It...

... just hurts so much.  It hurts to love him right now, but I can't stop.  He will always be "my boyfriend."

My parents think of him as "my fiancée" because of him asking, and my coming to understand that I wanted the same, to marry him.  It took me a while to admit such to him though,

"Also, I'm realizing more and more that I want the same things you've talked about:  moving in together, marriage, kids, the whole nine yards."
"With you of course," I told him.
"Happiness doesn't describe my feeling right now. I love you, my kitten," he replied.

Glad I got to tell him before... before he....

Towards the end, when he slept, which was a lot at the time, he said he always dreamed of us, our future together and our future children.  We wanted to raise artsy, geeky, quirky kids.  Our excitement was on the ridiculous end.  We already knew we were going to name our first born after Joey.  It just all felt so right.  But that's what we get for making plans....

I must admit, that marriage has been brought up in previous relationships.  He wasn't the first to say such.  It was the first time that I took it seriously though.  Before, the relationships were ones where we had to work at it.  William, I just know, wouldn't have ever made it a hard job.  He and I clicked on so many different levels.  There were plenty of differences though.  We certainly came from different backgrounds, and I didn't relish the idea of him traveling so much for work, but goddammit if he didn't make me over the moon happy no matter where he was, or what he was doing.  He loved the embarrassing, horrible parts of me too.  My skeletons in the closet, just seemed to endear me more to him....  He was amazing....

...I just miss him SO FUCKING MUCH every single second of every hour of every day.

Things...

... aren't good.  Everything has turned sour, personally and professionally.  Something needs to change.  I feel like I'm drowning right now.

Just So Sad

I'm  sad.  Even when I don't think I'm sad, I am.  Nights and mornings are the hardest.  I'll see his picture on my laptop or phone, or perhaps something else will remind me of him, and if I dwell on it for only a little while the tears will come.  Even taking the train to work is hard.  I'll pass by what was his future home, a high rise near downtown, and I get choked up.  So many songs have me fighting back tears that music is tainted for me right now.

I once told William that everything reminded me of him, "You're always around me, even when you aren't here."  "Good, that's what I want to be to you!" he said.  But now the struggle is neverending.  The movie yesterday during the pajama party had a lot of death in it, and it was almost unbearable.  "Ms. G. are you crying?" asked Taiz.  I shook my head "no" because I didn't trust my voice.  Not believing me, she asked again.  "It's just... so much death, it's hard to watch," I admitted the second time.  It was a relief when I needed to take the kids to gym.

I have no one to talk to, really, save this blog.  My attempt at procuring grief counseling is turning out to be more difficult than expected.  It feels like every effort I make my principal thwarts.  She said yesterday that she has to count up how many days I've worked for the Archdiocese in order to see if I've met the required 130 for grief counseling services.  Of course she stuck in a small guilt trip about days I have taken off as well.  Days spent being too wrought with grief to function.  Her constant nitpicking makes my time at work so much more difficult.

I honestly don't know how I'm keeping it together right now as much as I am.  If I had my way, I'd never get out of bed.

Original Gangsta

Strange though it may seem, I (one of the palest blonde haired, blue-eyed ladies ya ever did see) have been called a "gangsta" on more than one occasion.  The first time was when I tutored math at an alternative high school.

The alternative high school is located on the far north side of Chicago, on the edge of a neighborhood in decline.  Students range from 16 - 21 years old and this, often times, is their last chance to receive a legitimate high school diploma as opposed to a G.E.D.  Most of the students are there after being kicked out of multiple places, are on house arrest, and/or live in a group home.  Not being certified yet, I was only allowed to tutor, which I did full-time, as well as lead an after school program.

One of my students was clearly at a level far below the others.  He required more one-on-one assistance when he actually came to school.  My intentions were completely honorable and strictly professional.  However, after some time I began to fear that he had developed a crush on me.  He was the first one who called me "gangsta."

"Ms. G., you an O.G."
"An 'O.G.'?  What's that?"
"You're kidding, right?"
I assured him I was not.
"O.G., original gangsta"

This year I was again dubbed such.

