Diane's Detox...Let's Heal

Nine Months Ago…

Was Yesterday.

By Diane Elizabeth Jackman

 DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all the people who have lost or will lose a Loved One. Don’t grieve too hard or too long for them. They are still here.

INTRODUCTION

My mother has been telling me for over 30 years, “Diane, you should write a book.” 

As a child I wrote poems for homemade cards and articles for school newspapers. As an adult I continue to write poems for special occasions, I’ve had a few newspaper articles published on natural healthcare and I contribute a “Ways to Wellness” column to a mag-ezine called TruthSeekerTimes.com, so I have always been writing. I have been told that is what I should do.

I just never believed I would find the time to write a book.

A real book.

But then I never thought my 51 year old husband would die either.

The happiest day of our lives together ended abruptly when he had a completely unexpected heart attack nine months ago. We had just reconciled after a brief separation and our future was so bright. Unfortunately, the light we were seeing at the end of the tunnel turned out to be the proverbial train and it hit him head on. He died at the height of his career and my life train derailed and caused a huge wreck in my world.

Nine months later I think it is safe to say much of the debris from the wreck has been cleared and my train is back on track and gaining steam. In the process of trying to heal from the heart ache of losing my soul mate and best friend I have done some serious self study, researched many new healing techniques and, apparently, given birth to my first real book.

If my husband hadn’t died I might have found the time to write a book about the self healing techniques I teach and some information on Natural Law Theories. I think I would have called that book, “I Met a Fiddle Player on My Way to the Ashram.” I think a Yogini-Caregiver-Carpenter married to a traveling Musician-Luthier-Pilot would have been extremely entertaining.

The story of how we met, his musical career, the building of our homes and the trips we’d taken on land and sea, for work and pleasure, would have made a comical adventure novel. That book may have even inspired a few readers to begin doing yoga, meditation, eat better or breathe more deeply to improve their quality of life.

There also would have been a chapter dedicated to the “dos and don’ts” of being married to a musician, and trust me, I had the “don’ts” down pat. Don’t eat in front of him when he is on stage and hungry, don’t yawn while he is performing, don’t sit too close to the stage because people who want to talk to you don’t realize how difficult it is to block out what your wife is talking about, and don’t try to drink as much as the professional does; are just a few the things I learned in the 9 years I spent with Fiddlin’ Red.

I learned a lot about myself while my husband was alive; he was my best friend, my worst critic and my most vivid mirror. We were both obsessive-addictive-co-dependent-competitive personalities. We had acquired, in our short 51 years of life, a whole list of behaviors we ‘baby-boomers’ are beginning to talk about more openly. Where there is communication and realization there is hope.

During our nine years together, I realized we all have imperfections and how important it is, especially when in a relationship, to work on being a better human being through compassion, understanding, peace and acceptance.

I have learned even more about myself, human nature, life and life after life since his passing. Apparently self-improvement is a never-ending job.

I believe the story I have written now of the thoughts and events and how I coped with things I’ve had to cope with following Red’s heart attack is more important than the humorous adventure novel I might have written. There were so many things we could have done, should have done, to make life easier for the “one left behind.”

Losing my husband has been a little different for me than it would be for most people. We had one of those wonderful “long distance marriages,” so I am used to being by myself. We talked several times daily on our cell phones, sent text messages often and loved each other very much. He traveled around the southeast playing music while I spent most of my time in Dixie County, helping heal the earth, one person at a time.

It seems like Red died yesterday and then it seems like years ago. But really it still just seems like it can’t be possible. It didn’t really happen. It couldn’t have. I can still hear his music, his laughter and see his smile. Then, I realize, he’s still here. He always will be.

I am proud to say I never asked God, “Why?”

Oh, I asked The Universe what caused his physical body to die but I never questioned why he was taken from this dimension on the happiest day of our lives together.

I realize he left at the very peak of his life. We were together. We were so happy and I believe there are no mistakes.

I began to keep a journal to try to force my mind to stop reliving the nightmare of his death over and over again. If I wrote about my accomplishments and focused on the positive aspects and how blessed I was I believed I could stop the scene of “Red’s Tragic Heart Attack” from playing in my mind.

Keeping a journal of events, thoughts and feelings allows me to see how my mood does not have to be affected by the changes in my life.

Watching myself and The Universe very closely makes me realize “how” I feel when different things happen is entirely up to me.

Recognizing the miracles happening daily in my world is helping me move forward. It is important for me to move forward and I know every step I take is a forward one, even when I stumble.

Keeping a journal also allows me to share the laughter and the tears with others while I am learning.

I hope this book helps someone, somewhere, sometime. Facing life alone isn’t easy, and I know I am never really alone, but there are things we can do to make it easier for our loved ones when we die.

My mother explained to me at my last visit my father has put her name on both of their vehicles. I have already helped one very important couple make the transition to being alone a little easier.

Perhaps with this story I can also help some understand the miracles of life and death and Natural Law Theories as I see them. This book was written to help me heal and hopefully it can help you too.

July 1998………………………………………Setting the Stage

Before I share the events of my life following my husband’s death, or better, the events of my life following the beginning of Red’s life in eternity, I must set the stage. Setting the stage will help you understand why I felt the way I did after 9 years of love, laughter and life on the road with one of the greatest entertainers who ever lived; a gifted musician and my soul mate, Lawrence “Fiddlin Red” Seidman.

The year was 1998 and I wasn’t keeping a journal then. I was quite happy with my position in life and much too busy to try to write down everything that was happening. I was 42 years old. I’d accomplished many things throughout the years and I was getting ready to start on a completely new life. I was headed for an ashram in California to dedicate my life to God.

I’d just spent a few years working on me; learning how to control my addictive, obsessive personality and successfully conquering some severe problems with drugs and alcohol. For years I’d found it easy to blame my problems on someone else, after all, my husband left me after 15 years of marriage. I felt abandoned and successfully clouded my reality with that “fog of addictions.” I’d successfully sent myself into my very own personal hell.

Fortunately, before it was too late, I began to understand the problems in my life were my responsibility.  With the help of a few close friends and a book about yoga, I recovered from the loss of my first husband, the father of my children, and I reclaimed my life.

In reclaiming my life I regained my self-worth and was, once again, very proud of whom I’d been who I was and where I was going in life. I’d owned 2 very successful retail stores, I’d had 2 husbands and I’d built a house with each of them. I’d been a supervisor of a 5 diamond resort, I’d become skilled in fiberglass repairs and wood working, I’d done volunteer work for a few wonderful elderly ladies, been a caretaker of many beautiful properties and caregiver for a few disabled folks, some wonderfully inspirational, some frighteningly self-centered and down right mean.

I’d lived a wonderful, full life and was preparing to make a break from the rat race. I was confident in my actions. I was comfortable in my skin and with my decisions once again. It felt good. I was proud of where I was in my life but I knew I wanted more.

I had been practicing yoga and meditation diligently for over a year and I’d decided to leave the Florida Keys and dedicate my life to helping others and to advance myself, spiritually speaking.

I was carefully packing my essential belongings and I was on my way to an ashram in California. I called my mother to tell her of my plans and she promptly asked me, “When are you going to have time for a man?”

Bless her heart. At the time, she and my father had been happily married for 43 years and believed in partnering for life. Well, so did I until I found out it takes two people feeling that way to make it last forever. 

I tried to explain to my mother I had decided I didn’t need a man in my life; I’d had enough relationships and enough disappointments. I wanted to do something different.

I remember her response and I quote her quite often. Her voice came ringing across the phone line, “If men and women weren’t meant to be together they wouldn’t fit so good.”

I laughed and told her I would come up and see her and Daddy in Maine before I headed to the west coast. It may be awhile until I returned.

August 1, 1998………………………Meeting The Fiddle Player

It was August 1, 1998. I remember the exact date, as it was the wedding anniversary I used to celebrate with my first husband. When you have an anniversary for 15 years, you rarely forget it.

I decided to celebrate my memories and take a break from my packing and go for a walking meditation. I had forgiven the ex-husband and was thankful for the lessons I’d learned from my relationship with him not to mention the thankfulness I felt from the blessings of my 2 wonderful sons.

It was Sunday and I knew there was live music less than a half a mile away at Plantation Yacht Harbor. I’d already biked to work all week as my old Ford Van still wouldn’t start, even after I changed the starter. Walking sounded like the perfect mode of transportation for my break from packing. I grabbed my bottle of water and headed towards some good music, some fun and a completely unexpected turn of events.

I crossed US 1 in Islamorada, about mile marker 88 and headed for the Tiki Hut at Plantation Yacht Harbor. PYH isn’t there anymore, but in its day, it was THE gathering place on the weekends. People came from miles around, on boats, by car, by foot and by bicycle. The music started about noon and the party lasted till late in the evening. Anyone who has spent time in the Florida Keys knows where there is music, especially GOOD music, there’s a party.

