June 17, my 17th saddiversary

Every year I find a way to honor you on my saddiversary--I do something meaningful.

This time it has been subtle in many ways.

I arrived last Friday, June 16, at Christopher's house. There is a 3-day tango meet in the City and he has been generous enough to offer me his couch (the rest of the rooms are taken) so that I don't have to drive back home every night. Almost exactly 5 years ago, I spent here the last weekend with him and Liesl. She was terminally ill and died just 4 days after my departure. I felt honored to have been part of their lives, of her last days on Earth. Perhaps you two are now dancing tango in a better meet in Heaven. I want to think that. I always found fascinating that unbeknownst to all, the four of us were in the same tango class many, many years ago. You and I stopped dancing just weeks after starting, when we received the news of your diagnosis, two weeks before the end of 2001. Luck would have me finding myself at a tango class six Christmas later, eighteen months after your departure. My parents were in town and stayed with Nen while I went to the Starlite, a local dance venue I had been meaning to check out for a long time. That day they had "tango with Nora." And that is how I serendipitously, returned to tango. It ended up being the best dance for my grief. Like Nito García says: "In order to dance tango, you need to have suffered. If you haven't, then you dance salsa or some other merry dance." So true. I met Liesl months later, and Christopher through her. At some point in the coming years, I would mention having taken my first tango steps with you at the Fremont Union High School gym, and I found out they too. In 2017, Christopher surprised me by rescuing this video of one of our lessons with Becky and Dale, that intertwined our lives.

And here I am, dancing tango still, more than 21 years after our first class.

I suggested to Christopher going to the Columbarium, where Liesl's ashes are, but we didn't have time to go before they closed on Saturday. "We can go tomorrow," Christopher said. I'm pretty set on dates, but I guess at this point, I'll have to be more flexible, I thought.

This tango event includes afternoon (1 to 5 pm) and evening (8 pm to 1 am) milongas, all in a traditional setting, with ladies and gentlemen occupying separate tables and even separate sections of the space. We arrived timely at 8 pm for our evening milonga on Saturday. I would have waited a bit, but Christopher, the LA visitor Christopher is hosting, and another girl that Christopher invited for an afternoon break preferred to arrive early in order to choose better seats. In this tango game of cabeceo, at least in its traditional form, followers look at leaders they would like to dance with and only those who reciprocate the feeling look in return and tilt their heads slightly, finishing the protocol once she nods back.

There were only a few couples on the floor when we arrived. I danced some good tandas before my eyes met the wrong set of eyes... I had accepted tandas from him at every prior milonga, that is, we had already danced three tandas. And he had reconfirmed that he was a very boring dancer. Ahead of me lied a long (four-song) tanda. I always remind myself that my partner is just a human being trying to do the best he can. This time it wasn't as easy--it was a Di Sarli tanda! I went into it trying to exercise patience. To make things worse, the third song of the tanda was my overall favorite song, and the fourth was my second favorite of that orchestra. I don't even remember hearing those two songs one after another ever. How unlikely! And how much worse can it get? 

And right there in that moment, I found a way to celebrate you, for the amazing human being you were, and the absolute privilege of having met you. How? I found compassion, an extra dose of it. My partner could be you. I realized how much I would have loved to dance with you right there and then, even if you had not taken any more than the FUHSD gym's lessons you took with me. So through this other person I could dance with you, in a way. And I did. And this is probably the most meaningful and unexpected way I have found to honor you.

I am looking out the window as I finish writing these lines. A leafy crimson bottlebrush stands taller than me on the second floor. A perfect view, like any other, to remember that love never dies.

Happy Birthday, dear Archie!

Just three days ago I flew back from Spain. The "in-flight entertainment" included series, an option I normally never consider. But this time a two-episode one caught my eye: Tiger, a documentary on the life of Tiger Woods.

It occurred to me that it would be great to learn a bit about the life of someone you admired. Up until that day, I barely knew his looks. Without hesitation, I hit play and learned about a small baby Tiger fed on a high-chair in his parents' garage while watching his dad hit balls, and then about a ten-month-old baby taking his first stand and hitting his first ball all at the same time. After that, a scene had two-year-old Tiger appearing on TV swinging. The first episode went on mentioning all the things you knew--his humble origins, his greatness, his achievements. The second described his demise, including the scandals he was surrounded by, a part you never got to hear (better that way). 