"Ms. G., it makes sense that you go by that because you a gangsta," Cecilia said one day out of the blue, as are most of the things that she utters.
To which I respond, "No, no, no... I'm an O.G., original gangsta!"
Cecilia grins widely, "Can we call you Ms. O.G.?"
"Sure," I say with a smile of my own.

The kids called me "Ms. O.G." for about a week before they forgot it.  Now the only one who does is Cecilia occasionally ...usually when she's trying to butter me up.

***************

Today we had a special day at school.  We enjoyed a pajama party of sorts.  Around midday Cecilia stepped out and came back dressed in bear themed footie pajamas, a onesie.

"I love your costume!  Once, in high school, I dressed up as a cow."
"You did?  With, like utters and everything?!"  She says as she gestures to her abdomen.
"Yup!"
"I have to take your picture!"
Then Cecilia, who obviously wore this costume for attention and is a constant seeker of it, suddenly gets shy, turns beet red, and covers half of her face with her hands as I say "cheese!"  (Glad that she did though because now I can post her picture without fear of endangering her.)

A few minutes later Cecilia leaves the classroom when needed (her wandering is a common predicament), "Ugh, Cecilia!  That's it, I'm goin' on a bear hunt!"
*cue snickering students*

Heartache

The kids have been so supportive during the last few months, and when William passed... ugh, I hate writing that... when he... you know... they emailed me, made me cards, and brought me flowers.  There were condolences from the parents as well.  It's such a small school that when something happens, everyone's aware.  Not to mention I wear my heart on my sleeve, always have.

Some still ask me how I'm doing, especially those who have experienced grief themselves.  The mother I tutor for has offered to pay for any trip I may need to take with her frequent flyer miles.  She confessed to me this past week that the love of her life was killed by a drunk driver.  It's nice to know she understands, "It still hurts 12-years later.  There are still tears, but it's better."

One of our students lost her mother last year due to domestic violence.  She was stabbed to death and placed in a closet.  It happened around the corner from our elementary, and the suspect was an alum of our school.  While it isn't the same, we have an unspoken bond now.  Not too long after that we lost another in our small school community thanks to domestic violence.  She was a teenager, who dated a gang banger (a gang banger also took the life of the mother I mentioned previously).  The relationship was so bad that the mom moved her and her daughter out to the suburbs to get away.  But it wasn't far enough.  The ex tracked her down and shot both Briana and her mother in the face as they were leaving for school.  Thankfully Briana died instantly, but her mother lingered for a while.

Our elementary isn't in the greatest  neighborhood, but we try very hard to make it a safe haven.

So Difficult

It's so fucking hard to go from having someone who finally gave your life meaning, to being alone again.  I'm too old by most conventions for a woman who has yet to marry.  But I wasn't willing to settle until I found someone who made me eternally happy.  Perhaps that was William... all I know is that what I feel for him is real, a love and yearning I have never felt before.

Before him my students weren't aware if I was dating or not.  I tried to keep my private life private.  They just wanted me to be happy.

"Ms. G.," quiet Alani said one day, "it would just be a shame if you didn't have a boyfriend.  You're too pretty to be alone."

They went so far as to cook up some relationship between myself and our new substitute, who is, to me, obviously gay.

"Ms. G. and Mr. Spellberg! OooOOooOOoo!"
"Cecilia, there's nothing going on between me and Mr. Spellberg!"
"Then why are you blushing?  You're as red as your hair!"

Then there was the picture of a shirtless Paul Rudd that was ripped out of a magazine and placed on my desk by an anonymous donor.  ...It may have been an expression of concern about my lack of a love life, it's unclear.

Our Classroom Mouse

Waiting in the hall for art,

"Where's Erick?"  Then it dawns on me.  I twirl around and spy his silhouette through the milky glass of the door.  Pointing, "There he is!"
"Who?" Cecilia asks.
"Erick!"
"Oh," as pushes the door roughly, pressing him between the door and wall.
"Cecilia!  Don't do that!  You could have hurt him!  Erick are you okay?"
He nods and shrugs at the same time.
"You sure?  Because I'm willing to bet you got hit with the door knob..."
Another shrug/nod.
"Okay..."

Later that afternoon,

"Ms. G., where's Erick?"
"Erick?  What do you mean, isn't he here?"
"Does he go to Title 1?"
"No."
"Is he in the bathroom?"
I check the sign-out sheet, "Nope."

