The road never ends. I do stop when I get too tired to go further, I promise my daughters. Surely I stop quickly when I see something that is odd, quirky or even out of place. Rolling down the scenic roads for hours on end are my installment payments in order to visit old friends. I love seeing old friends. I also love meeting a new friendly face. Two years ago when Pammy died I decided quite quickly to sell our house, our cottage near Lake Michigan. Even fully knowing the conventional wisdom that I was not supposed to make any major changes for at least a year, I did. I had thought about it off and on while Pammy was actively dying. It took me away from the thoughts of the inevitable. I loved many things about the area where we’d lived but the cottage had always been Pammy’s place. The cottage was the fulfillment of her dream of having a place where our granddaughters would come and play. What was not to love about the dunes and glens around Lake Michigan? I embraced it when I walked and swam for exercise and meditation but I did not want things tying me down nor constantly reminding me of my loss. I wanted to travel the way we might have done when we were in our twenties.
Pammy and I married very young; we married as children really. We were children raising children. We were immature, impulsive and more often than not abusing some substance or another. Our second daughter was our best birth control. We were unsure how we would afford the two babies we had. Pammy and I were both third children and a third was not going to happen. A third child was like a sword hanging over us and the vision of crippling debt changed our methods of operation. We learned quickly to control our impulsivity in bed. That being said, I am overjoyed we have two children. Both Pammy and I were both ecstatic in those moments of birth, in renewal. Then we lucked out in raising them. Our kids were raised at Down-to-Earth restaurant. The from-scratch, often-as-possible vegetarian restaurant was the brainchild of a wonderful uncle, Pammy’s oldest brother, Fred. We could have asked for nothing better. We got his invitation to run a new restaurant he wanted to open and we jumped. Our immaturity was matched by Fred’s self- discipline, maturity and dreams for his future. Fred is known to the family as Butch. I love Butch. Our family hit the jackpot with him. I am extremely close to Pammy’s entire family. Now that Pammy’s mom died I can say that in honesty.
So let’s fast forward twenty-seven and a few years to when our youngest daughter, Annie, gave birth to our only two grandchildren, Noa and Avery. We had two children by our mid-twenties and so did Annie and her husband, Dan. We were again overjoyed and realized how lucky we were to have grandchildren so young. As I said we also had been so very fortunate to have a village to raise our own children out at Down-to-Earth restaurant. If not for the restaurant I believe our girls, Molly and Annie, would not have grown up as well as they did. Having our kids early allowed Pammy to enjoy her cottage and her two wonderful granddaughters. When the youngest, Avery, was 18 years old and nearly finished with high school and Noa was nearly finished with her four year degree, Pam was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. I am pleased and satisfied with the life we created. When Pammy died though I was thunderstruck. I became a malcontent. I am satisfied that we stuck together through some real shit in our marriage. People who use the phrase, “forty years of marital bliss,” missed out on our conflictual relationship and our occasional knock down, drag out fights. Enough said about that but I was ready to sell our cottage of twenty years.
Now it was time to travel and explore and live out the final, five-year chapter of my life.
When the funeral director told me, “Now Pam is in a better place.” I replied, “You’re right. Pammy did alway love her blue Mason jars. She will be in that big beautiful, two-quart zinc-lidded one on the mantel for a short while after cremation. Then she’ll be scattered with her dogs of forty years.” He left knowing he was not going to upsell me on any of his funereal add-ons. I loved Pammy, I loved her quirks. I did not like her drinking and I hated some of the shit we endured. I wish I could have done better. I wish I had been better able to accept how well she loved and lived. That time has passed now. Now that Pammy had died I had set my sights on so many things.
My hotel room on wheels with other equipment and paraphernaliaI am now married to the road. With my trailer which is small enough to go anywhere and park damn near anywhere, the campgrounds and city streets and rest areas and scenic pullouts and friends’ driveways have become my world. I am a good guest, buying wine and taking people out for a meal and joining in activities they enjoy. Having been in the restaurant world I do know my way around a kitchen. Having been married to Pammy I like things clean so I keep their environment tidy. Much of my hiking I do alone so I’m always game to hike with friends. Relaxing with friends I will even branch out into the unknown. For one thing I will even play board games which generally bore the hell out of me. Where there is banter and catching up, I do well. I have formed a good outline of what I want to do with my last years. I want to be impulsive, take risks and live a full life. I want to meet people and be hugged and be loved. Hell, yes, I want to fall in love again. Thus far it has turned into that and so much more.
Apparently if I want something badly enough I will work hard to make it happen. It does not always work out as planned but rolling with the punches and grinding it out are often the way I work.