Before the Founders of Islamorada tore our oasis on the bay down the locals, and a few lucky tourists who stumbled in, would sit under the Tiki and listen to bands like Roach Thompson, The Sauce Boss (before Jimmy Buffet wrote a song about him, Dave Feder, Built for Comfort Band and scores of other great, down-to-earth-love-to-have-a-good-time musicians.

This particular Sunday, my youngest son, Jason, 17 years old at the time, was supposed to play saxophone with a local band. He worked at a resort in their water sports rental shop every summer and played his saxophone every chance he got. He was going to go to college for music, but, because of life's changes, is now doing grad work in science education at Cornell University instead. Thank goodness for those life changes. 

The band this Sunday was one my son had been playing with whenever possible for the past 4 years. I think the only thing better than listening to great music is listening to great music when someone you love is on stage.

I was walking onto the property towards the Florida Bay, the music and the party, when Jason beeped me from his work. Yeah, remember when everyone beepers instead of cell phones?

I stopped at the pay phone, which was known to work intermittently, and attempted to call him at work. On the third try I finally got through to hear him tell me he couldn’t make it. I contained my disappointment, thanked him for letting me know and told him I’d see him later.

I carefully sat down on a bench at one of the picnic tables under the dilapidated Tiki. Hurricanes had truly taken their toll on the structure and the seats. You always had to be careful when sitting down on their weather-worn benches. Many of them had splinters so big they could do some serious damage.

This was going to be fun. The crowd was enjoying the band and there was a guy playing fiddle. Little did I know exactly how much fun it was going to be, and how this fiddle player was going to change my life. 

They sounded great but it was one of those unbearably hot-humid-no-wind-days on the bay in the Keys and the musicians were miserably overheated. When they went on their first break I approached the lead singer and told him I had some rotating fans back at the trailer. Would he like to run over and get them?

He eagerly answered, “That would be great, we‘ll take my truck.” He started to head toward his vehicle and I watched the fiddle player to see if he was interested in going along for the ride.

He wasn’t following and I thought he was rather cute and seemed like he had so much fun on stage he’d probably be a lot of fun off stage too. I turned to him, introduced myself and asked, “Aren’t you coming? We’re going to get you guys some real fans; the kind to help you stay cool on stage.”

He laughed, put down his beer, told me his name was Red and that it looked like it might be crowded in the front seat of the pick up truck. I smiled and asked if he minded if I sat in his lap and he said, “No Ma’am, I’m just a lonely boy from northern Georgia. I’d love for you to sit on my lap.”

I think that was the moment Cupid hit us both between the eyes, smack dab on the heartstrings, or wherever else that little angel hits to make two people go weak in the knees.

We visited at my trailer for a few minutes while Red longingly watched the bonefish rolling on the flats. “I’d love to throw a line out there,” he laughed. I told him the fish were there nearly all the time. He grinned from ear to ear. I told him I wasn’t sure whether I wanted anyone to stick a hook in my fishes’ mouths, but he was welcome to come watch them with me, anytime.

We loaded the fans in the back of the truck and headed back across the street. They got on stage and it felt like Red played just for me the rest of the afternoon. We exchanged winks and smiles and grinned for hours. We talked during his breaks and I found out there was a tremendous attraction between us. The chemistry was something I had never felt before with anyone.

He came back to my trailer after the gig, to watch the bonefish and we found Jason watching TV. We hung out for a while with him, sitting on the ocean. I told Red stories about the storms I’d watched from my couch. The water was calm today but there was definitely something brewing.

Red smiled at me and asked if I would like to go back to the band house and help him get his stuff together and I agreed instantly. He looked at Jason and asked, “Would you mind if I borrowed your mother for a few hours?” I melted at his southern accent and his gentlemanly manners.

Well, a few hours looked like it was going to turn into much longer, so I called Jason to let him know I would be home in the morning.

We spent the next 3 days together, never leaving each other’s side. We watched bonefish doing their thing…while we did ours and then it was time for him to head to Key West to play at Sloppy Joes. When he was ready to leave he said, “I don’t know if you are feeling what I am feeling, but it is scaring me.”

I told him I didn’t want to talk about my feelings either, they were much too strong, too soon. So we kissed goodbye and as he left, he drove around the circle in front of my trailer 3 times, waving and laughing each time he went by my doorstep.

He had said he would call but I wasn’t so sure he would, and quite honestly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted him too. I was on my way to an ashram and my life plans did not include a man. Of course, you know the best way to make God laugh don’t you? Make some plans!

Later that afternoon he did call. He told me he missed me and wanted to spend more time with me before he left the Keys. I told him I would love to see him again. He offered to drive the 90 miles back up the Keys and pick me up, either after his gig that night or the next day. He had 5 more days to work in Key West.

I told him he didn’t need to drive back up; it was such a waste of gas. I wouldn’t mind riding the bus down the following day, after I ran errands in the morning. Red laughed and told me nobody had ever ridden a bus to see him before… I laughed and told him I wasn’t just anybody and I would love to be the first to ride a bus to see him.

I checked the bus schedule as soon as we hung up and packed a small bag for the following day. I had some sweet dreams about my fiddle player that night.

The next morning I awoke excited about spending time with Red in Key West. The little voice inside my head asked, “Diane, what are you thinking?” I didn’t answer but another voice said, “Live in the now.” I liked that voice better. Ok, voices, let’s just see where it goes.

After I’d taken care of business I walked out to the main highway, flagged down bus and climbed aboard. I had ridden the bus often and the bus driver said hello and asked if I was headed for some more fun in Key West?

I told him I wouldn’t be riding all the way to the Key West bus station this trip. I’d be getting off on Summerland Key at Murray’s Grocery Store.

When I got to Murray’s Market Red was there waiting with open arms. I learned to love those arms, that smile and those warm and loving greetings.

For the next few days I acted as his roadie and his number one fan. He grinned and had more fun on stage than any musician I had ever watched before… I was hooked, and fortunately, so was he.

At the end of the week we drove back up the Keys together and he stayed a couple more nights with me at my trailer. He and my son got along famously and I overheard Jason telling his older brother he wouldn’t mind having this guy as a stepfather. Hmmm, I hadn’t considered marriage again, but that was nice to hear. I was glad when my sons approved of the people I shared my time with; I’d have to see what happened next. I still wanted to go to the ashram but I sure felt like I was falling in love. Our souls seem so connected and everything else fit pretty good too.

I watched Red as he packed his bag to head out on the road. He would be working for his dad for a couple of months and then would be back in the Keys again to play music sometime in October. Little did I know I would spend a lot of time over the next 9 years watching him pack his bags to go off on the road.

He had just purchased a piece of property north of Atlanta and we talked about my coming up and checking out the area. I said we’d see how things went, and if I did make it there and I did like it, we could talk about the price I would charge to build a house for him.

I was slightly saddened, by his leaving, but knew it would give us both a chance to sort out our feelings. By now he realized I was an early riser and when he hugged me to say goodbye, he asked me if I would call him every morning and be his “wake up call” so he didn’t have to use his alarm. I readily agreed.

I stood in the doorway of my trailer by the sea to wave goodbye to this wonderful man who’d entered my life. He started his truck and drove around in a circle, waving and laughing…and for the next 9 years, nearly every time he left to go play on a gig, he would drive around in a circle, waving and laughing, making me happier then I ever thought I could be.

I called him the following morning to wake him at 7:30am. We never spoke for long on the early morning conversations. I would say, “Good morning, this is your wake up call,” he would say thank you and would call back after his 2 cups of coffee and his newspaper. For the next 4 weeks we would talk for hours learning everything you could possibly learn about another person over the phone.

He wanted me to fly to Atlanta and spend a few nights with him in the mountains and then drive with me to Maine so he could meet my folks. This had never happened to me before. This man was sure he loved me and wanted me to build him a house so we could live happily ever after.

I wanted to follow my heart but I was so confused. I decided to consult a book for my answer. Often, when I am not sure what to do I find if I pick up a book and silently ask a question of Spirit I will open and read the answer to my question.

I picked up a book and asked Spirit what to do. I opened the book to a chapter on love and marriage and the first words I read were, “When God gives you a partner, take them into your life and consider them a blessed gift.”  OK, got it!

So, Red booked a flight for me, met me at the airport in Atlanta, I loved the property, we drove to Maine, and spent the next 9 years together in marital bliss-well, most of the time it was blissful.

9/98-10/07………………………Nearly Nine Years Together

We’ll fast forward through the 9 years we were together by saying, when it was good it was very, very, VERY good, and it when it was bad…well, I try not to think about it. If I write another book, it’ll be about the crazy life we had together. I have the pictures, the diary and such wonderful memories.

In the beginning I traveled everywhere with him, mostly sitting in the suburban while he went into pawn shops to buy musical instruments to have repaired and to resell to music stores around the southeast. Of course, I learned that “buying” instruments meant LOTS of talking with pawnshop owners. I would sit for hours and dream and meditate and read and practice being very patient.

We’d stay in motels and drink wine and laugh and love each other.

