Several people have asked about my husband Mike and how he died. Well, last February I worked with a group of writers, called, Voices of Grace. We each wrote monologues on a topic we thought showed grace. The monologue I wrote was about my love for Mike and how we came to be and how we had to part. We performed our monologues at the Monmouth Theater in Newport, Ky and the Frank Duveneck Arts and Culture Center in Covington, Ky. It was a life altering experience for me. I believe writing this piece helped me move through some of the grief. I also saw patterns of behavior that needed serious attention, which I have certainly pursued since then. Changes, all for the positive, have happened since Voices of Grace in Feburary 2007.
Some names have been changed. I hope you enjoy it. I did received a standing ovation for it – though no one told me until Emily did at intermission! I missed it! Still, I was very proud of myself and gave myself an ovation on the inside. 🙂
BLUE FUNK AND PARTY HATS
By M’lu Feb. 2007
I lined the bottles up in a row.
Tranquilizers like Thorazine and Tranxene, the ones that did nothing, but make me dizzy and loopy. I kept them in a shoebox, in case the doctor thought I should try one kind or another again. I also had leftover Demerol.
I was in so much pain I couldn’t eat or drink anything – not even water.
The doctor kept telling me there was nothing organically wrong, except that I had a completely eroded esophagus and five ulcers.
Problem was, I wasn’t responding to anything the doctor tried.
I later learned he thought I had anorexia nervosa.
I didn’t.
On top of that, I found out that my boyfriend, Jay, the man I loved; the one who said we would marry and have children – had been keeping a secret.
I called his work. The man who answered the phone was new and didn’t know me. He told me Jay left to pick up his fiancee.
“What?” I knew it wasn’t me he was picking up. I hadn’t spoken to Jay since breakfast. That’s why I was calling- to see when he was coming over.
“Married? When?”
The guy told me the 4th of July – in two days. I couldn’t believe it. Jay and I had been together for two years. I knew things weren’t perfect, but I never dreamed that he was seeing someone else.
I called Jay’s sister to find out if it was true. She was shocked to hear from me and disgusted that Jay hadn’t told me.
Told me? He told me he loved me that morning.
I wanted to disappear. Die. So I lined the bottles up, making plans to kill myself on the 4th of July, Independence Day.
In the mean time I went to work pretending nothing was wrong.
My friend and co-worker, Cathy, called to invite me to a party…. on the 4th of July.
She was celebrating her engagement with her fiancé, Steve, his family and friends.
Then I got a call from my fellowship group at church. They were having a party too…on the 4th.
For some strange reason, I decided to go to both parties. I think it was my way of saying goodbye to my friends.
Cathy’s party was in Kentucky. The other party was being held closer to my apartment in Ohio. At night my pain always got worse, so I chose to go to the Kentucky party first. I knew I would want a shorter drive home later.
When the 4th arrived, I headed to Alexandria, drove down the dead end street to a lovely house with a large covered porch and beautiful, built-in swimming pool.
I looked up on the porch and saw Cathy & Steve sitting with a group of people at a picnic table. Cathy saw me coming and took me by the arm to introduce me to everyone.
I looked at Steve and Cathy and saw their happiness. They looked perfect together. Just perfect.
When I sat down at the table, Cathy introduced me to a fellow in a blue baseball cap.
“Mary Lu, this is Mike, Steve’s brother.”
He held out his hand and said “Nice to meet you, want something to drink?”
I nodded.
When he got up to fetch our drinks, he teasingly shoved Steve in the shoulder.
“What do you think about these two getting married?” he asked.
Steve grabbed a hold of Mike’s pants to give him a sumo wedgie.
“Get back! Watch out boy!” Mike chuckled as he wrestled with Steve.
Mike was a big guy with sparkly eyes that were as blue as Caribbean water. And, that chuckle made his belly bounce just like Santa Claus. He was cute, but, not the kind of guy I usually gravitated to.
Jay was a hard body, dark, Italian, with chiseled features and sexy moustache.
