Do You Remember?

Today would have been mine and Shani’s 9th wedding anniversary, and I will be spending it in the same city we spent our first, New York. I’ll be attending the Yankees game tonight with Sara, my great friend and roommate from my time in Florida last fall and the one who coached me through my first anniversary without Shani last year. She’s the perfect company for me today.

Since this is my second anniversary without Shani, I thought I’d share the story of last September 21st, the first without her in my physical presence, although I think it’s obvious that her spirit was right there with me.

This will be my last post for the next week or so while I’m in New York. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to share when I get back, but for now I’m just going to soak up the energy. Hope you enjoy the story.

Mike

September 21, 2009-Our 8th Wedding Anniversary

I woke up that morning having known that just facing the day itself would be tough, but there’s really no way to gauge just how difficult these things are going to be until you’re there. Sure enough, as soon as I could open my eyes, they were filled with tears and the all too familiar gut wrenching pain hit me. I thought of how exciting the day was supposed to be, Shani and I celebrating our 8th anniversary although it might as well have been 10. She and I had our wedding bands tattooed on shortly after moving in together even though it took another couple of years to actually say, “I do.”

After I was all cried out and calmed down, I got up, fixed my coffee and went out onto the balcony to write in my journal. I considered my plans for the day and as I looked out at the ocean, I knew what I was going to do. I wrote Shani a letter. I thought about the time we shared together and the Earth Wind and Fire song “September”. Shani had a deep love for 70’s R&B that she always credited her mother for having given to her. She said that as a child it was her mom’s favorite music. “Do you remember, the 21st of September?” It rang in my ears over and over again. I thought of our completely unorthodox wedding ceremony in the boxing ring.

Shani and I had agreed that we were going to get married in the fall of ’01, but I got promoted to a new regional position in Atlanta at the time running the sales departments for 6 multimillion dollar health clubs. I was then asked to go to Chicago for the month of August, and the possibility of planning a wedding for the fall just kept being put on the backburner. But during a conversation while in Chicago, Shani finally broke down and said through tears, “But you said we were going to get married this fall!” And so the next day I approached another supervisor from corporate that I was working with about the possibility of getting married in the boxing ring at one of the Atlanta clubs. I figured that since Shani accused me of never leaving work, I would ask her if she would marry me there. And sure enough, we did it. It was a completely unorthodox and unique company known for getting crazy press, so it fit right in. The people I worked with had really become our second family anyway, and all of my coworkers spent a good deal of our free time together, so it worked out great. Neither one of us believed in spending a lot of money on a ceremony and Shani and were certainly about having fun. Our family came-my folks, Hunter, Zeke, my sister and brother in law. Jodi and Kelly, two sisters who I worked with, both like big sisters of my own, planned the whole thing. And with our best friends and our family there to witness our vows, Shani and I were married in the boxing ring of a Crunch Fitness club in Atlanta on September 21, 2001.

Having just experienced the attacks of September 11 just 10 days earlier and everyone still reeling from the impact it had on our country, that night was a special distraction for everyone involved. And little did we both know at the time that our first anniversary the following year would be spent in our apartment less than a couple hundred yards from Ground Zero in lower Manhattan after my next promotion to area director of the 10 clubs in New York. Our life together was an adventure.

I wrote the letter to Shani and posted it on Facebook to share...

Happy Anniversary Shani
9/21/09

My Dearest Shani,

I write this letter with joy in my heart, knowing that although the physical embodiment of our relationship no longer exists, the purity that is your uncaged soul remains with me as strong today as it ever has. 8 years ago when we said, “I do,” we took it literally, because WE DID! We did everything! And we did it together. Our marriage was certainly never stale, and like any other, we went through our difficult times but always came back stronger and more determined. We sought to become better individuals and supported each other’s growth, both knowing the best thing we could give to our relationship would be whole, strong selves. How could we expect to work things out ever…forever, if we weren’t comfortable in our own skin? Our marriage provided a concrete foundation in those quests to find that place, regardless of the struggle it caused. We had unbelievable faith in one another through the toughest of times. What an exciting and amazing journey we shared! We supported and loved one another. We argued and came together. We fell apart and rebuilt ourselves more than once, and then grew to levels that most people will never experience in this life in just 10 years as a couple. I’m fully aware of that now and thank you so much for that gift! They were the best years of my life…

Shani, I give great credit to the way that I’ve been able to handle losing you to the timing of your death and the fact that I’m in the best shape physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually that I’ve ever been. All of that comes from our time together. We grew. God, we grew! And I’ll do my best to carry that torch forward. I’m so proud of you. I had the honor of watching a young, beautiful mother grow into a sophisticated, cultured and loving humanitarian. I admire the strength and courage you exhibited in becoming a truly beautiful woman, and am absolutely honored to have been part of that process. You gave me yoga and holistic healing, among an incredible amount of other things. Whenever I felt the slightest bit ill, the tea started to flow, and I rarely got worse, most often recovering after a good night’s sleep. I know how much you loved me and you gave me more than I could have ever imagined.

