I still have it. It's so sad when inheritance gets so combative it tears families apart. It sounds like that went on long before it was an inheritance issue, though too. That banjo is yours! In order to save my home (or even talk to them), I have to prove to the mortgage company that I am executor of Ron's estate. But to do that, I have to have his children served, one in the grips of the money-focused ex, and there could be demands/fights/issues. I have not started. I don't want to. I'm an ostrich with my head in the sand on that one. I can't handle it. My dad was executor of his father's will, and the most important thing to him was not letting "stuff" get in the way of family, to the point where his own family got virtually nothing, but with his influence, we accepted that family is more important. And yet, he still lost one of his two sisters over it. It's so sad your sister is choosing "stuff" over family. PS - one of my chefs got pulled over today for a safety sticker issue. The cop asked him where he worked, he said Maui Pasta Co. The cop said, I just heard the owner on the radio -- go back to work, and save that place. And let him go. This chef is new to Maui and is a typical, hard-nosed NYC chef with mad Italian food cooking skills, teaching me so much. But his attitude about other people's mistakes or whatever made one employee just quit. Now the chef today is different, less abrasive (I had to confront him about the girl who quit too, though). He's learning Aloha. He went to the big grocery store near here to buy beer on his way home. The Cashier asked where he worked, then asked if he knew Ron, and told him that is what Ron would always do, buy his beer on the way home. Ron's legacy and what we went through these last months is teaching from afar, all the ramifications, all these things. There's still people who care and remember out there, it seems. In the middle of this devastation. Patty

That so describes exactly how I feel now. I am staring at the metaphorical clock, in excrutiating pain, waiting for the timer to go off and it to be over. Or maybe it's an alarm and I'll wake up. I never did have the urge to run a marathon.

The way PJ (therapist) put it... it makes it easier to not feel so rejected by her. She's not doing that to me, she has her own pain, triggers and limitations. We so don't need rejection in the middle of this pain.

Ahh, I survived... when I got there, they decided to interview me for the whole hour. my rep (my young chef's auntie) saw the look of panic on my face and said I didn't have to. But I told her my motto is "just do it" (and get it over with). So I did, and I found my passion for the shop, and the DJ ate our food for the whole hour raving about it, cracking our lavosh and crostini into the radio mic... but I was determined to honor Ron, so at the end of the hour I said I wanted to thank the community for all their amazing support while Ron was so sick that month, and how passionate I am to build Maui Pasta as a legacy for him. The hour ended, my staff all listening back at the shop texting me that I did great, and then I recorded my 30 second commercial, and promptly fell apart. And was manic at the same time (???). The dialogue in my head is not kind. I sit here and write how badly I don't want to be an example, then I go on the radio and become it again UGH. But my therapist (sorry I say that so much, she's about all I have and she is such a sage woman) says if that dialogue is not kind, it is coming from a place of fear rather than love, and I should try to comfort that voice rather than believe it. Aloneandlost, I'm so glad that you were rewarded for being open and sharing. I do the same, and I question it. Sometimes the help with the little things though is so powerful, and it does show the kindness that does exist in humanity and among us, like the man who walked into the shop and was so heartfelt and giving. Mitch, I saw your post right before I walked out of my office, and that is exactly what I did. You reminded me. How much I wanted to rush back here excited and tell Ron all about it. Katpilot, I have always admired your picture, especially with the flower in her hair. I wore one similar at Ron's service. I hope you felt her presence when you came back here, I'm right now having difficulty feeling Ron's presence. Sometimes the more distraught I feel, the more distant I feel from him. That's so great to hear that you were able to make it through with your business, and feel her as a part of your success. I don't know yet if I can save ours, but looking ahead is way too overwhelming. It's here today. My "house" is waiting for me with all its memories and nevermores tonight, and that's as far as I can withstand. Love and thanks, Patty

I have not been able to read your words to me, just here gaining strength as I head off to a local radio station that I got a discount on advertising with -- they want MY voice "everybody knows me". Oh this will be so hard -- how do I sound upbeat and "advertise-y", when so many know my story, it's just weird and yucky and I've got to find some kind of balance in it and today's a bad day. Hoping for strength, and someway through, but I know your posts are waiting for me when I return. ((((much love)))) thank you for being here. Can't tell you how much this place means to me. Patty