Mike was hefty, bald and fair-skinned. He went from shoulders to back, then straight to legs – no butt at all.
There was something about him I liked. We talked and talked that Fourth of July afternoon.
Mike was an electrical engineer who traveled the world installing, troubleshooting and repairing the electronics and computer systems for packaging machinery.
He told me he was leaving for Italy the next day on business.
The mention of Italy reminded me – – – I wouldn’t be there the next day.
Trying to push away my sadness, I suggested that Mike hide me in his suitcase and take me with him. He said I’d have to be married to him first. I said OK, let’s go!
His whole body shook with laughter again, making his blue eyes sparkle more.
I stayed a little while longer, before leaving to go back across the river.
The second party was already cranking. I sat down on a lawn chair and watched as people lit sparklers and shot party poppers. I conversed with a few people but wasn’t feeling very social.
The pain in my stomach and that terrible blue funk of depression descended on me like the dark night and no amount of colorful, loud fireworks could brighten my mood or drown out the pain.
I couldn’t wait get home.
When I finally got there, I grabbed a can of warm Mountain Dew from the kitchen and stole to the quiet of my bedroom.
I sat on the bed, crying, looking at all the bottles lined up, ready to go.
I rocked back and forth on the bed holding my stomach. I just wanted the pain to stop!
I went over to the dresser, picked up a bottle of pills, and wrenched open the lid. I poured a cluster of pills into my hand and brought them to my mouth. I popped open the fizzing can, ready to gulp.
Something inside me stirred – and it wasn’t the pills or Mountain Dew. That stranger’s smile – somehow found my hope and returned it to me.
I spit the melting pills into the toilet and flushed the Mt. Dew. I went back to my bedroom; buried myself in the pillows and cried, until I fell asleep.
The sun rose on Sunday, the 5th of July 1981. The 4th had passed. Jay was married.
I was alive.
As fortune would have it, I had a doctor’s appointment that very Monday. I told the doctor that the pain had become unbearable and I couldn’t live with it anymore. He recommended that I see a colleague of his, one who specialized in helping people with chronic pain, like mine – a psychiatrist. I was embarrassed, but, I would do anything to get rid of the burning pain.
I was booked the very next day.
So there I was sitting in a psychiatrist’s office hoping to heal the ulcers – and maybe more.
That same week, Cathy called to say Mike had asked her for my phone number and would it be okay if she gave it to him. I thought, sure. I liked him.
He called right away. He was bearing gifts from Italy. He wrapped them up with bows. The first was a beautiful pink Venetian glass vase. The second was a bottle of my favorite liquor, Amaretto DiSarrono – directly from Sarrono. I still have that bottle.
For the next few years, Mike’s broad shoulders of friendship – and the doctor visits helped me find my way back to myself.
Oh, I did plenty to test both the doctor and Mike. I dated lots of men. I figured there was safety in numbers. Yet, whenever I broke up with one I would lament at what jerks men were!
Mike listened.
He assured me that not all men were creeps. He was so great to have as a friend.
He did tell me once that he loved me, but, I told him to stop. Mike was simply too nice, too thoughtful, too caring. He told me that as long as he could be my friend, he would be content.
During one of the psychiatrist visits I had a startling revelation – the only similarity between the jerky men was that they were all seeing one person – me. Could I be the problem?! How could I fix that?
On New Year’s Eve 1983, I found myself once again invited to a party in Kentucky.
An hour before midnight, Mike and I were playing ping pong. He was much better than me. He’d won our first three games. He challenged me to one more. It neared the stroke of midnight as we played. Then it happened. He let me win! I knew it. Still, I was thrilled with the victory because I knew he did it on purpose.
When midnight struck, he kissed me on the cheek.
What was it about this guy? He was always thinking about me and what made me happy.
This may sound funny, but, I realized that I didn’t have to shave my legs or wear make-up when I was around him. Once, when I bounced a check, he gladly helped my find my error to balance my checkbook. He didn’t laugh at me once or make me feel stupid. He simply liked me.
I felt my heart change.
