Yes, it has been a while since I have posted here. There has been a lot going on with me…but, unlike some others, every challenge in Life, every Problem, is not a reason to make an Entry here.
But, recently, there have been two things that I MUST tell you about (“Dear Diary”! ;) )
First off, there is the girl/woman who is the subject of several entries here; most notably the “Flooded Basement” one. We’ll call her LC.
tl;dr:
We met in 1984, were together 2 1/2 years. We wanted to move to Arizona, after I had visited there twice and she and I visited once, in 1986. When we had the financial opportunity to do so, in early 1987—she had a cancer scare. She stayed there—I moved to AZ. But, not before she broke my heart (the first time) by taking up with a guy she worked with whom she had little in common—WHILE I WAS STILL AROUND. (Her cancer scare was resolved with the removal of part of an ovary, as a precaution.)
I loved her so VERY much. We talked about wedding plans—had names for our children. I had wanted children with her, so VERY much.
I broke off our communication several months later when I learned she was now getting serious with this guy. I ended it. It was just too much heartbreak.
So MANY nights I waited for a knock on the door, living in Tucson, AZ—hoping it would be her.
SPOILER ALERT: IT NEVER CAME.
As the saying goes: When Life gives you Lemons, you make Lemonade. (Sorry, you know how I hate cliches.) I wanted a relationship more than just about anything else—but I could not have that if my life depended on it.
I tried online dating. That led to a relationship that turned complicated—and can be found elsewhere here.
Finally, years later—I gave up. I had had way too much lemonade.
By my count, I wandered around the The Woods (of Romance) almost 20 years. And I was still single,
Then, in 2008, LC’s father sent me an email—we had stayed close. Would it be okay if she sent me an email?
Sure, why not. She had married that guy—what the Hell could happen. My mother worked in a local shopping mall, and saw her often—told me that she had gained a lot of weight. She always asked how I was—and always left in tears.
We then soon progressed from emails to texts to phone calls. It soon became obvious that 1) their marriage was one in name only—it had collapsed and they slept in separate rooms; 2) The feelings we had for each other were still very strong.
In early 2009 she came to visit, for 2 weeks. It was like Heaven. I cried so much when she was gone. She returned in July 2009; and in August I flew back to her, and we drove across the country together,.
We settled in Phoenix. We had a great life for 3 years. Then, in June 2012, she had a stroke. Nothing was the same after that.
Gradually and eventually she became a completely different person that I knew. By the end she no longer had interest in much of anything, like cleaning the house (even when I offered to help). Toward the end she preferred to sit all day in her recliner chair and watch TikTok videos and play online games, day after day.
The house was filthy, dust and hair and "dust bunnies" everywhere. When I would start to do some dusting and cleaning, she would become angry at me, said it made her feel bad that she wasn't doing it.
I could not understand this behavior. This was not at all the person I knew for all those years.
In October 2023—the 13th, to be exact—she told me she did not think she was in love with me any more.
To me, this was the equivalent of being told your birth parents—really aren’t. Over the years, I have learned to anticipate a lot of bad news, but I never thought I would hear this from her—of all people. This was the Love of My Life, my Soul Mate. I had waited 31 years to finally have her back with me.
I took care of her, unselfishly, after her stroke. I don't need to be praised or recognized for that--even though we weren't married, it's still right there: "In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer". I would have hoped she would have done the same for me. And I loved her.
I wanted to go into the garage and start my car…and just—be done with it all, go to sleep painlessly. As the Steely Dan song goes: “Any world that I’m welcome to, is better than where I come from”.
(SPOILER ALERT: IT GETS MUCH WORSE.)
She lost interest in any physical contact with me. There were only “grandma kisses” (no open mouth)—no sexual contact at all.
She said she wanted to visit a high school friend, Casey (we’ll call her), who lived in Austin, TX. One day she became visibly angry about this planned visit. When I asked, she swore at lot and would not discuss it, warned me not to talk about it.
She forgot some of the most basic memories she and we had. She scolded me many times for not sending in my Maricopa County Elections Early Mail Ballot sooner, bragging that she had sent in hers weeks ago; what was I waiting for?
Her behavior became even more and more erratic. She smiled and laughed at things I could not understand. She brought up important conversations she claimed we had that I could not recall, and did not remember ones that I actually had with her.
One Sunday morning at 7 am I checked on her whilst she slept. She looked to be sleeping peacefully. When I returned several hours later, her upper torso was slumped over the side of the bed. This in itself was not unusual, as she would sometimes drop her phone on the floor and fall asleep looking for it.
As I approached, I touched her leg, then her side. As I got closer I saw that her upper body was purple.
I thought, “This is really not good.’
I left the room and called 911. Within minutes they arrived. Upon entering the bedroom one of the EMTs said, “Oh, she’s cold.”
They asked me to leave the room. They connected an EKG machine to her. Soon, one of them came out and said, “Sorry for your loss.”
After what seemed like hours—eight, to be exact—the funeral home we contacted finally showed up to haul away the body. This removed any possibility of harvesting any donor organs, as by now they were certainly spoiled.
Instead, her body was given to scientific research; donated so that those studying to be doctors and surgeons would learn how to much better perform their work.
I wish the story ended there. I really do. Else, the LC we knew would have her memory preserved as a kind, generous and loving person—the person I thought I had known all these years. Life often takes turns.
About 2 weeks after she passed, on a Saturday night, I went through her emails, looking for people to contact about her passing—for example, this Casey person.
Despite my best efforts, I could not find a mention of anyone named “Casey”—not in Messages, not in emails, not in her Contacts.
What I did find made me sick to my stomach, made my blood run cold.
She had become involved in an online (scam) romance at the end of September, 2023. He (“Andrew”) apparently approached her on Facebook.
She must have been very unhappy. Eventually, his smooth talking and promises of romance led to him stealing $14,000 from her retirement and investment accounts—not directly, of course--she freely gave him the money: Western Union, Moneygram, etc.
In the 2000s her father fell for a Nigerian investment scam. It cost him $16,000. She helped him through that—so, she knew better.
This scammer claimed to be stranded on an oil rig in Russia. He needed money to get back to—guess where?—Austin, TX. Imagine that.
There was no Casey. There never was. She lied.
One of the most painful things about this whole experience was to see the messages, from her: “I will love you forever”; “ I have been waiting all my life for you”; “I can’t wait until I can wake up with your arms around me”.
OUCH.
A few nights later, whilst going through the Burn Boxes (old documents found in her filing cabinet), I found the actual receipts from the wire transfers.
That hurt. It was all true, after all.
I also found the Mail-In Ballot—still in its sealed envelope—that she said was already mailed.
*******
EPILOGUE:
I am not bitter. While I am certainly not happy with this experience—as I said before, she was obviously not the same person I knew for years.
But it is still, obviously, a “Bitter Little Pill” to have to consume. I have been made to question not only the post-stroke years, but even those before.
My thinking: “When someone lies to you repeatedly—and on a regular basis—isn't it just easier to assume that EVERYTHING they tell you is a lie?” How much of what she told me, years ago, was a lie?
I never EVER, EVER thought I would have this experience with her. But—here it is.
She had always been the Best Person I Knew. I can no longer say that.
OH—and the initials? Lying. Cheating. LC. It seems appropriate.
I am not bitter. I know, I already said that. But, it bears repeating. Why?
Because, I STILL BELIEVE IN LOVE. I think it's there, that it does exist. I aim to find it.
And then, something that might be kind of miraculous happened. Somehow, I might have met an Angel.
That is next.