I started this blog on 5/31/19 with the following post:
Everything Starts 6/2: We spent the day at Stanford for our last meeting with Bernie’s doctor before the stem cell transplant process begins. This Sunday we will be heading down there and staying over for 3 nights. Bernie will be getting chemo to suppress his bone marrow and also to stimulate his stem cells to come out into his bloodstream. He will be at risk for infection and has to take special precautions (hepa mask and dietary restrictions) until the middle of June when they harvest his stem cells in readiness for the transplant in July.
Back in 2019 when Bernie first got sick, I needed a way to keep our friends and family up to date on Bernie’s medical condition and treatment. Bernie was an immensely private person and so I created a password protected blog. I did my best to keep it as upbeat and positive so people wouldn’t worry. An unexpected benefit of writing almost daily was that it helped me to process my own experience and also helped to keep both of us positive and hopeful.
The three-plus years of Bernie’s remission following his transplant – July 2019-Dec. 2022 was a wonderful time together that I will always treasure. His second round of treatment was less successful as his body was less able to tolerate treatment so 2023 was a tough year for both of us and obviously ended rather catastrophically for me. Sorry to be so honest but that’s the way it was. One bright spot was my little pup Chica, that I adopted on Dec. 19th.
After Bernie passed away, I made this blog public and wrote about my grief which was helpful to me, and I hope others. I have been a writer all my life – I still have my first diary that I started in 1968. It’s how I process my feelings and how I communicate the best. I have so appreciated hearing from my readers, you all have been incredibly kind. I still write almost every day, not here but in some form or another.
I’m living on my own in Nevada City, in a very pretty place, but far from the Bay Area and the community that Bernie and I built over our 35 years together. As much as I love writing here, I find the one-way nature of it less helpful than before because it prevents me from hearing from YOU. This will be my last entry here but hopefully not my last communication with you, my friends and family.
On this last day of 2024, as I embark on my second year of my different life, I would like to resume communications via two-way email, text, call. Please let me know how you are doing, share your life, tell me about your adventures or your challenges. Thank you, friends and family, for being here over the last five years. Much love to all.
photo courtesy of JB Kahn – who took many of my favorite pictures of Bernie and Me
I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with Bernie’s family back in Braintree, Mass. I refer to them as “Bernie’s family” as a way of explanation, but they are truly my family too.
To mark the one-year anniversary of Bernie’s passing. Julie, Jim, Brian, Kevin, Lauren and Kevin and I attended Mass at St. Clare church where Bernie grew up. Mass Intentions were dedicated to Bernie, as well as his parents and to Glenna, Kevin’s late wife. Being with the people that Bernie loved most, in the place where he grew up, was the best possible way to acknowledge the day.
Chica and I are still living in our cozy digs in Nevada City. I’ve been looking at homes to buy in Napa and even made an offer. That offer fell through and in retrospect, that was the best possible thing. I’m not feeling stressed or pressured to buy another house. I like where I’m living, and I trust that the right house will present itself at the right time.
Napa is where I want to be, and I embrace the saying from AA, “Let go and let God.” Speaking of, I just celebrated 37 years of sobriety on 11/27 which I acknowledged by attending Lady A, my home group in Oakland. The lengths of sobriety ranged from one day to thirty-eight years and the joy and hope in the room was palpable.
I’ve recently been made aware of two very close friends who have been diagnosed with serious illness. They have the support and love of friends and family, myself included, which I know first-hand is as important and crucial as chemo.
Having passed the one-year marker of losing Bernie, I feel a slight lifting of my grief, a new lightness. In the beginning, anything that triggered a memory would make me cry. Now, more often than not, seeing something that brings Bernie to mind makes me smile. I will still miss him every single day of my life, and I wouldn’t change anything about having known him and loved him.
My daily reading from yesterday did well at capturing where I am now in my journey.
Piece by piece, I reenter the world. A new phase. A new body, a new voice. Birds console me by flying, trees by growing, dogs by the warm patch they leave on the sofa. Unknown people merely by performing their motions. It’s like a slow recovery from a sickness, this recovery of one’s self.
