8/15/24

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

You know, this blog has always been about finding that Moment each week that made me smile. It’s not about gratitude; this isn’t a gratitude list. And the ultimate lesson from it, at least for me, since starting to write this in 2017, is that I have to take responsibility for my happiness. I have to look for it and I have to find it. It won’t just come to me.

This blog is also all about honesty. I don’t make anything up. Even though I am primarily a fiction writer, a novelist and a short story writer, what I write about here has happened, and sometimes I write about it even when it doesn’t make sense.

Which is why I have to say that, this week, a Moment of Happiness has been impossible to find. I spent most of last night and all day today (so far) raking my memory of everything that went on this week, trying to find a Moment, and I haven’t found one.

This absolutely bothers me. I feel like I’m not doing my job.

Last week, my daughter Olivia said to me, “I don’t understand why I don’t feel happy.”

“Sweetheart,” I said. “Your dad has only been gone (then) 7 weeks (8 weeks now). You’re in grief. Give it time.”

Words, maybe, that I should be saying to myself. Though I have been able to find a Moment every week of these now 8 weeks, until now.

I pondered over this through the night. At first, I thought it was maybe because of yet another go-round I had with the Assistant District Attorney assigned to our case. The following has happened since Michael’s accident on January 17^th, and his death on June 19^th:

1. I contacted the Milwaukee DA several times. He never answered me once.
2. I was finally contacted by an Assistant DA after Michael died. He told me that there would be no criminal charges against the driver, even though Michael died.
3. I found out the ADA never talked to any of the witnesses. I had a witness contact him, with a list of things the witness saw that were not included on the police report.
4. I discovered that the ADA didn’t even know what citations were given to the driver.
5. I discovered that the driver ran a red light and was speeding. But he was not cited for either of these things. He was only cited for failure to yield to a pedestrian. That’s a $73 fine.
6. The ADA also told me there is no vehicular manslaughter in Wisconsin. There is. There are two types: when the driver is under the influence of alcohol, and when the driver is negligent. This driver ran a red light while speeding, and he killed a pedestrian. I’d say that’s negligent.
7. The police did not do their job – they knew he ran a red light and he was speeding, but he was not given citations for these. The ADA made his decision about criminal charges without talking to anyone who was actually there during the accident, and without knowing what the police decided to do, or in this case, not do.

It’s very hard not to feel like no one who has the power to do something cares enough to do so. So let’s flip that last sentence. I feel like no one who has the power to do something cares enough to do so. They just want Michael to go away.

Well, the driver took care of that, didn’t he.

But there is something else too.

The day Michael died, I Googled “What do you need to do when a spouse dies?” I found a wonderful list that detailed, point by point, things that needed to be done, from planning the memorial service to all of the paperwork that needs to be filed and taken care of. Next to each item was a little box to check off when you accomplished the item.

I am a very goal-oriented person. This list gave me something to focus on, to achieve. One by one, I’ve gone through and checked off boxes. This week, I checked off the last two (with the exception of Social Security, which is done on Social Security’s time. They are calling me in September. So I have that little box half-checked off.). These two final items were to make sure that Michael’s name was removed from the voter registry, so that no one could steal his name and vote, and to contact the DMV and cancel his state ID. Michael didn’t drive, so he didn’t  have a license.

We had an election this week, so I went to vote and decided that would also be a good time to talk to whomever I needed to talk to and have Michael’s name removed. I arrived at City Hall with Michael’s death certificate with me. I went to vote first, and found that his name was already missing – there was just me and Olivia listed. While there wasn’t a blank spot, the whole page became blank for me then. Where was he? I voted, then went to talk to someone about it. It turns out that, at least here, if not in all of Wisconsin, the voter registry is connected to Social Security, and so when Social Security received the death certificate, everyone connected to SS was notified. So Michael was already removed.

But I felt bereft, in a weird way. He was removed without my touch, without my care, without my being able to make sure he was taken care of.

I went home shook.

Then I contacted the DMV. They told me I only had to email them Michael’s name, birthdate and deathdate. They said that the DMV was connected to the Department of Wisconsin Vital Records, so it likely was already taken care of, but this would verify it. I did, they verified it, and then they told me to destroy his ID card.

I have not yet been able to do so. Maybe because it’s the last thing on the list.

When my father died, I remember very well helping my mother plan the memorial service and the reception afterward. I watched her as she went through all the busy paperwork she had to do, and helped where I could. When the memorial service was held and the reception ended, I found myself standing at the front door of their house, looking out at the road. And I realized I was waiting for my father to come home, now that everything was done.

I think, in some ways, that’s what I’ve been doing. Goal-oriented – I’ve been achieving all that needs to be done, so then my life should go back to normal.

Which it won’t. I’ll achieve all the items, all the boxes will be checked off. But then what? Michael will still be gone.

A video of Michael, talking about his philosophy of teaching writing, came up in my Facebook Memories this week. I watched it, and it was the first time I heard Michael’s voice since right before his last day in hospice. On that day, he said, “I will never let you go,” while clasping me to his chest so hard in his hospice bed that we set off alarms. We both laughed.

I’ve been trying to help him to hold on. To never let me go. I’ve been trying to hold on too.

So this is all a very long way of saying there won’t be a Moment of Happiness this week. I am letting myself off the hook. And thank God for social media, which allowed me to hear my husband’s voice this week, and see his face, and see him animated and well and happy.

And, well, okay…I guess this is a Moment of Happiness. I am looking forward to next week, with the hope that I will have a Moment then.

Hope Always Rises, donchaknow.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.

For those who want to see the video with Michael talking about his teaching philosophy, you can see it here (I hope):