We decided on May 5, 1999 to get married on the following Saturday, 3 days away. We’d purchased wedding rings in a pawn shop back in September of 1998, a month after we met, and had the owner of the pawn shop perform a ceremony. He pronounced us man and wife when we put rings on each others fingers, but now Red wanted more and so did I.

We got the marriage certificate in Tavernier and headed for Key Largo to shop for the party. I spent $113 on vegetables, dip, cheese, crackers and two heart shaped cakes. I took the “I Love Mom” decorations off of the cakes. It was Mother’s Day weekend. We went out on the sailboat, The Calypso Poet, with about a dozen friends. The captain performed the ceremony at sunset.

We laughed and figured May 8, when said quickly May-ate, would be an easy date for Red to remember, as he said he wasn’t good at remembering anniversaries.

We worked on designing the perfect house to fit the foundation he already owned. The lumber was delivered for the house on my birthday, May 25^th. We always joked he was going to hire me to build him a house but decided it was cheaper to marry me instead. Besides, then I would be around when he needed repairs or another house built. Here I was building house number three with husband number three. Seemed fitting.

I encouraged him to get back into the music business full time because not only was he the most talented musician I had ever seen on stage, he was SO happy when he was playing music for a crowd. He could play any kind of music with anyone and he always made whomever he was playing with sound so much better while he humbly, stole the show. He would laugh and say he was a true side-man, fulfilling his namesake-Seidman (Side-man:)

As the years flew by, I began to realize why he had taken the break from the “jukebox scene” of a traveling musician and acted as a cowboy the couple of years before I met him. Life on the road, and on the stage, takes its toll, not only on relationships but on one’s health; especially when one does not want to say, “No, thank you. I have already had 14 shots of tequila. I don’t really need another one.”

It was like living on a roller coaster. When it was at the top it was so exciting sparks flew when we were together.

When it started on the downhill part of the ride it was painful, so painful, I would leave him on the road, go back to the house and build something and ask God what I was supposed to do.

In addition to the difficulties alcohol was causing we were creating a tremendous amount of debt. Red loved expensive things and he loved to travel. Each time he insisted we should go to the islands sailing or on vacation somewhere I would say, “Honey, the credit cards.”

He would say sternly, “I’m not going to live forever,” and I would give in to another fun-filled-debt-producing trip. In hind sight, I am so glad I never said no.

Every few months or so I would have a talk with him, explain to him, HE couldn’t go on like this, WE couldn’t go on like this. I understood how hard it was to say “No, thank you,” to the offers of drinks all night long, but it was killing him and us.

The debt was adding so much stress to our lives I decided to take a full time job for a couple of years, despite his desire to have me with him on the road.

He did his best to control his alcohol intake and his anger and things were wonderful for awhile. He would drink a few Heinekens and refuse the shots, well, at least most of them. He would leave the bar when he was done with work, call me on his way back to the band house and laughingly say, “I have escaped.”

We’d talk several times each day of how much we missed each other and how someday we wouldn’t have to spend so much time apart.

We were so in love and it felt so right. We were always faithful despite the weeks we would have to spend apart. It was a story- book-long-distance love affair so much of the time.

In May of 2007, I went back to home improvement work which I could do anywhere and began traveling with him again. We were able to spend more time together and things were very, very, very good for awhile.

Then, predictably, the bottom fell out again. He was more stressed than ever and I couldn’t be around him when he was in that state. I came back to northern Florida, to live in the little rental house I had purchased while I had the full time job.

I was doing home improvements and helping promote natural healthcare at “The Center” in Chiefland. I put together a yoga program and realized I was doing what I loved to do most; helping people by teaching them yoga, Qi gong and nutrition, healing the earth one person at a time.

October 6, 2007……………………………………………..The End?

Saturday morning, October 6th, he called and he was at his ugliest. He started the verbal abuse his intense hangovers brought on and said for the umpteenth time, “Diane, we have to stop doing this to each other.” I am not sure what we were arguing about, it didn’t matter, it was the same script. We had rehearsed it over and over and over and I was in tears.

But this time, I changed my line. Instead of saying, “Honey, we can work it out,” I found myself saying, “Red, you are right. We can’t keep doing this to each other. I am 51 years old and I don’t want to fight with you the rest of my life. I am going to pick up the papers and file for a divorce.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

I continued, “Why don’t I pick you up at the airport in Atlanta on Monday as we planned and we can spend one last wonderful week at the mountain and figure out how to divide everything up.”

I swallowed and couldn’t believe my ears. Did that come out of my mouth? I was accustomed to hearing things come out of my mouth unexpectedly, but this was life-changing.

The silence was broken by his gruff, angry, “Fine, we’ll talk about it later.”

He called later, expecting everything to be ok and back to normal. He told me he had taken a nice bike ride and was ready to go to work. Either he was pretending the morning’s conversation had never happened or he didn’t remember it.

I told him to have a good night at work and how I was looking forward to being at the mountain home with him one last time.

He said, “You aren’t serious about this divorce-stuff are you?” and I said, “Yes, Red, you aren’t going to change and we can’t keep this up.”

“You are right. I am not going to change for you or anyone else. Have a good day. Maybe I will call you tomorrow,” he hung up angrily and most likely in disbelief. I used to call the state he was while in the Keys his “alcohol fog” because when one drinks day after day after day, there is no reality. I have been there. I understand what it feels like. You drink to cover up the pain, to forget, and then you just drink because that is what you do.

When he called on Sunday, he was a bit more humble and asked if I still felt the same way. I remember thinking, well, at least he remembers, and I assured him I thought it was the only way. He got angry again.

How could I do this to him when he was on his way to work? I had heard him say that a hundred times. He was always on his way to work. When things were unpleasant between us he would call on his way to work so he wouldn’t have to talk to me for very long. He knew I was one of those people who had to communicate and he wasn’t. Pretend everything is ok and it will be.

I tried to calm him down, but it was a waste of my breath. He hung up on me and I went back to packing my bags. I was planning on driving north to spend the night in Atlanta so I could pick him up at the airport in the morning.

After he was done with his Sunday afternoon gig in Islamorada, he called me on his way back to where our motor home was parked. He was finally realizing I was serious and he was furious. He blamed me for the way he felt and he couldn’t stay in the motor home any more, it was parked in the yard where three of my best friends lived.

He couldn’t stay anywhere. He didn’t belong anywhere. He didn’t belong with anyone. He was going to get into his car and just drive. He would let me know whether or not I should pick him up at the airport on Monday. He didn’t know what to do.

I drove the six hours to Atlanta and stayed with my girlfriend wondering what would happen next and knowing I had to do what I was doing. 

When I got up in the morning and turned on my phone there was a message from him. He had canceled his plane ticket and was driving to Georgia. I rushed up to the mountain home to get some of my belongings and get out of there as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to be at the house with him in person. I was afraid he would try to talk me into staying with him, which would have been easy because I loved him so very much. I also had a little fear I might stand my ground and really leave him, and that would make him mad, fighting mad.

There had only been one occasion of physical violence during our entire relationship, and that was a long time ago, when I was drinking too much along with him. This was different. I had never told him I was REALLY leaving him before. I wasn’t going to take any chances with my safety.

I drove through the 2 creeks and up the hill and quickly packed my truck. I breathlessly headed down the mountain knowing I would meet him on the way out, actually hoping I would, because I did love him so very much and I wanted to see him here in Talking Rock one last time.

We met at the bottom of the hill. He screeched on his brakes and I stopped my truck. We spoke for a couple of minutes, while sitting in our vehicles and he kept saying, “I can’t believe you are doing this…” and then he was at a loss for words.

I asked him if there were any tools he needed, so he could work on the guitar he was building and he said if I could spare the drill he needed to use it and would return it on his way south.

I climbed up in the back of my truck and got the drill out of my tool box. As I was handing it to him I noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. I took mine off and gave it to him and asked him to pawn them and split the money with me. He’d purchased them in a pawnshop a month after we had met and it seemed only fitting they go back from whence they came.

He said no, he wasn’t going to pawn them. He’d throw them in the creek. I said, “Then give it back to me,” and he did. He said his was in the ashtray for now and he would try to figure out what to do with it later.

I told him we could work through this. We could split everything up while we were still speaking. I told him he was my best friend and quite honestly, financially speaking, this was the stupidest time for me to break up with him. With my help his career was flourishing and mine was just starting to be profitable. There isn’t a lot of money in healing the earth and home improvement is hard work. I would figure out what else I had to do to make ends meet.

He reached in to his car and gave me an apple and asked me to come up to the house. As I write this I wonder how things would have changed if I had gone with him but I don’t wonder for long. It was always the same; a happy beginning, a rocky road and then the bottom would drop out and then we would make up. Making up was fun but the rocky roads were not.

He spent the next few days alone at the mountain home calling me often and writing loving emails to me, “Please, won’t you reconsider. I really am a lonely boy in northern Georgia now and I don’t want us to end this way.”

