It’s Steve’s 69th birthday today, or at least it would be if he were still here. I woke up angry this morning, ostensibly from an angry dream. I remember being in the position of selling a bunch of stuff… perhaps an estate or garage sale. I know this is a pressure I’ve been dealing with on and off but in smaller bits since, well, since Keith died.
But the man in my dream who I was selling this stuff to was packing it up too quickly, with his wife’s help, before I’d even agreed to the pricing. I remember telling him to “STOP!!!!!” several times. And I was ignored until I practically screamed it. I remember trying to add up all the items in my head. But there was just too much to keep track of and I was getting angry about feeling so much pressure around this effort, and then a memory stirred of a similar experience from my past.
I woke up before it was resolved and was angry at that, too. I needed to bring this situation up right, to wrap it up in a nice neat bow. Resolved and done. But there was nothing I could do to get back to that moment… in my angry dream. So I resolved to find a happier thought to focus on as I tried to drift back off to sleep. Somehow Steve was in this second dream and I felt calmer. But then I woke up and realized it was his birthday, and he’s gone.
But I resolved to do some chores that I’d been putting off until today, thinking I needed more help than I really did. Perhaps that’s what Steve had done for me in my dream… sent me a whiff of confidence that I had been sorely lacking.
So after a hearty breakfast of a small omelet made from leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast plus a few other things I had on hand, I set about gathering the giant tube of door seals, the small wedges for the sides, a vacuum cleaner, a rag to wipe down the sills, a ladder, and whatever else I could think of that might be useful. Today would be a good quiet Sunday afternoon to take this on. It’s been rather overcast and rainy so far today, the temperature outside not too high, and a light breeze. So an otherwise good day since the doors would have to remain open a lot.
Perhaps that’s what Steve had done for me in my dream… sent me a whiff of confidence that I had been sorely lacking.
I soon found that the door seals on either of the French Doors in the living room and the ones in the bedroom really didn’t need much. They were in far better condition than I had been led to believe by the Door/Window guy who came out and wanted $1500 to repair them. So I only replaced two pieces of weather seals on the larger doors in the living room, and replaced a missing foam wedge. But I soon figured out where much of the heat loss was actually coming from … in the sills where there was a large open space underneath and no insulation. This explained the frosty experiences I had last winter.
So I made a trip to Home Depot with my wishlist of a few things including spray foam for insulating the sills. Plus some caulk for fixing the shower around the pan, extra blades for a mat knife – one can never find them when needed, and a few other goodies. And then my shopping was mostly done. I guess I’ll end up back there tomorrow after I figured out what I needed for the front door weather stripping.
With the insulation done, I cleaned up and put away all the accoutrements of the job, and proceeded to settle down with a book. I was making a concerted effort to avoid looking at emails that I knew had started coming in from students since the semester officially starts tomorrow.
Tonight, I was nibbling the last of a small plate I’d made for dinner. A couple of different cheeses, a few slices of fresh-baked bread I’d made (a freeze-and-bake organic sourdough loaf that I found in the freezer), and a personal-sized bowl of chopped liver from some that I picked up from Nehrings. Of course I’d also made a small bowl of some sliced sweet gherkins to go with it. I had stopped in at Nehrings on my way home from Home Depot with the intention of finding a cupcake to put a candle in for Steve’s birthday. I ended up with a frozen chocolate mini-cake from Marie Callender’s and a small container of chopped liver instead.
So far so good.
Now, just as I was nibbling the last piece of bread I’d sliced, and was contemplating turning on the TV to watch something while I checked in on those emails I’d been avoiding, my music playlist went to Norah Jones, “Come Away with Me”, and I choked up, unable to think, to process. Just frozen with a major lump in my throat.
I choked up, unable to think, to process. Just frozen with a major lump in my throat.
The music brought me back to a darkened room, dimly lit enough for us to lay in the King-sized bed close beside Keith who was in the taller hospital bed. I’d put together some quieter tunes that included ones he liked and a few I thought would be comforting to me. Norah Jones’ soft dulcet tones would fill the room and bring me to tears as I tried to wish myself to follow Keith’s journey, wherever that led. I knew better, of course. But I wanted so much to hold him and never let go. But even touching him was hardly possible, the cancer had spread so thoroughly throughout his flesh and bones. Two days from now, on September 1st, it will be the 14th anniversary of Keith’s passing. And here I am a widow… again.
Fuck this shit.
It was about a year later, after Keith had passed, that Steve had come into my life in a more prominent way. And one thing I’d shared with him was about loving to dance and that Keith didn’t like to dance if he could avoid it. Steve was willing to let go of his own self-consciousness and dance with me, whether it was a soft slow dance, or a more upbeat west coast swing dance that we learned in a class we took together.
But when we were alone at home where I’d invited him to stay, and Norah Jones would come on, “Come Away with Me” shifted, momentarily, to something more hopeful, though the darker memory still lingered in the background. Steve would come towards me to dance, and we would slowly sway to the tune, eyes closed, the lyrics wafting through my heart like mists of time shifting my soul into knots. And I would begin to cry. It was within the warmth of Steve’s healing embrace that I felt safe…even if my heart was continuously breaking for the one I’d lost before.
It was within the warmth of Steve’s healing embrace that I felt safe…even if my heart was continuously breaking for the one I’d lost before.
It took time. But eventually Steve filled the cracks in my heart and made it whole again. At least for awhile… until it was his time to go away, without me.
Damn it. This shit sucks.
Tonight, on what would be his 69th birthday, Norah Jones brings me to tears again, and the ache in my chest is palpable.
I really hate this shit.
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Hi folks. Normally I don’t publish two pieces in the same day. The one published this morning – The Universe in the Fireplace – was written a few days back and I wanted to share it with you on what is Steve’s birthday. I didn’t know how much this day would hit me… And, as I was writing in my diary about my feelings – a great way of addressing unexpected emotions – I found myself with a realization that perhaps this piece, with its various layers of grief – with warring responses of acceptance and anger – presents a very real view of how grief presents itself in unexpected and unbidden ways. And so I share it with you on the day it is written. With all its raw feelings and mundane tasks, such is the cycle of life going on after loss.
Thank you for reading. – Mara, 8/30/2026
Mara Jevera Fulmer's Blog 