It is out there, it is one of the reasons I moved to Hawaii from the East Coast 20 years ago. You think of the whole "aloha" Hawaii-thing, but it is real. Just yesterday, a man came into the shop, ordering the special of the day, and wanting to speak to "the owner". I still hate the sound of that, all singular and alone. It was another condolence call. I was desperate to save the business, I still thought I could save him and I wanted him to have a business to come back to, and I put out a crowdfunding campaign and now everybody knows our story The community, the people who like our place, and so many more, donated $25,000 to save it and I'm still drowning. But anyway when I go to talk to this man, he told me he's been following what happened, and that it hit home so hard because he and his wife run a catering business, the two of them, and they have a daughter who is the same age as my daughter, and he just started sobbing. He said it could have been them. He said they are going to see a lawyer about planning. And volunteered to help for free. And handed me $200. I was sobbing by then. I told my therapist tonight I don't want to be the example. I don't want it. I can't tell you how many of those stranger condolence calls I have endured. But I'm so amazed by the Aloha here though. I know that was probably a little off topic. But I just needed to connect here, I realized last night after talking to my friend, she drank too much again, that she cannot be there because, my therapist says, she cannot hold my sorrow. She cannot hold her own, that's why she drinks so much. But she's my only friend, and I'm losing her.

That's awesome Marg, I am not ready for movies (tried, failed), so I enjoyed this one vicariously through you I love Avatar, watch that over and over. My daughter and I, when it was just the two of us, would have pizza movie night on Fridays from when she was 3 to when she was 10... we had so much fun that she decided she wants to be a film director... that's what she's studying in college, she's getting a film degree! Right now she is on a co-op internship in NYC working for a Jacques Cousteau type non-profit that makes underwater documentaries, and she's learning how to edit Virtual Reality... I'm so proud of her, Ron was too. He would say "our daughter" even though he was step-dad. He is dad to her. And that's why I'm holding on. Patty

((((kayc))))) Gwen, I feel that every night. I need him to help me through the torment of his death. Every moment of it up until this very second. It is a secondary loss to me too.

Wow. Ron would always say too - if you go first, I will go too. I always thought so much about that, but I never said it back, because I had my daughter. Now, ironically, I agree with him. Some days, I feel I'd ruin her life if I went. Other days, I think she's grown and heading into her last year of college, she has her life ahead of her, she'll find her happiness. It's hard to admit all that. Uggh. Marg, you were talking about your cancer in another thread. With my kidney cancer, I had to have part of my kidney removed, and Ron flew between islands every day and night to be with me in the hospital. Risked his job to stay home when I needed him. I survived. WHY did I get to survive and he did not? It's so so so unfair. I wish we had talked more about all that might happen at the end. With it in his brain, it was difficult for him. But we were protecting each other too. I should have known better. And I hadn't given up on saving him. Me and my $%#& $#%&^@! optimism. OK Kayc, I guess I better go watch that forgiveness video. Patty

Dear Gin, There are so many projects undone at home, and I can't do any of them either, including gardening and sitting and admiring our work too. To honor my Ron, when I can, when it is not too painful, I go outside and look at the stars. I have also started a painting of the two of us in our happiest moment. I am going to hang it in our store, above the pasta machine, next to a quote that says "If it's not made with love, it's not Italian Food." It will take a long time to finish, since, while started, it is getting harder instead of easier to work on. I am thinking about buying a digital piano. I never did that or played with him, I only took lessons for a few years when my daughter was little, but he loves music, and I enjoyed learning to play. I thought that might be something, since I did not do it with him, that I could handle. I'm hesitating spending the money though, since money is tight and I don't know if I will really be up for it, and I don't want to waste the money if I can't do it. I also go out snorkeling to see him. I made an "eternal reef" with his ashes, some of them, and with concrete and shells that I had collected from many places from the Caribbean to Australia. At his beach service, I spread some ashes in the sea, his desire to be in the ocean (a fisherman, he was at heart), and then I dove down and placed the eternal reef on the coral reef, with beautiful tropical fish swimming all the time. I go and visit. I would also like to honor him by getting a dog. He would like that. Ron's (ours, but really, his) black lab was run over on his last birthday, what an omen that turned out to be. But my Sunday chef brought in a puppy to work for a short while today, and I found myself holding and loving it, and smiling a real smile, not the fake one that has to come out from time to time. But it will have to be a service dog, so I can bring it to the restaurant and keep it in my office, otherwise I'll get in trouble with the health department. I will be reading this thread, to get more ideas. Great question. Patty

Marg, Everyone here - their "doom and gloom" lets me be able to share the same, and be less alone. It's my only place to. It's important or I'll explode. Poof. In fact that's what is so special for me here. Everyone responds to each other sharing something similar, but it is not comparing, it is sharing and it is helping me feel heard. How was the movie?? Kayc... yes, very much so. When she's sober the next day, she apologizes. Sigh. I stooped to her level by my response, but I needed her to know that it hurt. I needed her to stop saying it. It felt yucky to say.