He visited with his friends in northern Georgia and had as much fun as a broken-hearted man could have. He talked things over with his old friends and they all said the same thing, “If you love her and want to be with her you know what you have to do. You have to do what she is asking you to do. Cut back on the booze.”

Nope, nobody was going to make him do that.

For the next four weeks he was the kindest, most loving man he could be for someone going through a divorce. I picked up the paperwork at the courthouse and began filling in the blanks while he wrote long, loving emails every day. He never took the time to write to me while we were together. He was too busy with his hangovers and his fans.

He stopped on his way back to Key West to drop off the drill and we sat at our kitchen table in Dixie County and wrote the first draft of how to split everything up. I wrote an email to all our fans letting them know we were going to have the first public, friendly divorce ever. He always joked that I needed my own fan club and I told him we could just share all of our friends/fans. We could even stay friends ourselves, if we tried hard enough.

His emails began to tell me a lot more. He began to open up and admit he was SO angry with himself and what he did to his body. He told me how sorry he was he had directed all that anger towards me. He explained he was feeling better about himself. He was cutting back on his alcohol consumption, riding his bike and feeling better. He was changing for himself. He thanked me for making him see what he needed to do.

He never gave up trying to convince me we could work it out.

I never stopped loving him and wanting it to work out.

November 11th, 2007……………………………Let’s Try Again

I called him on November 11th and left a message asking him if he would like to have lunch with me on his way through town, that I missed him so much I was wearing his shirts. I always wore his shirts when I missed him. It made me feel closer to him.

He called back and left me the most beautiful, love-filled message I have ever heard. He said he had prayed I would invite him to stop so we could talk in person. My husband actually said he had prayed, and coming from a self-proclaimed atheist, that meant a lot to me.

He called me when he left Destin, excited about stopping to see me. About two hours into the trip he called again worried about his car. He wasn‘t sure what was going on. It was running rough and instead of getting his normal 43mpg he was getting about 20mpg, but he wasn’t going to stop until he reached my side.

I laughed and told him I would meet him at the garage at the end of the street and asked him to call me when he got into town. I had rescheduled my afternoon appointment so we could spend the rest of the day together. I was on my way to bid on a deck job and was looking forward to his call when he got closer.

I kept my appointment and rushed home to tidy up a bit. I figured he would be calling me at any moment so I started down to my truck. As I was starting my truck he called to tell me the mechanic had looked at the car but didn’t have time to do the repair. All it needed was a set of spark plug wires.

He left the mechanic’s yard and I left ours and drove up to meet him. We were so excited about seeing each other we were talking over each other and finishing each other’s sentences.

He invited me to ride with him to get the parts the same time I was telling him I wanted to ride with him… we laughed and said simultaneously, “I can’t wait to see you!”

We couldn’t stop talking to each other and then I said, “I see you. You just turned onto my sight.”

He said, “Where are you? Oh, there you are,” he laughed, lovingly.

I said, “I can’t wait to be in your arms,” and hung up.

He pulled his car to the side of the road and I pulled my truck in front of him. Our vehicles were nose to nose and we jumped out and ran towards each other and embraced. It was better than any movie scene I have ever seen! We kissed and hugged as though we would never let go.

Lunch turned into dinner and I invited him to spend the night. He said, “I don’t have to be in Key West until 5pm tomorrow” and we laughed and ate and loved each other as though we had never been apart. He drove my truck in to get his spark plug wires and I sat in the passenger seat realizing how much I loved him. He drove back and switched the new wires with the old ones and started the car. It ran perfectly.

He left at 5am to be in Key West for his early evening gig after driving around in circles and waving and laughing. I had no idea it would be the last time he would do that.

We spent the next few days on the phone A LOT; vowing to never let the shit hit the fan again. We would work this out. We loved each other.  We were soul mates and we were supposed to be together. We did not want to live apart.

I drove to Key West to be with him for the Thanksgiving holiday. Our new neighbors in Dixie County were going to meet us at the Hogs Breath. They had never seen him play before and they were in for a great treat.

We had a wonderful 18 days together, holding hands, doing yoga, walking, and just BEING together. He wrote in the “Bruce and Red” blog on the internet to all his friends and fans around the world, “If you see a beautiful woman in the audience that looks like Diane, it is! We realized we couldn’t be apart so we are back together and we are a force to be reckoned with!” 

We were, once again, ‘rock and rolls most beautiful couple’ and holding hands in the public eye for all to see.

I joked and explained to him I had saved every loving email he had written while he was trying to convince me we could work it out. I told him, “In 6 months from now when things start to slide downhill again I am going to send them to you to remind you how much you love me and how much I mean to you.” He laughed and said it wouldn’t be necessary. He wasn’t going back to “Rude-Red” ever again.

We had fun in Key West and headed to Key Largo. I was his number one groupie, at his side, once again and life was good.

Everyone was rejoicing at our reconnection. It felt so right.

We traveled north together, in separate vehicles, to spend the week relaxing at our home on the lake. We spoke of the possibility of driving to the mountain to return my belongings to our home there but decided to simplify our lives and just stay at the lake. There was no hurry.

We spent the next 4 days in wedded bliss. He would get up in the morning and stretch and work on the guitar he was building and I would stretch with him and then go to work on the jobs I had going; finishing a closet, repairing a deck, etc.

I had never felt so good with him and I had never seen him so relaxed and happy.

The last day of my husband’s life was truly the happiest day we ever spent together. We got up and had coffee. I went in to teach a yoga lesson at The Center and then returned to spend a glorious afternoon with him.

We laughed and went for a walk and held hands and packed for our scheduled trip the following morning. We were actually going to ride together to the Keys for the weekend’s gigs and come back for another week at home on the lake. Maybe we would bring my belongings back to the mountain then but maybe we would just stay at the lake and he could work on the guitars he was building. No hurries, no worries.

I had a presentation at the local middle school that evening. I had been considering starting a yoga program for the kids and when they invited me to speak I jumped at the chance. I asked Red if he wanted to go along and he said he would love to be my roadie for a change.

He helped me carry my posters in and chatted with some of the folks who were there. He found a local musician and they exchanged a few stories. I walked up just in time to hear him say for the umpteen-millionth time, “Yep, I have been drunk on 5 continents.” The man he was speaking to laughed and said that was one of the reasons he had given up the music business.

I spoke to the group and as I was taking my final bow to a great round of applause I saw Red sitting there smiling and clapping. It brought tears to my eyes to see him so proud of me and how beautiful it was to have switched positions with him.

After we left there he kept saying what a great job I had done. I said, “Let’s go to Petrellos and have a glass of wine to celebrate.” It had been 3 whole days since we’d any alcohol; the longest time he had gone without a drink since we’d been together.

He said he thought that would be great. That he had really enjoyed taking time off drinking and that glass of wine was going to taste really good.

We arrived at the quiet restaurant and toasted each other at the bar. There was a nice young man behind the bar and we laughed and talked with him for awhile. Red admired his fake leg and he said, “Yeah, I figure some people lose a loved one, all I have lost is my leg.” Within the hour I would begin to experience what it was like to lose a loved one.

Paulie the owner came out and closed the doors to the public and we sat and laughed with him and his friend and had another glass of wine. Red promised to bring his fiddle next time and I could tell he was feeling great about life.

All the way home he talked of how he was going to start playing at Petrellos. He would learn a bunch of Frank Sinatra songs and surprise Paulie. He was going to cut back on playing on the road and get more into building guitars. He wanted to start a life for himself with me here in Dixie County. It sounded so good.

Then we were home tearing off each other’s clothes and rushing to the bedroom. We’d been making passionate love for 30 minutes or so when he gasped and stiffened. I knew immediately something was very, very wrong.

November 30, 2007, 12:12am………Red’s Exit; Stage Left

What I had been dreading, what I had occasionally envisioned, and spoken of to my closest friends and family was happening.

This man who had come into the movie of my life so abruptly, while I was on my way to the ashram to serve God, was exiting even more quickly than he had appeared. Now it was his turn to change the script and leave me, alone. I felt his Spirit fall through me. It felt like the Spirit of the bird I had hit with my truck and killed just a few weeks ago.

I threw his body off of me screaming his name. I began CPR pushing on his sternum rhythmically and looking at his half-closed, expressionless eyes. I knew he was already gone as with the first push his urine squirted on me. I remember being with a friend’s dog who died and eliminated immediately. Oh my God this wasn’t really happening. Maybe I could help bring him back.

I ran and grabbed my cell phone which was in the living room and fortunately still on. I wouldn’t have to wait for it to power up. I knew every second counted.

The time was 12:12am and I dialed 911 wondering if they would be able to transfer me. I have a 305 area code and I was in the 352 area code. I blew into his mouth his chest rose. His airway was clear.

I listened to the woman on the other end of the phone while I breathed again and watched his chest rise and explained to her I needed someone in the 352 area code. She asked what county I was in and I answered Dixie County. She connected me immediately.

I was crying and counting and pushing on his chest when Dixie County emergency came on the line. I gave them my physical address and explained I lived near the boat ramp. They were on their way.

