First off, I need to say that there was always a connection between Will and me. His eyes and his smile held the chain to my heart. Even when I left him, I couldn't leave him. I believe that the Holy Mystery that I call God put us together. Why? Were we connected in a past life? Did the Holy Mystery have a "plan"? That's not my actual theology, but I leave myself open to the possibility. Always open. Ephphatha. (Mark 7:34)
Will was a great traveling companion. We experienced just the right amount of togetherness. Our primary focus during our travels was on art museums and cultural events. Because we had largely the same interests as we traveled, it was Will's job to create each days itinerary and my job to figure out how to get where we were going (in big cities it would usually be by metro underground). When we went to art museums, we would arrange to meet in the lobby at a specified time and then we would go our own ways until it was time to reconnoiter.
Will was a terrific "house husband." After he retired in 1990 from to join me in Bend, we made agreements about tasks. He was the cook and I was the clean-up. He did the laundry and I did the vacuuming. He enjoyed being in charge of the home so much that when I had sabbaticals he would laughingly complain about me being "underfoot."
Will took care of the finances. Him doing this job was a great relief to me. Every month he'd tally up what I owed for my half of household expenses (these included heating, water, groceries, etc). He also kept track of his loan to me for my half of the house, letting me know when the debt was put to bed in the late Oughts. (My half of the house was about $54 grand -- I assume I'll get more for it when I sell it - hahahaha). He also did the taxes every year until he was unable to do so. He was very frugal and never met a penny without enough fat on it to pinch.
We rarely bickered. As cranky and critical as he was, he didn't turn it on me after the first few years. We rarely showed each other disrespect, especially after the first decade. That snarkiness I assumed was the baseline in heterosexual relationships and that I so disliked wasn't part of ours. (My assumption came from seeing the marriages on our block and watching comics on the Ed Sullivan show. Basically, I grew up thinking that marriage meant discomfort, pain, and stress because that's pretty much all I saw.)
He enjoyed queer culture as much as I did. I have a very fond memory of seeing Whatever Happened to Baby Jane at the Castro Theatre and how charmed he was by the gay couple semi-dressed up, one with a pancake white face and bad wig pushing his dress-wearing friend down the aisle in a wheelchair. For years, when the occasion presented itself, he would quote, "But cha are Blanche, ya are."
He was very attractive. He kept in shape by walking. Even at his heaviest, he was never fat. I loved his face, especially his eyes. He built on his slender frame by purchasing good suits and sharp outfits (but always at low prices!)
He had a terrific memory! Before he got dementia, I often relied on him to remember where we had seen a movie and when. He could usually remember what day we had seen it and what the weather was like on that day in San Francisco or Berkeley or Pocatello. This was important to me because my own brain has a wobbly hippocampus (because of two concussions, hypervigilance in childhood, and substance abuse). If I needed a book from his 12 thousand volume library, he could usually find it
He took care of me. He was the only one who believed me when I was raped. During my major "nervous breakdown" which included my first depressive break of being unable to leave the house for a couple of months and then being unable to figure out what to do with my life for two years, he supported me. When I got in trouble at work, he always took my side, even when there was justification for my punishment.
He was not the ogre he sometimes pretended to be with his students or outsiders. His core personality was that of a sweet young boy. The ogre appeared when he felt threatened.
He was super smart in terms of knowledge (if not in terms of synthesis).
He loved gardening and growing our own food. For years in Pocatello we had fresh tomatoes and corn. He would also grow basil and tomatoes in Bend. I remember him lovingly carrying the tomato plants in from the deck at night when autumn dropped the temperature to freezing. He could also glean when appropriate. The summer of my apartment in the old polygamous house in the avenues, we captured hundreds of apricots from the overloaded tree on the property next door and he made jars and jars of wonderful apricot jam.
He loved our animals, especially June Jhumpa, his cat, and Birdy, our beloved poodle. In fact, as he was dying and Pastor Noah was talking to him about heaven, he was more interested in meeting the two of them again than in meeting Jesus.
He remained a mystery to me until his death. My grief therapist once asked me, "What do you think Will would think of ...." and then she stopped, looked at my smile and said, "Right. You've already told me that you didn't know how he thought." And that's true. I think we were mysteries to each other. That's how he taught me that love doesn't require understanding. We didn't really understand each other but we loved each other just the same.
He wasn't ambitious. He never got his PhD. He didn't write big academic articles. He always preferred going to the movies to working. As do I!
He could gossip and do small talk with friends and strangers, tasks I found difficult.
And most of all, he loved me -- he might have said "in spite" of my flaws, though I think it might have been "because" of them. Would a less crazy, less queer person have stayed with him? Data collected during household archeology suggests not. The day before he went into his death coma he told me that he loved me and looked at me with those eyes that opened my heart.
I miss him so much.
Happy Birthday, Sweetheart, wherever you are!
Absolutely beautiful!
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