-by Toby Talbot from Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman
Enjoying leftovers at Kevin’s house in Plymouth
Christmas tree in Kennebunkport, ME with Lobster topper
Julie and me in Kennebunkport, on our way to LL Bean Chica making herself at home at Julie’s
I attended an on-line Memorial Service put on by Kaiser Hospice last week. They have been wonderful in that I continue to receive materials in the mail and invitations to their ongoing online and in person grief groups. I sent in a photo of Bernie to be included in the slideshow and also mentioned my older sister Kathy who passed away on Sept. 26th. Over fifty people attended.
The service consisted of music, photos, sharing, and poetry. I was especially touched by a poem by Mary Oliver. She has always been my favorite poet. I found out today that she wrote it after the death of her longtime partner Molly Malone Cook which explains why I connected to it so much.
“Heavy” by Mary Oliver
That time I thought I could not go any closer to grief without dying
I went closer, and I did not die. Surely God had his hand in this,
as well as friends. Still, I was bent, and my laughter, as the poet said,
was nowhere to be found. Then said my friend Daniel, (brave even among lions), “It’s not the weight you carry
but how you carry it – books, bricks, grief – it’s all in the way you embrace it, balance it, carry it
when you cannot, and would not, put it down.” So I went practicing. Have you noticed?
Have you heard the laughter that comes, now and again, out of my startled mouth?
How I linger to admire, admire, admire the things of this world that are kind, and maybe
also troubled – roses in the wind, the sea geese on the steep waves, a love to which there is no reply?
I’m settling in well in Nevada City. My host Julie left today for six months in Mexico. It was wonderful to spend time with her and she made sure I met all the neighbors and her friends, so I already have some new connections here. I’ve seen a few houses in Napa, but it seems that things are slowing down a bit which makes sense during the holidays. In the meantime, I’m glad I have a peaceful, beautiful place to stay. I winterized the cabin in Graniteville last Tuesday – drained the pipes, etc. and it snowed on Thursday so I timed that well.
Hoping that tomorrow, election day, brings good news. Like myself, the entire nation is on edge. I will go outside and marvel at the trees, all awash in Fall colors, and listen to the creek to ease the uneasiness. Gratitude is a good antidote to anxiety, and I am indeed grateful for the beauty of nature, the power of poetry and the people and puppies in my life.
It’s been a long time between posts. Life has moved on with ups and downs and lots of changes. The biggest change is that since August 13th I’ve been living in Graniteville while my house in Oakland gets prepped for sale. There isn’t a single reason that I decided to move, a lot of little things came together with the ultimate goal of being out of the house before the holidays – for both practical and emotional reasons. There is something about the house in Oakland that screams out, “Bernie isn’t here”. I have spoken to some other women in my situation and it’s not an uncommon sentiment. For practical purposes, the Oakland house is difficult to navigate, not to mention to insure, so moving “home” to Napa feels like the right move.
Graniteville has not been without its challenges. I had a yellow jacket infestation which was remedied when I persuaded an exterminator to make the drive. He thought he was close when he got to Nevada City, so I had to give him the bad news that he had another hour and a dirt road to go. When I answered the door, he said simply, “You better give me a big tip!”, which I did! I also had to replace the battery on my new car and get a water leak fixed under the house. Luckily the plumber lives on the ridge. Every challenge I am able to handle on my own gives me a little spark of hope that I’m going to be okay.
I enjoy the solitude and simplicity of being in Graniteville. Chica and I have a nice routine that changes with the weather and amount of sunlight. I was happy to welcome guests – Pat and Sara, friends from Oakland, over Labor Day, and Ruth and Chris, second cousins from Washington state, this past weekend. Last Friday the three of us (plus Chica) made the trip up Hwy 49 along the Yuba River to Downieville, had a lovely lunch, went through Sierra City and took 89 back through the Sierra Valley to Truckee. We came back to Graniteville through Washington. I’d forgotten how pretty that drive could be, and it was fun to show the area to Ruth and Chris, who were enthusiastic first-time visitors.
What spurned me to write today was one of my readings. Being without Bernie feels like I stepped out of one world into a new one. When I was in Oakland, I had an unsettling feeling of watching all my friend’s world stay the same while I was watching from afar and I didn’t quite fit in either place. This is the reading that put that in perspective.