I was checking the position of his head and my hands and counting and pushing and crying. I was working on him in total disbelief. I picked up my phone and cried to the woman, I knew he was gone but I was going to keep trying. She was encouraging me to keep doing CPR and the crew would be there any moment.

I remember seeing the lights of the emergency crews appear in the yard and hung up the phone at 12:21am. I remember thinking what a great response time and ran to open the front door. I put on the dress I found on the floor and ran back to Red’s body.

The ambulance crew yelled in the door and I called to them and told them I was in the back. They dashed in and asked how long he had been out and I said I had called 911 seconds after he collapsed at 12:12am.

They checked their watches, grabbed him and pulled him onto the floor. I asked if I should have done that and they said no. It was just to allow them room to work on him.

They asked if he had any health problems and I answered no.

The woman started CPR and I asked if there was anything I could do to help. She said I could continue with the CPR while they set up their equipment. I took her place and as she opened up her bag she watched me and told me I was doing a good job and to keep it up.

I turned my head as they put the tube into his mouth and down his throat. He wasn’t gagging and I was trying not to and they asked me to stop CPR. They were going to start an IV with a solution to try to bring him back.

I positioned myself so I could hold his hand and I watched them do their job. I threw a tee shirt over his private parts and giggled nervously and said, “He’d appreciate that. He’s shy.” The tee shirt had a heart on it and said LOVE, and somehow, that was appropriate. I was trying not to cry too loudly. I didn’t want to distract them.

I whimpered while they worked on him and other emergency crew people appeared in the doorway. I was sitting inside my closet and realized my husband’s hand was growing cold.

I said, “His hand is getting cold. He’s never cold.” My Red was never cold. He was always there to warm me up.

After several minutes and 4 bags of different liquids I heard them say, they were so sorry. There was nothing they could do. He was gone.

I was aware of one of them walking out of the room and trying to make a call on their cell phone. The other stayed with me and watched as I sobbed in disbelief, holding my dead husband’s hand, putting my head on his chest one last time. I wondered if his spirit was floating around the room, watching in disbelief too. I told him I was so sorry I couldn’t save him and that I loved him so. I told him he would be ok and tried to comfort his spirit.

I came back to reality when I realized they were all trying to call out on their cell phones unsuccessfully. There was no service. I realized I wasn’t doing Red or myself any good sitting there sobbing, talking to the air. I dropped his cold hand. I couldn’t bear to look at his half opened eyes anymore either. It was just a body laying there his soul used to live in. He wasn’t here any more and there was nothing I could do about it.

I walked out into the living room where the other emergency crew people were still trying to call out on their cell phones. No one had any service and did not understand why. They asked if I had a land line and what funeral home would I like him to go to. I asked if there were any in Dixie County. “Only one,” they answered.

I unplugged the phone line to my computer and plugged it into the telephone and said the local one would be fine. I guessed we would have his service here. His parents were only an hour away and this was my home.

They explained there would have to be an autopsy because he’d had no history of ill health. He would have to be taken to Gainesville. The funeral parlor would transport him and then bring him back and do whatever I asked them to do with his body. The director of the funeral home was on his way.

I remember thinking and then saying I wasn’t decent in my house dress and they said I was fine. I was standing next to a chair with Red’s shirt draped over the back. I put it on over my dress as the funeral parlor owner arrived. He came in and introduced himself and I shook the hand of the man who owned the only funeral parlor in Dixie County.

They asked if there was a place I could sit where I wouldn’t have to watch them remove the body. I looked at the woman who had tried to save my husband’s life and asked her if she would come with me to the spare bedroom. I didn’t want to be alone.

She agreed and walked back with me. I glanced in to my bedroom long enough to see the shape of my husband’s body under the white sheet. I kept telling myself, “He’s gone, Diane. That isn’t him, he’s gone.”

We entered the spare bedroom and shut the door and I began telling her about my husband and what a great musician he was.

We listened to them struggle with the body. I told her I knew how hard it was to move around ‘dead’ weight. I had worked for a quadriplegic for 9 years and there’s nothing heavier than someone who cannot move and Red definitely could not move.

I tried to laugh, nervously, and talk over the noise of their actions. Within minutes they knocked on the door and said I could come out. I looked in to the bedroom and could see the impression his body had made in the carpet and smelt a funky odor. That is what death smells like. I remembered it from the dead dog and the dead boss I’d had who had died from a heart attack back in 1980. I guess those two instances had somewhat prepared me for what happened today, November 30, 2007.

Once the hearse left the yard, they asked me who I could call to come and stay with me and I told them I would be alright. I didn’t need anyone. They insisted I call someone, and thank God they did. There are just some times one shouldn’t be alone.

I called my friend and acupuncture physician, Dr. Susan, and fortunately she answered her cell phone at 1:21am. When I heard her sleepy, “Hello,” I apologized for waking her and explained that Red had died of a heart attack and asked if she would please come over and stay with me as the emergency crew said I should not be alone. She, too, was in total disbelief, but would be there as soon as possible.

What had seemed like hours of agony had only been one hour of my life. That hour replays over and over in my head like a bad movie, a nightmare. Kriya Yoga teaches one to sit outside oneself and watch as though we are “The One” watching. I think I handled myself as well as anyone could have, crying and joking nervously and crying some more.

They explained there was a sheriff who needed to ask me some questions and asked if it was okay for him to come in now. “Of course,” was my immediate answer.

He asked for social security numbers and phone numbers and date of birth and time of death and what we had done before my husband had died. I told him we had not had anything to drink for 3 days, that we had shared a small bottle of wine and asked the people in the room if that could have killed him?

Everyone in the room answered simultaneously, “No.”

I guess that made me feel better, but I’d heard of artists who had been heavy drinkers for years, who quit drinking and then abruptly died. Jerry Garcia was one of my husband’s favorite entertainers and he died shortly after he cleaned up his act following years of abuse to his body. I remember thinking, “If we don’t take care of our bodies, where will we live? I wonder where Red is now. Was he with Jerry?”

While the emergency crew and I sat on the deck in the starlit night waiting for Dr. Susan I talked about the wonderful man my husband was; how he’d won the Florida Fiddler’s contest several years in a row and how he always had a smile from ear to ear on his face, especially while he was on stage. He always said, “If you love your work you never have to work a day in your life.” I guess I wanted them to know he was more than just a dead body on the way to the morgue. I also wanted to talk and not think about what would happen next.

Dr. Susan arrived and spoke to the 2 people who were left of the ambulance crew about what they had done. She’s been an RN for 35+ years in trauma centers and understood everything they did.

Once they left she gave me a pill explaining it was a Chinese herb to help with the heart shock I had just experienced.

She suggested I call his family. At first I said there was nothing they could do this time of the night, why didn’t I wait till the morning? She said I needed to call them now. She was right. I remembered the phone call I had to make to my friends who were on vacation when their dog had died and how badly I felt then. I felt badly now breaking the news of their loss to his mother, father, sister and brother.

I tried his parents’ home phone.  I knew they had just moved to a new home in Ocala and were experiencing phone line problems, as Red and I had had difficulty during the day yesterday trying to reach them. We were supposed to have breakfast with them in the morning on our way to Key West.

When I couldn’t get through I called their cell phones and left a message for them to call me as soon as they could trying not to sound as though their son had just died.

I looked for Red’s brother’s phone number and dialed it knowing he would probably be up at 2am. He worked on the Internet and this was in the middle of his work day as it was a quiet time on line. He is also a musician and used to keeping late hours.

When I got him on the line, he asked how I was doing and I said not very well, but I was doing better than his brother. He had had a heart attack about an hour ago and was gone.

“What, Larry’s gone?” he screamed in disbelief over and over. “Have you called Mom and Dad?” I told him I had tried them but couldn’t get through. He asked if I had called his sister. I said I hadn’t. His was the first phone number I had found. He said he would get her on the phone and call me back.

He did, we talked, we cried and we talked some more. They said they would take care of getting in touch with their parents. His sister told me she would be booking a flight for the next day and I should have the service on Sunday.

I hoped it would be possible and said I would do my best. There was nothing else to talk about so we hung up.

Once I had made the phone calls to his family Dr. Susan explained she was disappointed she hadn’t gotten there before they had taken Red’s body away. She said she wanted to make sure his spirit was gone. She has been able to see spirits since she was a child and believed she could help him understand he was dead.

Apparently, according to people who understand the life after life concept, often times when someone leaves this world abruptly and unexpectedly the way Red did they don’t realize what has happened and need help in moving on.

I cried, we talked and I cried some more and told her I realized I was in a state of shock.

We brewed some chamomile tea and the pot lid kept jumping and moving on the stove. We both knew it was Red but said nothing. She later told me she had felt his presence throughout the night and we both heard unexplained noises but made no comment.

I asked her if she would help me strip the bed where Red had died.  I realized I was going to have financial difficulties. I had to clean things up so I could use them again. I started a load of laundry and wiped the mattress off with vinegar and water even though there was nothing there. I turned the fan on to make sure it would dry completely. We could flip it over in the morning.