Esteban says something in Spanish with a spooky tone.
"What did you say?"
"I said 'Maybe they got him!'"  He responds with yet another note on intrigue in his voice.
"There he is!"
Startled, I turn to see Erick standing behind me now.  "Where were you?"  But before he can respond, Emmanuel pipes up, "He was in the closet!"  (Something I had reprimanded Emmanuel for only minutes prior.)
"In the closet?!  You were in the closet?"
Shrug/nod/smile

"We couldn't find you, Erick!"
His smile grows larger and more sheepish.

Erick still likes hiding.

Erick Hides

Erick is new to our school this year.  For a long time I thought he was a cousin of one of my other 7th graders, Tony.  Because that's the way our school is, it's so small and a lot of students are related.  And, well, it being a Catholic school... there are a lot of cousins.  There's no relation, and the kids still give me grief about it.

He's quiet.  He can't spell for anything, and he used to noticably dislike math.  I can't put my finger on when, but all-of-a-sudden math just seemed to click for him.  He doesn't ace tests or anything, that's not what I mean.  It's his level of understanding. It goes deeper than most of my students can comprehend on the subject matter.  If he were more patient, he would be a star pupil in the subject.

Most of my kids I already knew before having them as 7th graders, but Erick not being among them, is someone I'm still learning about.  He has come out of his shell more as time progresses, but remains on the fringe of things.  Lately one of his eccentricities has become more prominent.  First it was holding a door open for others while passing in the halls and squishing himself behind the door so he could peer through the glass with his nose pressed against it as others walked by.  Then it was hiding behind things in the hallway with seemingly the intention of surprising others.  But now it's almost become a compulsion.

I'm not sure why, but Erick (a slight boy on the shorter end of the 7th grade height spectrum) hides behind doors at least once a day.  Today my students were getting water, and when I went out to speed them along, Erick nonchalantly emerged from behind the open classroom door and made his way back to his desk.  There was no "A-ha!" or "Boo!" or "Gotcha!"  There were no other students lingering nearby waiting to snicker.  No theatrical expression, just a boy simply ambling back into the room from his little hiding spot.

When lunchtime rolled around I dismissed the students per usual and they lined up in the hall, "Girls, round the corner and stop at the exit sign please.  Okay, boys follow the girls and stop at the exit sign please.  Would the last boy please get the door?"  The kids leave and I close one of the classroom doors.  As I was finishing saying, "Guys, didn't I ask for the last person to get the door?" Erick pushed out from behind not one, but two wooden doors (the one in question and one of the doors to the neighboring classes -- they overlap when fully opened), and then proceeded to shut the classroom door behind him.  Again, he didn't appear to be looking for a certain reaction or have a purpose to the action.  He was merely doing what he does, exploring a hobby.

Erick hides behind doors.

I *should* be grading...

...but I'm not.  ...It still feels like he's here.  Because I want SOOOOO badly for that to be true.

When William was sick in hospital, I thought for sure he would pull through.  In my heart, I believed it.  It seemed very likely, but there were so many factors out of anyone's control that conspired against him.  I swear, it seems like God was his foe.  First, there was the physical abnormality with his lungs that he'd had for years.  No one knew about it.  Chris, his brother, told me he had it too, but that their family thought it was only him, an anomaly.  Something about him growing tall so quickly.  But it wasn't.  Nobody expected rarely sick, fit and healthy William to have the same deformity.

Then, there was the lung infection.  There was his 14-hour trip to Australia which compounded things.  William's stubbornness to admit that he was suffering from more than a cold.  His desire to make a friend happy by going with the doctor s/he suggested, even though they were in a completely different city -- eight hours away!  He was in hospital in Sydney and he left!  He left!!  They knew it was bad, the doctors, but they couldn't force him to stay.  William was doped up on incredibly strong painkillers awaiting his stupid doctor's appointment in Melbourne, taking his life into his own hands.  I'm angry with him for doing that!  Sometimes I just want to punch things.  I'm mad at myself for not pressuring him to stay at the Sydney hospital.  I knew it was bad.  Surgery was not a possibility, I thought it sounded like a guarantee!  William refused to believe that.  He thought I was just being a worry wart.  I was... I am, but I was right!  ...But what help is that to me now?  That won't bring him back.