But I am no more I, nor is my house now my house. – Federico Garcia Lorca
The death of a loved one shifts the whole foundation of our life. Nothing is as it was. Even what was most familiar seems in a strange way unfamiliar. It is as though we had to learn a new language, a new way of seeing. Even the face in the mirror sometimes seems the face of a stranger.
What are we to make of this? Just that we truly have, in a way, entered a new country. Though the terrain looks much the same and many of the people are the same people, there is a different light over everything. – From Healing After Loss by Martha Whitemore Hicknan
I found this explanation comforting. I like the idea of everything just being cast in a new light. I still belong, the world just has a slightly different glow. I’m grateful for this time at the cabin to adjust to my new world. I was so busy in Oakland that there wasn’t much opportunity to reflect. After some weeks at the cabin, I know now that I needed some time alone. This time to reflect has also made me realize how lucky I am for all the people who have reached out and continue to stay connected. I’m blessed to have so many wonderful people, friends and family, in my life. Time alone is good but staying connected sustains me.
One of my favorite songs is Across the Great Divide, by Kate Wolf. I remember sitting in the sun in the front yard in Graniteville while Bernie and Jess (from the band) were playing guitars on the porch, working out the beautiful harmonies of that song. I thought to myself, “I will always remember this moment.” Later, whenever they sang it together, it brought that moment to mind. I have been afraid to hear it again, but this morning I played it, tears streaming, but also grateful for the beautiful music and the memory of that day.
I didn’t realize until today that the song would one day take on even more meaning. Despite the great divide between us, I am sustained by the memories of our life together and the great love that we shared.
He’s gone away in yesterday And I find myself on the mountainside Where the rivers change direction Across the great divide – Kate Wolf
I lost my wonderful husband Bernie, the love of my life, on December 1. His Celebration of Life service yesterday was beautiful and the reception, where many people shared their stories of what a joy it was to know him, was a touching tribute. I am truly grateful and overwhelmed by emotions at the outpouring of love and support.
I will be continuing this blog as I navigate life without Bernie, still unimaginable at this point. Writing is a way I make sense of the world, which is now a world without him. My pain is great but my gratitude for having in my life for 35 years sustains me. I posted the Eulogy I read at the service below and also the link to the slide show that we showed at the reception.
Eulogy for Bernie 12/16/2023
Thank you so much for coming today to celebrate Bernie’s life. Following the service everyone is invited next door to a reception where we can gather, share stories about Bernie, listen to some music, and be together not only to mourn his loss but to share in the joy of knowing him.
As anyone who ever met Bernie knows, it’s not an exaggeration to say that he was truly the nicest guy in the world. He was the sweetest, kindest, most open hearted, giving person I have ever known, and I was lucky enough to be married to him for thirty years.
We met in 1988, on McGee Street in Berkeley, after we’d both been invited to a birthday dinner for a friend he’d met while playing basketball. He worked for the Navy Exchange and had only recently moved here from San Diego. He told me later that one of the first things he always did when he moved to a new city was to find a pickup basketball game as it was a sure way to make friends. We started dating and I did my best to show him around the Bay Area. His delight and enthusiasm gave me a new appreciation for the place I’d grown up in.
In 1989 I took him to spend a weekend with my parents at their off-the-grid cabin in the Sierras in a little town called Graniteville. He was a goner after that. Bernie and I ended up buying that cabin in 1993, the same year we got married, and it became our life’s dream to spend as much time there as possible. We enjoyed fixing it up, hiking down to the creek and having coffee on the porch, but what Bernie loved more than anything was to share our little piece of paradise with others – whether it be neighbors, family or friends. Many of our friends have made the trek over that bumpy dirt road so many times that their visits have become more like a family gathering than just a weekend away.