Stories... my Ron was such a part of operations at our shop... or even family. I tell stories. Or memories. Or his advice. I even still use present tense, I notice. "Ron says to do it this way". Maybe they think I'm crazy, and maybe I am, but I'm told I'm allowed to be. Everyone looks at me wide-eyed like I shouldn't mention him. But I have to, I want to even though it hurts, it keeps him close. When I visit my parents, they tell stories about the grandparents, and my brother who died a couple of years ago. It's kind of a shock for the other side hearing it at first, but it brings them back into our lives, it keeps them alive inside us. I really, really don't want anyone to forget him. Philosophically, I (used to? or still do? I'm not sure) believe that nobody really dies until there is nobody left to remember and love them.

Brad and Marg, We were loners too. And together 24/7 with the business. We were always we, at least since 2010 when Ron was laid off and we started doing businesses together. I couldn't have ever imagined the "danger" in that -- no "my friends", "his friends", "our friends"... mainly, just us with a very occasional get together. I'm around people all day, but I sure understand the "alone, alone." It's deafening.

Hi Marg, I am triggering the heck out of my best friend, the one that was there for me, where I stayed the first few nights. She has a handicapped CP child, 21, she almost lost him when he was a baby many times. She has a lot of grieving, especially as her friends and family have children off at college; next will be weddings, grandchildren. We talk about how our grief is not more or less than one another, but different. Unique. Acute, long-term, or otherwise. She'll get drunk and lets off steam, and tells me, "at least you have a child that eats by herself, and can wipe her own... xxx"... and I say, "yes, honey, and at least you have a husband to lay down next to every night to help you through, and a family in your home." We struggle, and love each other, but these days it's challenging. Maybe right now mine is complicated -- but complicated also keeps me occupied in a way -- if I had no work or obligations, by now I probably wouldn't be here anymore. You do have it bad. We all have it bad. In our own unique ways. That's why we are all here I think. Strength in numbers. Patty

Yes, Gwen, all those things. And I miss who I used to be.

Dear Brad, I relate to what you said about how you have always been able to solve life's tribulations. I am nothing if not a problem solver. I used to teach Critical Thinking. And the quagmire is I cannot solve this. I was the third adopted child of my parents. They got me when I was 20 days old, on my grandfather's (and Ron's) birthday. I was the happy child, and learned that was my role, despite bad things happening to me. When my grandmother died when I was in 7th grade, my role as the "happy" child was compromised, but still trying to fill my role, the little sad me tried to wear a button on my child-purse that said "I am happy all over". My mother took it off my purse. I was a successful architect, what my degrees are in, when I got out of school because I learned computer drafting. I figured out quickly that my first marriage was not healthy, and raised my daughter for 10 years just the two of us. I taught myself web design and created a business, sold it, and was paid well enough to run it to raise her on my own. I sent her to Montessori, and she is well adjusted and creative young woman. When she was 10, after 8 years of therapy to resolve childhood traumas, I reached out and found my Ron as my daughter was becoming less autonomous with mom. I could be fully whole, and I could have the true happiness I always was able to exude in the world around me. My inside and outside matched. I learned to be a creative problem solver. And now, I can't "solve" this pain. And I couldn't "solve" it for Ron, although I pulled out every stop in my arsenal. And I can't be happy. I was always optimistic. I'd drive people crazy with my optimism. I can't solve this, and I can't be happy or optimistic, no end in sight. Life strategies no longer work, it's scary. I see here this is a "problem" that has no short term solution, I'm afraid I do not have the stamina. It contraindicates how I've made it through life. I am in the pitch black cold desert flailing for a light switch that doesn't exist, in the middle of a sunny Maui morning. Well how's that for the opposite of optimistic. Uggh. I hope to one day have some perspective, some light. Patty

I had my finger over the "play" button after I read your post about it. But I haven't pushed it yet. I want to, I will. I think when I am safe under a blanket