Golf played a big role in our beginnings: your fondness of it, the Spanish club's party at the Mountain View golf course with you greeting me from the distance while I remained oblivious to your presence, our first "quasi-date" on the driving range… Then, after the first kiss, came the talks about going golfing one day, but the summer was busy, the fall was busier and winter brought the cold wind of a deadly diagnosis. Golfing together was not in the cards.

But while crossing the Atlantic the other day I somehow took the walk we meant to take together but never did.

Cheers, my dear, today 53 years ago the star that would light up my life was born.

To have and to hold

Nineteen years

Lots of joy and a few tears

In my memory, all things love.

December twenty-eight, Holy Innocents Day

White shoes, white gown, with God looking down 

The rain subsides leaving pearl white skies

A church lively dressed, with flowers and friends

Family gathers as we walk down the aisle.

Time has come, we proclaim:

"Hold my hand, be my bay."

"Take my heart, come what may."

"Together endure will keep our love pure."

The peace trying to lovingly hold you...

I just felt that peace.

Life has invited me to leave the house where I've lived for more than ten years. A house I fell in love with the first time I saw it, but at the same time, a house it wasn't easy to move into because it meant releasing the one I had shared with Archie.

Leaving this house was again not my choice, as it was not to leave the previous one. But life has mysterious ways and I am only now starting to learn how to surrender to them. Going through the memories was not half as hard as it was the previous time, but also not completely pain free. Archie is still everywhere because, as I always say, love never dies. This time I was stronger and managed to rid myself of some of the items I couldn't let go off in 2008. And I did it because I felt Archie guided me to do so. He would have done it himself. For example, silly things like the paperwork from frequent-flyer programs. In the past, I would have held on to it because it had Archie's handwritten notes. But this time, I could almost hear him say: "It's OK, if I were here, we would get rid of that."

Today, as I was lying down on the floor of an empty room which has been Nen's bedroom until a few days ago, I listened to my favorite meditation (for the past 3 months) and a phrase that had passed mostly inadvertently caught my attention:

Notice the peace trying to lovingly hold you

I do. I noticed the peace. Archie was all around me.

A meaningful day

Today at 1:24 am I received a message from my father with a remembrance for my wedding day, seventeen years ago. I thanked him and remarked he would be one of the very few to remember. Year after year, I have been celebrating alone. I understand I can't expect people to remember my special day. Life goes on... while I move from anniversary to saddiversary on my own.

This year, my father's special message inspired me to do something different. I will be the one to tell others. Yes, they don't remember, but they would love to if I give them the chance. And before going to sleep I started texting friends about it. When I woke up, I read my dad's response and became an ocean of tears. No one in this world is capable of moving me the way he does. Then I read my friends' responses and the tears mixed with the smiles of everyone's remembrance.

I couldn't have celebrated any better. To Archie!

Noon Mass
Beautiful music
A loving presider
Our poems to each other
Arrival at the banquet
The speeches
Love always
Always

Your spirit

Yesterday we got news of a 22-year-old man who climbed up four floors of the facade of a Paris building to save a 4-year-old boy who was dangling from a balcony. I watched the incredible deed on video several times.

Today I read Macron granted him French citizenship and I watched the video again. My thoughts traveled to your words (a few months before you left us) on how you would give up your life to save anyone's life.

Yes. It is exactly what you would have done in his shoes.
I am so privileged to have had you in my life.
So lucky that our paths crossed!
Love, always.

You came to visit...

in my dreams.

Although you seemed perfectly healthy, the doctors had told us that anything could happen any time and to be prepared. And if "it" happened, I would need to take a saliva sample by scraping you inside the mouth and putting some salt (crazy dreams!) and I would need to do that quickly. So I had been practicing the technique. Then I don't remember much until you appear in a corner crying, and I go console you. You were sad knowing the seriousness of the situation. Then I woke up.

The dream wouldn't be a happy one by most people's standards, but just being with you for a little bit meant so much to me. It brought up so many warm feelings. I was able to be there for you, to comfort you, to provide for you. And my sheer existence made you happy.
Happy Valentine's Day, my love!