One such gathering we’ve been hosting for many years is our annual 4th of July get together of the Shepherd Canyon Band with Bernie’s band mates and their partners. This past 4th of July, Bernie was in the hospital and too sick to make it, but he insisted that we all should still go. His deepest wish was for everyone to come together and play music like they had for so many years, without a thought to his own situation. He never complained or felt sorry for himself, he just wanted what was best for the people he loved. That’s the way he was. In all honesty, right now I can’t imagine going there without him, but he made me promise that I’d keep the tradition going so the music would go on, even if he couldn’t be there.
Of course, Bernie was never content just working on his own projects, he was very active in the community. He was one of the first members of the Graniteville Volunteer Fire Company that was formed in 1998 and he remained an active member until his death. He also volunteered his time and talents to the GCSA. Bernie never said no when he was asked to help, and most of the time he didn’t even need to be asked.
I remember him getting paged in the middle of the night when a kid at a nearby summer camp was having a panic attack on his first night away from home. Bernie didn’t hesitate to suit up and drive off into the dark. Once he got there, the little boy immediately calmed down and was fine. Bernie had that effect on people. I lost count of all the people he helped, most of them complete strangers, whose cars were stuck in the snow or who had run out of gas. He never took any money when it was offered, he just asked people to donate to the Fire Department, shook their hand, and went on his way.
When we were first dating, I was a little nervous about telling him that I was clean and sober and very active in the recovery community. You will not be surprised to hear that he thought it was wonderful that I had recognized I had a problem and had done something to address it. He was a strong supporter of my recovery. Whenever anyone asked him if he “was a friend of Bill’s”, his answer would be, “No, but I’m related to Bill by marriage.”
We wanted to have a shared spiritual life, so Bernie suggested that we come here, to Our Lady of Lourdes. I wasn’t Catholic at the time and was a bit skeptical but as it turned out, I felt immediately welcomed and at home and Lourdes became our spiritual center. I am very grateful to my Lourdes family for their support. Father Tom’s visits meant a great deal to Bernie, and I appreciate Father Jim’s help and support with this service today.
The question of how Bernie became such a loving, giving man was answered when I met his family. As some of you know, I grew up in a rather “colorful” family so the first time I went back and spent Christmas with the Bishops, it was a bit of a culture shock. They were all so nice to each other, no one was competing for attention or trying to out-do the other. They loved each other with a quiet acceptance that epitomized what unconditional love is all about. I didn’t know what to make of it except to be grateful that they welcomed me in so completely.
They have been a huge strength and support to me, especially over these last few months. His brothers Kevin and Brian, his sister Julie and her husband Jim, and my niece and nephew Lauren and Kevin are here today. I’m also grateful for my family members who are here, my niece Morgan and her husband Mario, my cousin Kristy, and my sister Susan Jackson.
Obviously, I can’t talk about Bernie without talking about music. We shared a love of music from the beginning. Our honeymoon was an Irish Music Folklore tour of Ireland. Now back then, Bernie was not playing and singing, and as a matter of fact, I had no idea he could sing. One night back in the 1990s, when he was up at Tahoe taking a Wilderness First Aid class, he ran into a bunch of musicians from Oakland who were playing bluegrass music. They invited him to bring his guitar and come play at a Jam at the Baja Taqueria on Piedmont Avenue and the rest is history.
No one was more surprised than I was when he started singing, and boy could he sing. This tall, quiet, gentle guy from Boston would open his mouth and out came a pure, clear, lonesome sound that made people sit up and listen. The band practiced in our living room and many a night I would sit at the top of the stairs and listen to their beautiful singing and playing. There was something very special about the Shepherd Canyon Band. They had an affection and respect for each other that came across whenever they played. Again, another blessing of having Bernie in my life is to have been welcomed in by his band family, and indeed by the whole Bluegrass community.
I was amazed the first time I saw Bernie jump on a stage and sing in front of an audience, without a single trace of self-consciousness or nervousness. I asked him about it, and he told me “Singing a song is like telling a story, it’s not about me, it’s about the song.” To honor Bernie’s memory, I encourage everyone to be kind to each other, listen with your heart, delight in the happiness of those around you. Let every word out of your mouth be kind and loving just as Bernie was to everyone he met. Remember the lesson that Bernie taught us, “It’s not about me, it’s about the song.” (after the reading, a recording of Bernie singing 1952 Vincent Black Lightning was played).