We enjoyed a good debate, challenging each other, always having a counterpoint to the other’s stance, no matter the topic. We lived for diversity and welcomed those from all faiths and backgrounds into our lives, believing the best way to become better people would be to learn from other’s experiences equally as much as our own. That approach brought the most interesting, kind, crazy and wonderful people into our marriage along the way. Wow! The stories we wrote together... You were so inquisitive, always wanting to know what made people tick. We relished the opportunity to share our time and space with the best of friends, and we had so many. From Chattanooga to Atlanta, then New York and back to Atlanta again, and all of our other travels, we forged connections everywhere we went. And those people have become my support system in losing you. This multicolored, woven net caught and lifted me up when my wings left me for a time. With that support they are growing back, slowly but surely with yours and their help.

I have so many lessons I have learned from your life, our marriage, your death and the spiritual path and connection we will always share. Your energy gives me peace and strength, and I will remain grateful for the presence of your beautiful soul that walks with me daily.

So, on our 8th anniversary in this form, I am taking the day alone to honor you by releasing some of your ashes down at the beach, into the ocean, your favorite place of meditation and comfort. I’ll pray for you, Zeke and all people still suffering from the loss of your smile, compassion and incredible lust for life that we may all remain in a state of gratitude for the time that we had with you. I will soak up the sun and the water knowing that you are now in all things, guiding me for the rest of my life. Thank you so much for choosing me as your partner in your journey and for remaining with me in mine.

“Do you remember the 21st night of September?”
                               -Earth, Wind and Fire

I Love You…Always.
Mike

After finishing up, I mulled around the apartment for a few hours with the iPod on shuffle as I did every day. I had planned on taking some of her ashes down to the beach and releasing them, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go into the bedroom to face the task of opening Shani’s ashes. Around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, I decided I had better get going as I wanted to have some time down at the beach and didn’t want to rush. I grabbed a plastic bag and a spoon and went into the bedroom. I opened the decorated exterior box and on top of the plastic sealed box that contained her ashes was the certificate of cremation. My brain could not register the fact that these were actually the earthly remains of my soul mate. I honestly think it may be easier to have nothing whatsoever than to have ashes. It’s hard for the mind to connect the two-her physical being now ashes in a plastic bag. I sat the box upright, pulled back the top, reached in and pulled out the plastic bag of ashes. VERY carefully, I unsealed the clasp and opened the bag. Making sure not to spill any, I used the spoon to scoop out what would be the equivalent of a handful of her ashes, wrapped up the bag, resealed it and put everything else back to the way it was. I rolled up the smaller bag I was to take with me and sealed it in a larger zip lock. I put them in my backpack and started to cry again. I felt shameful, like I was disrespecting her in some way. I really didn’t feel honorable in any way, caring for her ashes in a plastic zip lock bag.

I was in a fog and must have walked around the apartment with no real intention for close to an hour. I couldn’t tear myself out of there. Eventually I got it together.

I packed up a towel and my running shoes, called down to the valet and had them retrieve my car. I drove the 5-minute route to the beach with Shani’s iPod on shuffle the whole way. It was not crowded at the beach at all, and I was able to find a parking space very close to the boardwalk which is about 20 to 30 yards from the ocean. I got there early enough to go for a run. I laced up my shoes and hit the boardwalk for my 6-mile loop.

I’ve always been drawn to the water, as was Shani. Our move to South Florida was supposed to be the culmination of all of the hard work we had put in together all of these years. We felt like the kids were at the age where they would appreciate coming to the beach. My career was taking an amazing turn for the better and all of the self-improvement work we had done made it all make sense. We were there, so to speak. We had made it.

And now it was gone. I was here, alone, with no real direction in sight. I was looking for peace, but felt none. My only solace was the spiritual connection I felt to Shani, and she was with me on that run. She was with me all day. I laced up my shoes and took off up the beach.

I left the iPod in the car. This time, I wanted to talk to Shani, not the other way around, and I had a lot to say.

I ran with gratitude in my heart and spoke to Shani out loud as I ran. I thanked her for our time together and for how much love she gave to me. I thanked her for guiding me along the way after her death, knowing that I would have crumbled completely without her support. I thanked her for all of the gifts she gave me and my family. She taught us so many lessons about inner strength and working through your fears-getting up each day and facing the world no matter the hand you’re dealt. I thanked her for her spirit, her soul. She shared everything with me. She was not one to be vulnerable with many, but with me she shared everything, our dreams and our fears. We could look into each other’s eyes and see into the other’s soul. I thanked her for her forgiveness for the times when I wasn’t the husband, friend or lover I would have liked to have been. We did everything together over the previous 10 years, and while I couldn’t see her and certainly had my moments where I felt completely disconnected, deep down I always knew she was there.