His last words to me, which will always make me cry, "Hi baby.  Ok.  Had tests and scan, had to get tubes stuck in to drain fluid and now am going to be prepped for surgery.  He does not want to wait another minute so off I go.  I'm ok though.  Please don't worry.  Know that I think of only you.  I love you, kitten."  A text I received on 11/12/2014 @ 1:30 a.m. my time.  I had tried to stay awake, and I'm angry that I let myself fall asleep.  I wish I had been awake during that text!  Then I could have said some sort of proper "I love you" back!!!

The worst thing was the mistake during surgery that somehow caused his sudden cardiac arrest.  Next there was his medically induced coma that was needed to keep him alive.  A second surgery.  And then he was coming to!  He was opening his eyes, moving his limbs, making sounds, and trying to talk!  It seemed like the horrible nightmare was coming to an end!!  Like finally, life could resume.  His time in the hospital placed my life on hold.  Because he was my future, we talked about living together, marriage, kids, and none of that could happen until he woke up.  ...But then... it stopped.  He stopped coming around and things got bad again.  They had to put him back on the ventilator, a "side-step" I was told.

Alas, it wasn't.  It was a step backwards.  He had gotten pneumonia.  He was sleeping fitfully I was told, and then, all-of-a-sudden his body got peaceful.  Mark, a family friend, got very worried.  He said the calm made him think morbid thoughts.  I tried to cheer him up.  I said that it must be the new set of antibiotics working and William's body no longer having to fight so hard.  Unfortunately... Mark was right.  They hadn't worked.  The anoxia had set in.  Things were so bad that various organs were dying as the oxygen level in his blood kept decreasing.  Mark had a breakdown.  I didn't know what was going on without Mark's frequent emails, and so I was a bundle of raw nerves.  Every day I anxiously awaited an email, an update, and there was nothing.  Until Saturday, January 10th, 2015 when Mark wrote to tell me that William passed away.

It was like a punch in the gut.  For two months I had tried to prepare myself for the possibility, but I wasn't ready for it.  He was just so... so... amazing.  A man who epitomized greatness in so many arenas.  He was fallible.  My love, my love fought as much as he could, but his body couldn't take it anymore in the end.  I'm sad.  I'm mad.  And I'm tired of being those things.

I look at his pictures.  I read his messages... and I'm happy again.  It feels like he's here still.  It's a vicious cycle.

Perfection Embodied

I can't concentrate right now.  Everything seems so insignificant.  ..And I've started to get very paranoid about the health of friends and family.  One of my sixth graders Alejandra has a cough, "Please get that looked at if you find yourself coughing for over a week Alejandra."  Or my friend Adam, "You've got a cold?  Please don't die!"  Then there was Kristin's visit to urgent care, "Oh my goodness!  Are you okay?!"

It's silly, I know... but William was so happy and healthy.  He was only 35.  For chrissakes he climbed mountains; he was fit!  My boyfriend was unbelievably attractive, body and soul... and he's gone.

Things spiraled so fast from our messaging on OkCupid.  The more we learned about one another, the more attractive the other became.  Placing family in high importance, honesty, intelligence, humor, HOTTNESS, romance... if I had a checklist, something I no longer believe one should have for dating, I would have crossed off every box.  He made me feel more special than any other man has.  Not to mention, he was humble!  So few men that I've met off of that website have had humility.  William was the cat's pajamas, and would blush at the mention of it.  God, it was sexy.

Ugh... I still want my boyfriend.  I want to make love to a dead man.  ...There are so many ways that's problematic.

William

He died this past Saturday, January 10th, William did.  And I wish you could have met him.  ...I wish *I* could have met him...

Illogical though it may seem, we fell in love without ever having been in the same room.  A sign of the times, in a way I suppose...  We met online as many couples now do.  My dating profile read like this blog here, which lead to his first message,

"Dear Ms. G,

Please consider writing a series of books of your daily school adventures. I'm already in love with a few of the characters.

Thank you, Will."

This is why I'm resuming this blog, as a means to cope.