I lit some sage and cleansed the house not necessarily wanting his spirit to leave but wanting the smell of decay to be gone.

I told her I would lie down in the spare bedroom while she slept on the couch and she agreed. After a while I could hear her snoring and it made me feel better. At least she would be able to get some sleep. I lied in the bed for a couple of hours but sleep was out of the question.

This couldn’t be happening.

November 30, 2007……………………My Opening Act, Alone

After tossing and turning and crying for hours, I realized I was wasting time and stressing myself out by trying to sleep. It seemed like a good time to get up and clean out the closet of the belongings he had just put in there so happily yesterday. We had just gotten back together and we were going to live happily ever after.

This movie’s plot had changed abruptly. What was the director thinking?

I went through all his pockets, whimpering and thinking I might find some explanation. Why had he died? He looked good and said he’d felt great. I found nothing.

I kept his favorite tee shirts because I always wore them when we were apart and I missed him. I realized I would be missing him a lot and put the rest of his clothes in a bag and lied down in the back of the house in the spare bedroom’s bed again.

At about 6:30am I called my parents. They were early risers and they would probably still be in bed but they would be awake by now. I could hear myself telling my mother I was sorry to call so early and she asked what was wrong. There is always something wrong when someone calls so early. I listened to my voice say my husband had a heart attack and died a few hours before.

She gasped and explained to my father what had happened and asked if someone was there with me. I told her my friend Dr. Susan was here and she would be until someone else could come and stay with me. She explained she couldn’t come to Florida because of her recent knee surgery but that she would call my sister and maybe she could get away and be by my side.

I told her that wouldn’t be necessary; I would call Joshua, my oldest son in Orlando, in a little while and see when he could come up.

I called my youngest son, Jason, a grad student at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. He was shocked and upset and wanted to come down and I told him to stay where he was. His studies were so important.

I would be ok. I was a survivor.

I called Joshua’s phone, knowing he wouldn’t be up for hours and left a message for him to call me as soon as he awoke.

I kept thinking, this isn’t really happening, is it?

It can’t possibly be happening. My God, he’s only 51.

He’d been looking better than he had in years. He’d lost a few pounds, said he was feeling great and had thanked me for inspiring him to do so. He’d been riding his bike, drinking less alcohol, and eating better. What had happened? Why did he die? Would my questions ever be answered?

My sister called and insisted on coming down and I realized it would be good to have her here. She said she was so sorry this had happened to me and she would call me back to let me know when she could get a flight.

I could hear Dr. Susan in the living room calling her patients who were scheduled for the day and explaining she had to cancel their appointments. She had to be with a friend whose husband had died of a heart attack in the middle of the night.

I called Karen, my best friend in the Keys, about 7:30am, knowing she would be up soon if she wasn’t already. She didn’t answer her phone, so I called another friend, Rainey, who lived upstairs, apologizing immediately for calling so early in the morning. She asked, “What’s wrong?”

When I told her Red had died, she screamed in disbelief, “NO, Diane, that can’t be. Oh, my God, are you ok?”

I answered yes, but no, and told her Dr. Susan was with me and I could hear Karen in the background asking what was wrong. She’d heard the phone ring upstairs after she hadn’t answered hers and knew something was up. Rainey filled her in and they both began crying. I told them I had a phone call coming in I had to take. I just wanted them to know what had happened.

It was Joshua calling to tell me he’d talked to Jason and he was so sorry he couldn’t rush right up. He had to work that evening but would drive up tomorrow. I told him that was fine and I would let him know when my sister’s flight was arriving in Orlando so he could bring her with him.

I called my cell phone company and had Red’s calls forwarded to my phone because I couldn’t find his. The phone calls began pouring in. The coconut telegraph, as we call our networking in the Florida Keys, was working faster than ever. No one could believe it and wanted to talk to Red, to me, to hear he was still alive.

I wished I could have told them he hadn’t died, that it was a rumor like a couple of years ago when someone named Diane had died in a bicycle accident and everyone knew I rode a bike all the time. They all called me to see if I was ok. I was happy to tell them I was fine, it was someone else named Diane in the accident.

This time I couldn’t tell them it was someone else. Our Red was gone.

The card for our life insurance agent was on the kitchen counter. I had told Red just yesterday he needed to talk to him about some money market accounts and safer investments. The stocks he’d had invested our money in were losing value daily. Those stocks were probably one of the reasons my husband was so stressed all the time. Watching our savings diminish had to be disheartening.

I called the insurance agent and told him Red had died. He pulled the file while we were talking and said the claim would be contested as the policy was less than two years old. It was standard procedure to investigate circumstances around a death on a policy less two years old.

Great, not only was my husband dead but now I had to worry whether or not I was going to get any financial help. According to the agent it would take a minimum of four months and up to a year before I would even know whether or not there would be any money awarded me. Well, I had a little money I could get to so I would be okay, for awhile.

Dr. Susan offered to stay with me throughout the day Friday and again Friday night. My sister and my son were going to arrive sometime on Saturday. Yes, that would be a good idea. Breathe deeply, Diane.

Before we left the house to go to Dr. Susan’s home to check on her elderly mother and get some of her belongings she suggested I might want to get online and move money from accounts with both of our names on them to an account with only my name on it.

I’d heard about people having trouble getting money from accounts they shared with spouses who died and realized I should listen to her advice. I sat at my laptop, fighting my way through the system and my tears and began moving money. Fortunately, I’d gotten passwords for the stock market and mutual fund accounts 18 days ago when we had gotten back together. The Universe had been watching out for me.

Once I had done all I could do we drove into The Center where Dr. Susan and I worked to get some more herbs for my well-being and to check her calendar to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anyone who needed to see her today. She also got numbers so she could rebook her patients for the following day. I assured her I could spend a few hours alone on Saturday waiting for my sister and son. I had plenty to do.

I received a call from the man who owned the funeral parlor. He wanted me to know my husband was on the way back to Cross City. He told me his secretary would be calling to find out when I would be able to meet with him. I asked him if they would be able to do the service Sunday afternoon. Yes, he thought they had an opening but his secretary would confirm that when she called to make my appointment.

Everything was falling into place perfectly. Thank God he had died when he did. If it had been 24 hours earlier we would not have had the most beautiful day of our lives together. If it had been 24 hours later we would have been in Key Largo in our motor home and my life would have been much more difficult. His parents were close and his sister and much of his family would be able to fly into Orlando easily. Well, I guess I had a lot of things to be thankful for, “Count your blessings, Diane and breathe.”

I realized I would have to do a service at our mountain home in Georgia next week. I wanted to start spreading his ashes on the mountain as that was his favorite place on earth. Besides, I needed to get as much out of that house as possible. Things to sell and things I wanted because I was afraid foreclosure would happen quickly when I stopped paying the mortgage.

I had to call the men he played music with, Ted Hyde in Key Largo and Bruce Isaacson in Key West. I left both of them messages to call me as soon as they could. After a few hours I still had not heard from Ted and realizing Red was supposed to play with him in about 7 hours I called the bar to let them know Red wouldn’t be there. He had died of a heart attack the night before. The person I spoke to thanked me for calling and gave me their condolences.

Dr. Susan and I spent the day together, she taking care of her business and watching over me while I was on the phone.

I still couldn’t find Red’s phone anywhere. I began thinking he might have figured out how to take it with him. He rarely spent a moment on this earth when he wasn’t on it.

I called our neighbors in northern Georgia, told them the sad news and asked them to call his other friends up there. They said they couldn’t make it down to the service I was having for his family on Sunday and I told them that was fine. I would come up there next week and would let them know what day and asked if they would help me put together a wake for him there. They said they would be glad to help. I should just call to let them know what day I would be coming north as soon as I knew.

I called some very good friends on Summerland Key. They had just heard it on the radio. The entire Florida Keys was grieving the loss of my husband with a minute of silence and an hour-long radio show dedicated to Fiddlin Red’s music.

Later in the day I was telling someone I must have received a hundred phone calls. Dr. Susan politely corrected me and said it had to be more like four hundred as I hadn’t stopped talking all day and much of the time I had more than one call at a time.

We went to the funeral parlor and sat with the man who owned the business, which apparently is quite lucrative. With our service they were booked solid for the weekend.

I had to choose the service I wanted for my husband less than twelve hours after I had tried to resuscitate him. I chose the simplest. Red would have wanted it that way. I decided not to get an urn. I couldn’t imagine having him sitting on the mantle. I asked what he would come in if I didn’t purchase the urn. His ashes would come in a plastic bag which would be inside a plastic box inside a cardboard box. I would be given transport papers explaining what it was and would need to carry the papers with me if I were going on an airplane. I guess it would be a good idea to be able to explain to any potential law officers what the plastic bag of white powder I was carrying was.