Less than a year after Pammy died I became infatuated with a person via Facebook. I had an eye on her even before Pammy died. Kate intrigued me. Kate is the sister of a waitress Pammy had hired nearly forty years ago when we were running our second restaurant in Grand Rapids. Fast forward forty years and my attraction was strong when I saw her photos and read her posts. Her sister, Ceda, told me I had met Kate back when she worked for us. I did not recall but I was compelled to meet her. For a few moments I wondered what was wrong with me. Not for long because simultaneously I wondered what was wrong with Kate. Sometimes I confuse myself. I think I have a fairly good handle on what is right and wrong with me. Having been an addictions counselor for a decade after getting a graduate degree in psychology I had learned that most often we are drawn to new persons who hold similar personality styles to those we love and often they were raised in similarly messed-up families of origin. Gawd, what was it that I was drawn to and how would this play out? Her sister, Ceda, warned me not to get involved with Kate. I spoke with sister Ceda after Pammy’s death; she was a counselor who understood grief. The week after I met Kate with my granddaughter, Noa, in San Francisco for a Giants ball game I phoned Ceda. She asked me, “She flirted with you horribly, didn’t she? She can’t help herself, Hank. It’s always the same. Things always turn out the same.” I protested, “I think it is just the way she relates to most everyone. There certainly is more to her than her flirting.” Ceda blurted through the phone, “Don’t get involved with her, Hank. She will fuck you up!”
I told Ceda not to worry. Because I knew that I can fuck up people as well as the next Calvinist, Kate and I struck up a relationship. It was a bit uncomfortable putting myself out there. Discomfort had entered into my mantra. After little hemming and even less hawing, I did manifest the relationship. Kate lives in northern California. She divorced several years back. Kate has frayed ties to the Dutch Calvinist community. What could go wrong, eh?
When Pammy died I asked Noa and Avery if they would like to go on a trip with their bompah. Noa was quick to agree. So my oldest granddaughter, Noa and I flew out to California to attend seven major league baseball games in nine days. Noa absolutely loves sports and agreed to go with me on a flight to LA and then a road trip around half of California to see the Padres, Angels, Giants and the Athletics. We also attended three Dodger games, my favorite team since childhood. Growing up Noa grew to like the Dodgers, too. Once Noa’s beloved Detroit Tigers had ruined their season she quickly rooted for our Dodgers. Unbeknownst to Noa I had also set things up to meet Kate and sister, Ceda, at a SF Giants ball game at Chase ballpark. Ceda was to fly out from the East Coast and use the opportunity to visit her sister, Kate. Ceda and Kate had some falling out in the past but this might help to mend things. That was my poorly disguised justification for meeting Kate. I could facilitate their family mending. I knew I was rationalizing but it made the meeting more palatable when I told Noa.
True to form and a long history of inability to take risks and have fun, Ceda bailed out and canceled last minute. Noa and I did meet Kate who arrived at the game in the third inning after finishing her work shift. Ceda has very real difficulity having fun. Not Kate. So three of us, Noa and Kate and me, watched the game and then went to dinner after the game. I like to think of these initial meetings as informational interviews rather than dates. I was with Noa, afterall. It had been only four months since Pammy died. My granddaughter, Noa, sat next to me across from Kate less than a half year after her grandma died. The dinner was entertaining with flights of ideas flying across the table. After dinner we said our goodbyes. On our way to our hotel room after dinner, Noa told me, “You know, Bompah, that woman is crazy.” “But wasn’t it kind of fun,” I asked, “and you didn’t have to do much work at conversation, right? .” I reminded Noa that her Grammy Pammy was more than a bit crazy at times, too. Noa cocked her head a bit. She was looking at me as though I was the craziest one. That is the way that Noa and I relate sometimes. Noa is the sensible, logical granddaughter. We get along well but we are not alike.
Two months later I was back in California. I invited Kate to dinner and a hike. On the hike I told her that I was infatuated with her. That admission pushed me just a bit further into discomfort. I had promised myself that I would do at least one thing a month outside of my comfort zone. Now here I was welcoming discomfort even a little more often. I felt my biological clock ticking ever louder. Going out on a limb took my mind off of my loss. I did not have time to play games and I wanted to start off any possible relationship with honesty.