First thing on New Year’s Day, I called my mother to tell her I was making a New Year’s resolution. I was going to try to like Mike, more than just a friend.
Mike had flown to France to fix a machine. It was nine o’clock on Wednesday night January 5th when I decided to call Mike to share my great New Year’s resolution.
“Hello, Mike? I just called to tell you something. I want you to know, I’m going to try to like you more than a friend.”
“Uh, ok,”
“Oh, did I wake you up? Oh, it’s 3 a.m.? I’m sorry; I’ll talk to you later.”
“Oh, ok”
We hung up.
Mike returned from France on Friday the 7th. By Saturday, the 8th, we were engaged.
Other than the midnight kiss on the cheek, I had never kissed Mike. We shook hands on the deal.
That very night we bought the engagement ring.
As we walked back to the car, I started crying.
“How could you possibly want to marry meeeeeee when I’m still in love with Ja a a a ay!”
Mike took both of my hands, pulling them toward his chest and looked at me squarely in the eyes. He told me that he knew there would always be a place in my heart for Jay. He wouldn’t expect less. But Jay wasn’t there and he never would be. Then Mike said, “I will always be here for you. I will never leave you.”
I knew it was true.
My feelings for Jay faded as my love for Mike grew.
Mike and I were married that September.
I loved the wonder of discovering something new about each other, laughing when we did something silly, like turning soup bowls or doilies into party hats. 
I loved that my big burly, world traveling man, wore bib overalls, and had his ear pierced on a dare when he was in Australia one trip. He wore a green Peridot, my birthstone.
Our greatest joy came with the birth of our daughter, Emily.
In a way, giving life to Mike’s child was my way of thanking him for saving my life. Emily shines with the same wisdom and love that Mike gave and she has the same passionate blue eyes as his.
When Emily was five years old, our medical insurance changed and I had to find a new gastroenologist. Yes, I still had stomach troubles all those many years later. This doctor discovered that my problem was never, ever mental. It was gall bladder disease – one of the worst he’d ever seen he told me. It was amazing, once they removed my gall bladder, the pain of the past 10 years magically disappeared.
Finally free of pain, I was content and very happy with the life we had created together.
Mike brought the best out in me. And – I believe I brought the best out in him too.
Our 19 year marriage was great, solid, happy.
But all that changed on Easter Sunday, 2001.
You see – Mike did have to leave me – after all.
Mike came into the house from mowing the lawn. He was wearing one of those muscle shirts that showed the top part of his chest.
I saw something on him that looked like a tick. I reached over to remove it.
He slapped my hand away and drew back.
“It’s not a tick,” he said. “It’s a mole.”
I grabbed his shirt by the straps and pulled him to me.
“What do you mean it’s not a tick?”
I looked closer.
It was no bigger than the tip of a No. 2 pencil eraser, smaller than my pinkie fingernail. It was a bluish color, like an engorged tick, with white in the middle.
Then he took my hand and pressed it under his right arm.
“Do you think it has anything do to with this?” he asked.
He placed my fingers right on a lump – a BIG lump – the size of a golf ball.
Emily and I were standing together in the kitchen, when the phone rang. Mike was still at work.
Our worst fears were confirmed by the lab results from Mayo Clinic.
The mole was melanoma. Freckles gone amok.
We were also told at that time that Mike had diabetes and needed insulin shots.
Emily and I fell into each other’s arms crying.
When Mike got home that night, the three of us sat down together. We told him what the doctor said.
He was so calm!
“Well, I’ll be,” he said.
Immediately he was sent to surgery to remove the mole, the lump and four suspicious lymph nodes. They thought they got it all. They didn’t – and there is no cure.
We looked for hope in clinical trials. Mike spent months at the National Institute of Health in Bethesda, Maryland. No matter what they did to him, he thought, at least he could help others by what the doctors would learn through him. He went through torture, but his spirit never faltered.
He made jokes and called himself the Michelin Man when one of the trial chemicals blew his body up to three times his normal size. Months later he became the incredible shrinking man, thin and gaunt.
