'Twilight' is wrong

I will be honest, Greg liked the 'Twilight' movies. He watched them whenever they came on cable, and we actually went to the theaters to see the final installment in the franchise. We agreed that the baby was incredibly creepy. But he and I also agreed that the message this storyline sent to young girls was inappropriate, with the focus on devoting your entire being to your one true love and giving up your future and your identity to be with them.

But it wasn't until this week that I realized how dangerous the 'Twilight' example really is. In the second movie, both Bella and Edward try to kill themselves when they believe they have lost their love forever. By that philosophy, I should be doing the same right now. Greg was my soulmate, and the pain I am feeling at his loss is crushing. But I know I must go on. I know there is still a lot of my life to be lived, and while I will miss my husband every day, I will go on. At risk of being corny (and to reference another of our favorite movies), my heart will go on.

Young ladies, go ahead and enjoy the 'Twilight' books, but realize they are not real life, and they definitely do not represent true love. True love does not require you to give up everything in your life, it compromises and grows and becomes part of that life. True love does not make you become a part of someone else, it celebrates your individuality, and while each of your pieces together makes something beautiful, your single piece is not diminished when standing alone. True love makes you believe in yourself as much as you believe in your love. I will be forever grateful to Greg for showing me what true love really is. And I think 'The Hunger Games' series is much better than 'Twilight'.

The Couch of Truth

From the very beginning of our relationship, I found myself wanting to tell Greg things about myself that nobody else knew. He was an excellent listener, focused and quiet, and he knew when he should offer advice or opinions and when he should simply sit and listen. I also wanted to know everything there was to know about him, and we would have conversations that lasted hours. It started when I would drive him home from the community theater where we met, which often ended up with the two of us sitting in my car outside his apartment until 1:00 AM or later. Later, when we moved in together, it would continue on his sofa with talks, debates, revelations and admissions, conversations we would never be able to have with anyone else.

As our relationship grew and solidified, the discussions continued, and in recent years our communication developed the concept of The Couch of Truth. Here was where we could turn off phones, computers and TV and talk about absolutely anything, especially those topics which we knew we could not discuss with anyone else. We didn't agree on absolutely everything, but we knew we could bring up any concept, any opinion, any argument and it would be received openly without fear of reprisal. I'm not saying we never had any secrets from each other, but on The Couch of Truth, nothing was hidden and any topic was open for discussion. It was liberating, and it built a level of trust and love that I never dreamed possible.

In recent months, Greg and I had discussed replacing the current incarnation of The Couch of Truth. Our soft brown sofa, while incredibly comfortable, has stains, creaky springs and cushions that refuse to stay in place. Now that he is gone, I know it's going to be incredibly hard to give it up, but it's also hard for me to imagine having this level of communication with someone else. I'm thinking maybe, though, I can keep the Couch of Truth in my office or my bedroom as a place for contemplation and meditation. Even if Greg isn't here, I can still tell him everything.

Be Selfish

When I first met Greg, he and I were both selfish, in the worst sense of the word. We would not have admitted it at the time, but we were each rather blind to the effect our actions had on others, and the creation of our relationship brought pain to others who were close to us at the time. Our first few years together were tumultuous as we struggled with our clashing egos, each trying to take power over the other, and our continued relationships with some individuals who were determined to divide us did not help matters.

After five years of on again/off again, I made the decision to leave the New York area and live in Seattle in an attempt to remove myself from the chaos. I still loved Greg and hoped to be able to continue my relationship with him in some form, but I wanted time and distance to be able to see things clearly and make decisions about my future, whether it was with him or without him. I thank the gods every day that he decided to follow me. He quit his job, got his first drivers license and gave up his rent controlled apartment to drive all the way across the country with me, and the tenuous seedling of our love was finally able to take firm hold and grow into the unshakable tree I hold on to today.

Part of our process of building a life together included a lot of examination of how we interacted with other people, and we strived to have greater empathy. After a lot of soul searching, Greg came up with the real secret - ultimately you have to be selfish. But it's not about the selfishness of instant gratification and meeting your immediate emotional needs. It's about long term selfishness and the feeling you get when you really connect with other people and make them feel good. You make your daily decisions with the long term view of feeling the warmth of friendship and the satisfaction of helping others instead of the fleeting pleasure of helping yourself.

It's this philosophy of selfishness that I am thankful for today. Not only was I a direct recipient of Greg's thoughtfulness on a daily basis, but this conscious effort to strengthen relationships created the safety net of friendship that has saved me these past two weeks. It will be harder without Greg's guidance, but I will strive to continue his practice of being ultimately selfish and gain long term happiness through kindness, love and friendship for others.

Grief is a ninja

My husband Greg died on December 6, 2013 after 61 years on this earth, and I was lucky enough to have spent almost all of the last 24 of them with him, 18 years as his wife. Right now I'm having trouble imagining life without him. I thought writing about him, about our life together and about the amazing life lessons I learned from him, might help ease the ache in my heart. It may be sporadic, it may be short, but maybe it will help others as I try to help myself.

The most recent lesson I have learned is that grief is a ninja. It sneaks up on me silently, in the most unexpected of places, and destroys my carefully crafted composure with one well placed kick to the psyche. I've expected the attack in many places, like our bedroom, the intersection where he was killed, the theater where we spent the majority of our social time and where we held his memorial service, and I've built up shields to protect myself from the onslaught of overwhelming emotions that come there. It's the unforeseen assaults that I have trouble with. Who would have thought that the smell of Home Depot would be a deep emotional trigger? Or the theme song to 'Two Broke Girls'? Or a package of hummus?

I've learned to let the ninja score his points and just let the tears come. I know it won't be a fatal wound, and will usually be more damaging if I try to hold it in. And I know that while the attacks will become less and less frequent, the ninja will never be completely out of my life. As long as I hold Greg's memory in my heart, there will be those moments of pain when I see something unexpected that reminds me of him, or I experience something new that I know he would have loved.  The ninja will wait in the shadows and strike without warning for as long as I love Greg, which will be forever. So, bring it on, ninja of grief. I'm ready for you.