Across the next year Kate and I had some wild times together. We enjoyed the Jazzfest in New Orleans, a civil rights road trip through Montgomery and Selma as well as some cold plunges in the Sonoran desert and again a few times in glacially cold streams above the Pacific Ocean. I thought I was in love. Kate thought I could possibly be a long term committed partner. We talked and talked and Kate taught me how to proceed in my new life. I learned a little of what not to do and say with women. Remember, I was a newcomer to dating after 45 years of marriage. And then after a year prolonged foreplay, as Kate referred to it, and some wonderful times, we parted ways. Kate broke up with me. I was devastated. I was again adrift. I returned to even more travel and the road. More on that later, perhaps. We would always have our memories of New Orleans. Kate helped me so much. From that first hike and then her jumping naked into my Airbnb hot tub I was sold on my new life. I still send her flowers in thanks. Kate is a wonderful crazy person who I admire and respect. Selah.
So why the hell do I share this with you? With anyone? You have your opinions already, I’m sure. I have a few reasons. Some are good reasons and some very selfish ones, I believe. Grief is hard. Grieving is personal, afterall. You do it alone. Most people, in my opinion, do grief far too alone. However, I have not gone down the hard road of grief alone. My Facebook posts from the past two years will prove it to any who doubt it. (https://www.facebook.com/henry.schemper.1)
However, grief is also universal. We grieve loss caused by death, due to divorce and even based on lost opportunities and possibilities. We grieve relationships. My style of grieving is with action and running into dangerous situations with highly flammable materials. For a little over the first year my infatuation with Kate kept me off balanced and obsessed. It also kept my grief in balance with an upcoming new life and possibilites. While fantasizing I was too busy to grieve in large doses. You might say, “Maybe you hooked up so soon because you’re just an arsehole.” Well, you are right inasmuch as I can be quite an arsehole at times. However, I can be quite kind and also quite giving as well. I can listen even though I am quite the narcissist. I have learned not to give advice when none is sought. And, I love the warmth of another person who admires me. I can embrace the warmth within the possibility of another person admiring me and my goodness. I need companionship and warmth and human contact. Kate pushed me to go get massages and pedicures and human contact without sex. How unCalvinist of her!! Afterall, didn’t John Calvin show us that pain is what makes us feel alive? However, I learned that contact is vital for me and my life. I am not an artist who can recede into hermitage and conjure up paintings or poems. I do not put out beauty in that medium. I am needy but I also need to give.
One time when I was camping alone at a Veteran’s park high atop the Monterey Peninsula I had moments of intense dread, angst. The feeling was like a hole where I was separated from who I am. I felt utter anxiety. I was in my two person tent alone and it seemed that the walls were closing in on me. It felt like my life and Pammy’s death were closing in on me. I texted Kate and asked what she was doing. This was very early in our relationship. It was not then what it would become. Kate responded saying that it was rude for me to bother her at such a time. It was nearly midnight and she needed to get up very early for work. However, even her reprimand was enough to ground me. My angst went away and I felt like I was ready to go on and sleep and function. I have learned that I need to be touched and held and caressed. I need another to reflect who I am. I need people.
It is so calming, so beautiful to be held by a woman who cares about me and enjoys me. Folded simply into her arms and legs while sleeping is such a joyous thing. It had been far too long since I had felt that embrace. Before Kate the last embrace I felt from a woman was holding Pammy while she was dying. Those were intense and horrific moments and full of love. However, Pammy was not herself. Not fully the woman I joined to create a new life. Embracing a vibrant woman helps me feel my own warmth. Pammy and I were young lovers. It was wonderful and crazy and inspiring and uplifitng. Now I only want to feel important to someone again. I fall in love with whom I become when I want to compliment and listen closely and touch a woman with words and body. It will never be the same with another woman as it was with Pammy but that does not mean it cannot be good, even wonderful.
The ravens above the City of Angels.While not yet fully in the relationship with my northern California lover, Kate, there was also a budding romance of sorts in Southern California. I was hiking on the Hollywood Hills trail and I could not get close enough to these ravens to get a good picture. To me it looked as though Val and her friends were hiking right up to them and getting great shots. I asked how and Val sent me this picture of the ravens on the Hollywood Hills. Val turned out to be more than a little crazy. I was drawn to her. Val wanted to know all about the most recent pictures on my phone. Val wanted to know what Pammy looked like. Val wanted to know who Kate was. Val commented on how pretty they both were. Val wanted to crawl into my skin. So it seemed. Val was not at all like Kate yet there was something enticing about her. I was curious. After our second informational interview I kept wondering if black widows are the only species that kill their mate after sex? The greater question might became, “Why did I need to find out?”
Next week will be my 70th birthday. Next week I will share just a bit more about how these women impacted my new life. I do need to move on though. Yet, I believe, it is vital for me to learn from those whom I meet. It can become unsettling at times but I love my new life.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9EKqQWPjyo
Bob Dylan’s “Things Have Changed” with lyrics if you made it this far, do yourself a favor and listen.