Family, friends and co-workers surrounded Mike with incredible support and love. I became his nurse, giving shots, checking sugar, listening to him trying to cough up the phlegm as he tried to catch his breathe.
His mind tried to stay keen and his eyes still twinkled.
But his body was failing.
His legs and arms became sluggish.
Emily was a senior, finishing her high school marching band career. We were going to be recognized, along with all the senior band parents at the last home game of the season.
Walking had become quite difficult for Mike.
He refused to use a wheelchair.
With all the strength he could muster, my husband, Emily’s father, walked down the slippery hill, down the many steps to the football field.
He held onto my arm as we stood for more than 20 minutes waiting for half-time.
His Mom stood close by in case we needed her.
I thought maybe he would die right there in the night air, listening to the seniors play their last show.
Thankfully, he didn’t.
He took Emily’s arm when she came to stand with us. He held onto her, beaming, standing gloriously in front of the entire Alexandria community, sharing her as his pride and joy. 
When it was over, we climbed back up the steps and up the hill. Going back up took a long time. He had to stop for rests, all the while with a big smile.
As we drove home, Mike’s blue eyes began to glisten. He was never one to gush, but that night tears gushed. Pride gushed.
“She’s somethin’ that kid,” he said.
Through the next week, Mike’s body became weaker and weaker. He slipped in and out of consciousness.
People came to visit, share stories, laugh. We really did laugh a lot.
One afternoon, Steve and Cathy were visiting.
Hospice had set up a hospital bed in our living room. We put a roll away bed at the foot of it so we could stay together.
Mike needed help getting from the kitchen to the bed.
When Steve and Cathy lifted him up to stand, his hips swayed.
Hanging from their shoulders he said, “Well, I may not be able to walk, but I can still disco if I want to!”
With that he shook his hips, swaying back and forth some more, laughing.
He smiled.
We cried.
“I may be dying, but it’s not going to kill me,” he said.
He was amazing.
In a quiet moment the night before he died, he tried to reassure me,
“You’ll be fine, Kiddo. Just look at all you’ve accomplished. Look at our daughter. No worries. If the Big Guy wants me, I’m ready.”
One more time he asked to go to the bathroom. He wanted to walk there.
I said, “No, please just stand here and go in the urinal. If you fall, I can’t pick you back up.”
I sat on the bed holding the plastic container to him. He looked at me helplessly. When he finished he sat back down on the bed, next to me.
We held hands in the silent, moonlit night.
“This is sad,” he said.
I felt his heartbreaking. It was the first time he said how he felt about dying.
My heart was breaking too.
“I know,” I cried. “I hate to see you go.”
“I know,” he said.
I told him I loved him. I thanked him for our life.
We kissed.
He told me he loved me too and always would.
We kissed again.
Then I helped him lay down for what was to be his last time. I tucked the sheets around his swollen feet and held his hand until he fell asleep.
I lay down on my bed, but I couldn’t sleep. His breathing was loud, staggered and fitful.
I hummed childhood songs to sooth him and calm my own fear.
When morning arrived, Mike’s parents came over. Emily stayed home from school.
I experienced my grandmother, mother and a dear friend’s death, I knew Mike’s time was near.
The sun was shining outside. The school bus went by. Price is Right was on T.V.
Emily leaned over close to his ear to tell him she loved him and that she would be fine. She promised that she would take care of me – keep me out of trouble.
When he heard her words, his breathing quieted and he seemed to calm a bit, almost smiled.
Then he slipped deeper between this life and the next.
I heard the rattle. I knew that sound. I’d heard it when my grandmother and my mother died.
I dove onto Mike’s shoulder and wrapped my arms around him, holding onto him as hard as I could, but I couldn’t keep him here with us!
I am so glad I met Mike on that 4th of July. What I thought was the worst day of my life was really the best day.
I think Mike’s love for me is an example of what God’s love is like.
It lets you know you are safe. It lifts you up. It is grace – a second chance – a gift we are all worthy to receive.
When life gets harsh, love makes you stronger.
And, when you have to say good-bye, love carries you.