It’s difficult to describe feeling loss, pain, peace and gratitude at the same time, but I’m sure those that have been through a great love lost can understand the swirling emotional waves. You can feel so many things all at once. I cried and laughed. I smiled and screamed. I ran. It was meditative. The sounds of the ocean and children playing on the beach filled my ears and my feet felt like I was running on clouds. I was in a different world.

I finished my run and cooled off with a short walk, hands on my hips, dripping in sweat from the hot South Florida sun.

It was getting into early evening and the sun was beginning to go down. I walked back to the car, toweled off a bit and reached into my bag that held Shani’s ashes. Subconsciously, I think I was just putting it off as long as possible. I think I knew that releasing the ashes would signify another level of letting go and I wasn’t prepared for it. I wouldn’t ever be ready. I threw on my sandals, grabbed a towel and turned back toward the beach, this time walking all the way down to the water. I picked an isolated spot with no one within 30-40 yards either way. I left the towel and sandals on the beach and slowly walked out into the water, holding the ashes high enough that they wouldn’t get wet. The waves weren’t overpowering, but they were enough to knock you over if you weren’t paying attention. I waded out into waste deep water and stared out into the ocean, now a bit more dimly lit by the sun setting behind my shoulders. I looked at the vast, never-ending water and thought about how small we really are in the grand scheme of the universe. This water has been here for billions of years, and our time here doesn’t comprise even a needlepoint on the timeline of the planet. Those thoughts were comforting. As much of a loss as Shani’s death was to my life, it made me realize that my time left here was short as well, and we would be back together in no time.

I prayed. I asked God to look after Shani and to give her the peace she longed for and deserved. I didn’t ask questions. It wasn’t my place. I was here to give thanks and to honor her and our love. It was my duty, and I was going to complete this mission.

A sense of peace came over me at the same time as a tear came to my eye as I turned around and looked at the setting sun. I unclasped the plastic bag, held it out in front of me and threw the ashes into the light southern breeze. I watched as they hit the water and dissipated in front of me, thinking that her spirit was home on the other side and now her physical self was home too. She would be happy that this is how I spent our anniversary. It was all about her. It was about us.

I had to turn back around as I suddenly became overcome with emotion and needed to purge all of the pent up fear and anxiety of the day. The deed was done, and the end of our anniversary near. Another important first alone. Now, after putting it off all day, I didn’t want to leave the water. I was bouncing in the waves and could have floated off into the water, never to be seen again. It would have been easy. Just start swimming, keep going, and never come back. I couldn’t do it though. After a few minutes of heavy tears, I dunked my head, wiped off my face and turned back, walking to the beach. I grabbed my towel and sandals and found a bench on the boardwalk where I toweled off and sat for a minute, watching couples walk by hand in hand, bikers and joggers enjoying the last few minutes of daylight under the setting sun.

I took a deep breath, stood up, looked out at the ocean and nodded.

“Namaste, Shani.” I said.

I smiled and walked to the car. I threw my towel on the seat, I was still a bit damp. I sat down, closed the door, turned the key in the ignition, and instantly, my ears were invaded by the following sound...

"And I will remember you,
Will you remember me,
Don’t let your life pass you by,
Weep not for the memories."

At first I was in shock. I reached down in the glove compartment for Shani’s iPod, picked it up and saw that I’d forgotten to shut it off when I went for my run. I’d left it on shuffle and as soon as I started the car, this is what I heard. “I Will Remember You” by Sarah McLachlan, at the chorus, with the perfect message for me. Tears flooded down my cheeks.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Shani! I love you!”

"I will remember you,
Will you remember me,
Don’t let your life pass you by,
Weep not for the memories.
Weep not for the memories."

I fumbled for my cell phone off of the passenger seat and called my dad as the song was finishing up. I wanted a witness to what was happening.

“Listen, Dad!!!” I turned up the volume a loud as it would go. “Listen! Do you hear that!!!!”

And as the song ended, I turned down the volume and sobbed as I told him what had happened.

“I went down to the beach to release Shani’s ashes into the water and when I was done, I turned on the car to leave and this is what was playing.” I continued to cry as I spoke. “I left her iPod on shuffle accidentally, and wasn’t paying any attention when I got back in the car. This is what was playing dad. Out of 1,000 songs, this is what was playing, and it was the chorus, the last minute of the song.”

“Well there you go,” he said. “You’ve known all along that she’s been communicating with you through her music. She just gave you another chapter for the book.”

“She may have just given me the last chapter, dad.”

“Maybe….” He responded.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I said.

“Alright.” He said, and we hung up.

The conversation with dad was reassuring in the fact that these messages had literally become so commonplace that there was no real surprise on his end so much as a matter-of-fact belief of it. It happened, and that was that. The fact that he was able to hear the very end of the song made it no more real than had I called him an hour later after getting home. And that was the way things were at that point. It was real; they were all real.

And on the drive home I could hear Shani’s voice in my ear.

“Happy Anniversary, babe,” she said.