I found out I would need to pay for several copies of the death certificate, $11 for each copy. One for each of the credit card companies, bank accounts, counties we held property in, etc, and, oh, one for social security. There was a spousal death benefit I could claim. I thought, “That’s nice. The government helps out widows.”

I asked the man if he knew how much it would be.

“Two hundred and fifty-five dollars,” was his answer.

I looked at Dr. Susan and said I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. She agreed and I figured, “Well, every penny will help at this point. Be grateful, Diane, not angry at the system.”

The man showed me the booklets they made up for their clients families and told me the price. I told him no, thank you, realizing I could make a much more attractive booklet at home on my own printer.

Here I was spending $2000 I didn’t have 12 hours after he was gone and I was making the program for his funeral. How surreal it all was going through these motions. Fortunately, they took credit cards.

We had to go back through Fanning Springs and past my bank. I asked Dr. Susan to stop so I could deposit a check from the corporate account into my personal account. I wasn’t doing anything illegal I just wanted to follow the advice I had been given. Not only had Dr. Susan warned me about potential problems with money but a girlfriend of mine in the Keys had called this morning and told me firmly, “Take care of business. Take care of yourself. Move the money, NOW.”

We stopped at the bank and not only did I deposit a check from our corporate account but I also had one of those credit card checks Red had signed last night while we were packing to go to the Keys. We were going to use it to pay off a couple of the credit cards we had let get away from us and there was a little extra for the trip we were planning in January. Well, we wouldn’t be going to the islands for the New Year but I would be grateful for the extra money to get me through till I figured out what would happen next.

I also cashed a check, opened up a safety deposit box and put my first fistful of money in it. I wasn’t taking any chances. Too many people were telling me how, even with joint accounts, there could be problems. Quite honestly the shock of losing my husband was enough to deal with without the thought of not being able access my hard earned money. Survival was the only thing on my mind. Besides, it was better than thinking about what had happened in the past 17 hours.

On the way through Trenton I asked Dr. Susan to please stop at Petrello’s restaurant. I knew Red’s family would want to get-together after the service on Sunday and I didn’t want to be responsible for entertaining them at home. I ran into the restaurant’s kitchen, not only to tell our good friend the sad and disturbing news, but, to find out if they were open on Sunday.

He was in the kitchen and said his usual, “Hey kiddo,” and he knew when he looked up from his food prep and saw my face something was dreadfully wrong.

I told him Red had had a heart attack and was dead. He ran over and hugged me and kept saying the same thing everyone else said, “No, that can’t be. No,” and then he added, “What can I do?”

I asked if he was open on Sunday and he said, “No, why?” I explained I needed to feed the family flying in from New York after the service and couldn’t see them eating at a BBQ joint in Cross City. He asked me, “What time do you want me to open?” I told him the service was at 3pm and we should be done and back in Trenton by 5pm. He asked how many people I thought would be coming. I told him about a dozen and then he said he would take care of everything.

Thank God Red’s family wouldn’t have to eat in Cross City and thank God for Paulie. He was glad to help me out and he loved Red in the short time he had known him; just like everyone else who knew my husband. He was so lovable.

I went out to Dr. Susan’s truck and told her the restaurant would open on Sunday, just for us and she was as relieved as I was.

We went to her house and I lied down on her couch while she gathered a few things to spend another night with me. I spoke to her mom briefly but she was watching TV and I didn’t really feel like talking anyway. I hadn’t slept for over 36 hours and I was exhausted but suspected it might be awhile before I could sleep.

As I lie on her couch I distinctly felt the air move and a kiss on the back of my neck. Red knew ‘my spot’ and there was no doubt in my mind he had kissed me there to tell me he was ok.

Dr. Susan and I eventually went back to my house and we flipped my mattress over and I made my bed. Now she lay on my couch, while I tossed and turned for hours, sobbing uncontrollably every once in awhile as quietly as I could.

When she heard me she would call out and ask me if I wanted her to come and comfort me. I told her no. I told her I was ok. How could anyone be ok after what had just happened?

I couldn’t sleep so I got up and continued cleaning out Red’s belongings, crying, looking at his things in disbelief. I got out my calendar and began writing down all the things I would have to do in the coming days and making a plan. When the going gets tough, the tough get going and I was feeling as tough as nails. I knew I was hiding my grief by being strong, if that makes any sense. It was all I could do.

After another sleepless night I heard her alarm go off Saturday morning at 7:30am. I began panicking slightly at the thought of being alone. I told myself I was a big girl. I would be fine.

She left to go to The Center and I went to work cleaning and tidying up my house. There would be a lot of people visiting over the next few days. I was glad my sister was finally going to see the house I had bought on my own credit, and put in my name only. I just wished she were coming for a different reason.

Then I realized it was probably a good thing I had put the house in my name only. No one could take this one from me as long as I could pay for it. 

I realized the Georgia house was in Red’s name only. We had discussed this often. In fact we were going to take care of it the next time we were in northern Georgia, just to keep me happy. He always said we didn’t have to put my name on it, I was his wife. If he died it would go to me anyway. I guess now I would find out whether he was right or whether he was wrong.

Thoughts came into my mind as fast as they possibly could. I would write down as many things as possible and breathe deeply. I was doing more deep breathing and more yoga than my normal hour every morning. I attribute my deep spirituality and my daily devotions to helping me function as well as I was functioning, which I thought, was amazingly well.

Oh dear, I had to let his fans know.

So many people loved my husband. He touched the lives of so many with his smile and his talent.

I posted the tragedy in the blog on the www.BruceandRed.com website and the words of disbelief and grief began pouring onto the page from around the world. Bruce and Red were due to begin December 5^th at the Hogs Breath in Destin and December 13^th at the Hogs Breath in Key West. Bruce was going to have to go on without his partner.

When Bruce and I finally spoke, we cried and tried to make arrangements for a service at the Hog’s Breath in Key West so all the fans could take part in the grieving.

It’s important to help others through a tragic time and even though I knew it was going to be difficult for me I was not the only one who was hurting. People around the world were crying for my fiddle player.

I spoke to my neighbors at the mountain about doing the service in northern Georgia on Thursday, December 6^th. They said they would be prepared and I could stay there if I wanted to. I thanked them but realized I would be staying with my friend, Patty, in Atlanta. She had lost her husband only a couple of years ago to a brain tumor. I knew her home was the best place in the world for me to be. I would find great comfort spending time with her.

My phone rang and it was Annie asking me to tell her it wasn’t true. I told her I wished I could say it was a vicious rumor, but, yes, Red was gone. She asked what could she do to help and I realized I needed to do a service for his fans in Key Largo. This was going to be grueling. Was I up for it? I had to be.

I got out my calendar and told Annie she could help me put a service together on Thursday, December 13^th. She knew there would be a conflict with the Caribbean Club’s Christmas Party and when she called back she expressed a few peoples’ disappointment. I decided I wasn’t following anyone’s schedule now but my own.

The dates for the services were falling into place. A plan was coming together.

I called Dr. Susan to ask her if she wanted to go with me to the Keys and was relieved when she agreed to go. She wished she had made the trip while Red was alive but she knew I needed her now and made plans to drive down and back. I would pay for her gas and her expenses. She would finally be forced to take a break from her acupuncture practice. She wished it were for a different reason and so did I.

December 1, 2007………………Family Enters, Stage Right !

My phone rang and it was my son, Joshua. He light heartedly said, “Guess who I have in my car?” Oh good, my sister had arrived safely and they were on their way. I was relieved. I only had two more hours to be alone.

I talked with all my friends and family throughout the day. I searched some more for Red’s phone and finally found it. He hadn’t taken it with him. He’d hid it under the seat of my truck.  Wow, wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t died and we’d had to spend the morning looking for the darned thing before we rushed off to the Keys. He’d have been frantic.

But he wouldn’t be frantic anymore; no more worries, no more stress, no more driving, no more late-night gigs, no more hangovers, no more anything for him in this lifetime.

My sister in law called and expressed their desire to see my husband’s body to perform the proper sending off ceremony in the Jewish tradition. Fortunately, when I called the funeral parlor I found his body was still intact. His father, his brother and his sister were able to view the body and satisfy their religious duties.

His family members stopped by my home on the Suwannee after their private ceremony. They wanted to sit and talk for a while about my husband’s childhood and the stresses he had been under throughout his entire life. He had unwillingly spent several summer’s with his grandmother in Florida due to his asthma. He graduated ahead of his class and had left home immediately to pursue his music career.

I gave his sister the fiddle which had belonged to his grandfather. I remember the first time I heard him sing his original tune, “The Old Man and the Fiddle.” I’d asked him if the words were true. Well, the fiddle did belong to his grandfather and he did learn how to play fiddle on it. However, the story line of the song was his life, not his grandfather’s, “You never can tell, I might stay if you give me a little more whiskey.”

I gave his brother the Gallagher guitar. The first guitar Red had ever ordered and purchased. I had traveled with Red to the Gallagher Guitar store in Wartrace, Tennessee and met the Gallaghers. I loved to listen to Red tell the story of how he’d placed the order with Papa Gallagher.

