It’s been one year since the publishing of “Random Acts of Kindness: A Valentine for Valerie” in the Street Sense Media newspaper. A lot has happened in that time. Mostly good stuff, like winning the 2019 Best Commentary Award from the D.C. Society of Professional Journalists chapter, which she would’ve loved. But it all rings hollow without her around to share it with.
Writing “Valentine” was a gut-wrenching process and readers still ask me how I am getting along. It feels so good that so many people fell in love with her and her story of selflessness and sacrifice in the same way I did. I have tried to keep it together through therapy, prayer, meditation, and the overwhelming support of my Street Sense Media community.
But as the one-year anniversary of her death approached, I was still having difficulty staying in reality. I miss her so much that, emotionally, I continue to bleed. My mind still just wanders off into this space only people who have lost someone special can understand. At first I seriously felt like joining her — but I knew giving up would piss her off. So to honor her love and her undying faith in me, reluctantly I learned to push on with my life.
At times I was a mess and mad at the world but couldn’t see it. Coworkers and friends both encouraged me to take some time and grieve but I knew she’d never want me to abandon my work even over her loss so I attempted to work through my pain. When I look back I can see my unconscious untreated anger raised its ugly head at times and caused me to escalate situations at work that I could normally handle. Many started to plead with me to seek treatment.
Doing the work I do, helping people put their lives back together, this was the last thing I thought I needed. I didn’t realize how sick I was. I was holding on to the 1% chance that all of this was a dream. I kept seeing her and my denial had me investing my emotions in a miracle. The last time she appeared to me was late last spring when she came to me and spent the night. I fell asleep holding her tight and awoke to an empty bed. No one can tell me she wasn’t there as she looked at me and told me to “get on with it” and that moving on with my life is not “forgetting her.” Then, out of nowhere, I stopped hearing her voice and I felt so alone.
I found Dr. Fuji who helped me transition. Having someone who understood my unwillingness to let go was a game changer. I had turned my apartment into a shrine. His advice was, “You’ll know when to start taking it down and move on.” For the longest time, I felt guilty about the prospect and feared I’d forget all the details of our life together. But he talked to me about it being my process and no one else’s. Having a non-judgmental therapist was just what I needed. It seemed like most people were getting tired of my constant crying and sadness by then. He also cautioned against moving too fast and strongly suggested that I make no major changes in the first year after Val’s death. I understand why now, when I think of some of things I considered doing, like quitting my job, which I eventually did to find inner peace after 16 months.
By the end of the summer of 2019, I knew I had turned a corner. But my therapist warned, “There’ll be another corner, then another.” He said it takes about half the time you were in a relationship to “get over it.” The problem was that I didn’t want to and I felt guilty about the thought of being with someone else. Even though I had other “friends,” I just wanted her back. I had to work through not judging other people through her, which was hard. I even considered online dating to no avail because I was just looking for another Val, which was unfair and unhealthy.
Months after I thought her spirit finally left me, I was completely isolated other than work until an old teammate called me about our 50th year high-school reunion. I tried every excuse not to go. I hadn’t been to any of the previous reunions. I didn’t even go to my own prom or graduation. But my team captain challenged me and, since he was coming from North Carolina and we were about to turn 70 as a group, I figured this may be the last time I ever see many of them. So I reluctantly sent the money order in and, on Sept. 29, things changed for me.
Out of a senior class of almost 800, around 225 showed up fifty years later. Some of my teammates had followed me on social media and knew of my loss. They greeted me warmly. I marveled at how much time had changed us but we all interacted like we were 17-year-olds again. Some of them could still wear their old uniforms unlike me and most others. But I felt lucky to be able to walk in healthy. Many were in wheelchairs and using cains. Others showed signs of significant health problems including strokes. After looking at the list of those who had passed away, It made me get in touch with some gratitude.
As I walked in, a woman I didn’t remember sat at the first table. But as I moved around the room mingling, I couldn’t stop looking at her. For those three hours, I forgot about my life as I listened and got caught up on the lives of so many. And when the evening ended, I found myself at that same table being introduced by a teammate. As the conversation moved from topic to topic and landed on the subject of the food running out with none of us eating, there was an opening to say something to the person I had been embarrassingly and silently stalking. My mouth opened up but nothing came out. It was then I heard my Val’s voice for the last time saying, “Say something, Stupid.”
So I did, and I couldn’t believe she agreed to go to a midnight dinner with me at the Baltimore inner harbor of all places. I was further surprised when she asked, “My car or yours?”
Off we went. We ate and told our stories to one another and, lo and behold, she shared she had the misfortune of losing two lovers. The most recent was six years ago due to a heart attack — she knew what I was going through.
The next night I was her date at the closing dinner dance for the reunion. We have hung out and supported one another almost every day since. She has allowed me the space to be where I am in my grief and I can tell her anything when I need to talk about Val. It’s been a two-way street because she talks about her losses as well.
You see, I met the right person at the right time and It looks like Valerie has had a hand in making my life better one more time. A few days later, Oct. 2nd, was Valerie’s birthday. And I shared that I really wanted to return to our spot in Skyline Drive and release balloons, but I didn’t think I was emotionally strong enough. That’s when my new friend said, “I’ll go with you.” She did, and it made all the difference in the world.
Even in death, Val’s still there for me, proving what she said in one of her last cards: “I’ll never leave you, I will always love you and want the best for you.”