Thank you Marg for opening the door to give me the courage to share again. I've made amends with my car. It is now again my respite between a nearly failing business and a house that was once a home. And on the cliff drive from the west side today, when I started to fall apart, I called my daughter on the East Coast at college, and asked her about her life. I let myself distract. I guess those are small victories? At least non-failures. I'm sitting at work, been here 15 hours, and don't want to go back to the house. I'm having intrusive memories of the ugly last hours and minutes there. Not sleeping. Every day I'm at the business. On Sunday, one of the employees answered the business phone, and it was for me. "This is Patty, how can I help you?" "Patricia, this is Adrian." "Adrian...??" "Ron's son." I ran to my office. Ron has two sons. And an ex-wife whom he divorced over 15 years ago. It was not pretty, and the ex poisoned the sons against Ron, his mother and family. Nasty things that I witnessed too in the early days. Adrian wanted to know exactly what happened. And wanted to know what he could have of his dad's. Ron always protected me from the harshness of his family. When I told Adrian what happened, I started to cry. I apologized, and said it was still hard. "Well it's hard for me too, I'm his SON!" Although in 10 years, he contacted Ron once, and did not give him a phone number to be in touch. The mother refused to give any number too, even though court ordered on Ron's request. But I regretted all the lack of contact so much. I told him his father loved him, and wanted to be in contact with him. I thought of all the things poor Ron must have been thinking about and regretted and wanted to resolve as he laid there dying all those weeks. And I was not even close to functioning that day. I went and hid and cried. Two days later, same thing happens, I'm handed the phone again. "This is Chris." The other son. This time, a Tuesday, I'm a half hour away from a giant delivery to a new, lucrative restaurant customer. Chris was closer to his dad growing up, and 6 years older. He had stayed with us once, right before I had my kidney cancer surgery 9 years ago. He was a wild, rebellious teen. One minute loving, the next saying nasty things, and especially about me, since I had replaced his mom, I imagine. Ron didn't let him stay long after a myriad of disrespectful things he did. But it tore Ron up. He hoped one day they would be old enough and on their own, and we could all be a family again. But until Ron saw that in him, and Chris apologized to me, he distrusted them. His ex would pull any string to get Ron to give her money. She had said nasty lies to them about their father. But Chris now - he's no longer an angry teen. He told me that he just had a daughter. Ron would have been a granddad and he never knew. "Maybe when he grows up and has a family of his own..." Ron used to say. Chris told me how much he loved his dad. How he taught him everything he knows, that his profession now is because of everything his dad taught him. How intelligent and sharp he was. How much fighting there was at home when he was young, and how mean his mom was. How he was in the middle. I told him I know he was just rebelling after a divorce, all children do. I told him, sobbing, that Ron had regrets, and loved him, and hoped for a relationship with him one day. Chris said, yes, we all have regrets... but he just wanted a family. He wants me in his daughter's life. The people close to me told me, you don't have to let them in, all that craziness. It's what Ron was outrunning, he started a new, peaceful, happy life with me, and I with him. He was the most amazing father to my daughter since she was 11. I had come from my own unhappiness when I found him, too. So strong, our bond. And what my friends and sister said just made me cry harder. His children are part of him, I cried... and so they are part of me... Chris wants me as part of his family. He's in California. He wants to visit here often. But he's a father, he's married, he wants family. He can't find it in his mother or brother (on drugs, and still living with his mom). Why oh why oh why. So much pain, manifesting in my body and my sobbing is so overwhelming when I'm not at work, and even when I'm here sometimes. All we could have had and rekindled with his kids, it was what I wanted... I tried to bring the kids back in to our lives, to help Ron understand -- but he was so weary of it all... But they're kids I used to say... but they are disrespectful to you, that's not how I raised them! He'd say. He was trying to protect me. And wait until the mom was less influential and destructive. And now he is gone. And now is when he was waiting for, his family, his children back. Even a grandchild. It just destroys my heart. It is so so so unfair. There is not a day since this all happened that I sobbed and cried as much as I did after the call with Chris. I had therapy two nights in a row this week. About the sons, and about the intrusive images. I know I'm doing too much with trying to save the business in the middle of this pain. But I don't feel like I have a choice, it's the only way to survive. (???) So, I slipped away from here for a week. But today, I don't want to leave here. Something here helps me hold on. Thanks for listening. Again. Patty

Thank you for the hug -- scba and all the hugs here. With my therapist, I found myself hugging myself, so alone, and then I thought of everyone here. So I got all your hugs. And I so needed them. Thank you.

Dear Sherbear, So insanely, and doubly, hard in what was supposed to be your happiest time. Oh my gosh I'm so sorry. I understand a little bit, my husband died 9 months after we had just opened our pasta shop, our dream. I have found in these first few months that as much as you might hate it (I still do), having support nearby - helps time go by. It's not much, but it's something, I guess. I still fight it and run from it, but I know that when I can do that, it helps me get through a part of a day, at least. And it's ok for now to not get out of bed sometimes, especially at this time. I tell my therapist, "I want to hide under the covers" and she says, "You should"... but keep reaching out when you can. I think I'm telling you as much as I'm telling myself. I know how hard it is to hear how much everyone loved him. So many did with me. So much more than I knew. It just seemed to make the tragedy worse. Along with the condolences and cards. Appreciated and devastating at the same time. This is a time of opposites converging. Just keep breathing, one second at a time. We are with you. Patty