He would start his story by saying, “I wanted the ebony finger board and Mr. Gallagher looked over his glasses at me and explained slowly, in his thick Tennessee accent, ‘that’s gonna cost ye extry.’”

My husband, then, an 18 year old musician, swallowed hard and asked how much extry. “Fifteen dol-lars,” was Mr. Gallagher’s reply. Red decided to go for it and paid the extry.

I‘d miss that story and all the other stories of Red’s life I’d listened to over and over throughout the years. I never got tired of the stories or of his music. I wished I had written them all down.

His sister wanted one of his guitars too and I realized I couldn’t afford to give everything away. I would need to sell some of his instruments to help me pay my bills. The life insurance agent said it could be a year before I received any money. I told his sister my dilemma and she said she would happily pay me for one of his guitars. They would come to the house after dinner on Sunday so she and her husband could go through and choose one. They would take it with them and we would determine a value and she would send a check when they got back to New York. I could hear Red telling me “business is business.”

Shortly after his father and siblings left I started work on Red’s funeral program on my computer which was not cooperating at all. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get the screen to give me a booklet that folded the normal way, in landscape style. I decided to stop fighting with it and go with the flow and make it fold the long, narrow way. It would certainly be different. But that was appropriate. Red was different than anybody I’d ever met.

My sister and my son arrived. I welcomed their presence. We hugged and cried and visited and they offered to help me  complete the preparations for the following day.

I told them I was struggling with finalizing the verbiage on the program I was creating. With their help, we completed the story of his life and put a photo on the front and printed enough copies for the first of many services.

We’d kept in touch with his immediate family but much of his extended family knew little about his current life. He’d been too busy living it to try to keep in touch. They had all been busy in their lives and were always going to try to make it down to the Keys. Now it was too late. So often people let time slip away, relationships disappear and then someone’s gone and it’s too late.

His fans knew he was a great entertainer, but they didn’t know the whole person. I wanted them to know he was more than just the best, damned fiddle player and entertainer they’d ever heard.

I took the bio I had written on our website and added some personal things and took away the publicity stuff and came up with the following for the memorial program which would be distributed to his family, friends and fans around the world:

Lawrence Aaron Seidman

Born and raised in Wantagh, New York, Larry played his first fiddle in the back of his parent’s station wagon. His father showed him how the bow made sounds as it went across the strings and sat him in the very back of the car for the long drive to southern Florida. He found, with lots and lots of practice, he had a gift to play anything with strings on it and left the northeast as soon as he was finished with school. Traveling across the country, making money, making music as he went, he settled in Montana for awhile and then on to the Ft. Lauderdale area in 1978.

        Also known as Fiddlin’ Red, his list of credits reads like a "Who's Who" of professional music. During his distinguished 35 year career he  shared the stage with famous groups such as Alabama, George Jones, Waylon Jennings, Ronnie Milsap, Willie Nelson, John Anderson, The Captain & Tenille, The Hot Walker Band, John Hall, Jonathan Edwards and many others.

        He toured and performed extensively throughout Europe, South America, Russia & Cuba. Besides his virtuoso fiddling, Red made beautiful music on his mandolin, acoustic and electric guitar and bass. The grin on his face while he was entertaining made it obvious he enjoyed what he was doing as much as everyone watching him enjoyed his performance.   As a staff musician for the Hogs Breath Saloon in Key West for 7 years, playing on a stage with a live cam, his fans and friends all over the world would sit at their computers intently watching and listening to every note, every joke, every wave and personal greeting. He would try to make sure he said “hello” to everyone.

In addition to his love for music he loved traveling, fishing and sailing, spending lots of time in the Bahamas and the Florida Keys. For a brief time he acted as Captain of the Calypso Gypsy, a sailing vessel in the Boy Scout program. The kids truly loved his wit, his music and his kindness. He enjoyed flying airplanes, playing golf, riding horses and lived life to its fullest. He always used to say, “Everything in moderation, even excess!”

In 1996 he decided to take a break from the “jukebox” life of cranking out song after song after song and settled in northern Georgia. He bought his property in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and worked at Gold City Corral, driving carriages, leading trail rides and being a cowboy. He began building guitars again and left us with two beautiful, unfinished masterpieces.

Red met Diane in 1998 and was going to hire her to build a house for him, but decided to marry her instead. They traveled and worked in the Florida Keys, their home in Talking Rock, Georgia and their lake home on the Suwannee River.

He always had a kind word, a smile and a handshake or a hug. If this booklet were to list the people who loved him, the pages would reach the clouds, just like his hearty laughter. 

We will all miss him so.

My old printer miraculously printed hundreds of programs despite the low ink level and the colors in his photograph were perfect on each and every one.

Later that evening I was looking through the owner’s closet in my bedroom for some of his original music to play at the service the following day; we rented our home out to help pay the mortgage so I had built a closet we could lock where we could keep our personal stuff stacked on shelves.

Something fell off the top shelf, hit me in the head and fell onto the floor. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I recognized what it was; the missing DVD. Bruce and Red had recorded a DVD the same time they recorded their “Live at the Hog’s Breath” CD years ago. The Live CD was their best seller and the DVD had been missing since 2001.

I brought it out into the living room and set up my husband’s laptop so I could check to make sure it really was them on stage. I located the speakers and plugged everything in and we watched the first few minutes of their performance. I couldn’t watch anymore but I knew I would take it to the restaurant after the service so we could set it up. Red could perform for his family at his own memorial. I wonder how many people are able to have that kind of wake.

My sister and my son fixed dinner for us Saturday night and we all went to bed before midnight. I spent another sleepless night, tossing, turning, crying and just not believing what was happening. I wondered if I would ever believe he was gone.

December 2, 2007………….The First Sign, The First Service

On Sunday morning, the day of Red’s service in northern Florida, I walked out to my living room after doing my yoga. My son was sleeping on the couch so I was trying to be very quiet with my sniffles. I looked out the window and prayed, “God, I know he is ok. I believe in eternity with you, but, could you please give me a sign?”

The sun was just coming up over the trees by the pond and as I continued to watch its ascent a blue heron flew directly through my vision piercing the sun with its flight.

Native American’s believe each animal which comes into our lives has a distinct meaning. The Indian totem for the heron is self-realization; a sign of the deepest understanding. I smiled and realized either God, or Red, had answered my prayer. He was telling me, very clearly, he understands now. He is at peace now. He is ok.

While my sister and son were waking on Sunday morning, I busied myself gathering all the photos I could find, preparing for the events of the day of his first service here in Dixie County, in Cross City, Florida.

When we arrived at the funeral home I gave the man in charge my husband’s original CD, “Red’s Acoustic Adventures.”  This was the music I wanted them to play during our time in their church.

We were ushered into a waiting room and worked on putting our picture display together while we waited until it was our turn in the church. We would all meet and cry and talk about Lawrence Aaron ‘Red’ Seidman. 

After the ‘1 o’clock grieving family’ left it was our turn and our family members began showing up. I watched the people leaving and thought about how many people around the world were grieving today over a loved one they were saying good bye to. I was so thankful I believed death was just a door to something else. I also knew I was still in shock and I wondered if everyone else who was grieving was in shock too.

Red’s music was playing and it was so hard to hold myself together. This was beginning to be real. We placed his favorite golf club, his passport, the guitar he was building, and a few photos on the stage so his family could see and feel his essence.

There were hugs, tears, introductions, and then, finally, it was time to begin. I asked the man in charge to turn the music down a little so we could hear each speaker more easily.

My husband’s father walked up to the podium and spoke for a few minutes about his son, about how happy Larry was playing music and living his life with his wife, Diane. He mentioned we had been separated shortly and how everyone in the family rejoiced when we got back together, especially Red. I was surprised and pleased when he mentioned Red had died, with his boots on, so to speak, and that most men only dream of going that way.

He then invited others to get up and speak. We decided to keep Red’s service very informal and anyone who wanted to say something would be able to do so. I had tried to locate a Jewish rabbi but on such short notice there were none available.

His sister spoke for a few minutes and said God must have needed a good fiddle player. His brother spoke for a few minutes and then they offered the floor to anyone else.

One of my friend’s daughters got up and read a beautiful poem about someone celebrating their wedding anniversary after their spouse had passed by wearing their deceased loved one’s tee shirt. I realized I would be doing the same thing on the upcoming holidays, our anniversary, his birthday, etc. The tears rolled down my face realizing I would be the sad woman in the poem.

Then it was my turn. I got out of my seat and started to walk towards the pulpit and couldn’t make my feet go up the steps. I turned and looked at everyone and said, “I want to stay down here with you. Is that ok?”

Everyone nodded or said, “Yes, of course.” As I write this, I realize, they had no choice. I couldn’t have made it up the steps anyway.

I read from my prepared speech. I started by telling them one of the reasons Red had married me was because I was a strong woman and I would do my best to say what I wanted to tell them.

I smiled and said another reason Red married me was because I was a contractor. He used to joke about the fact he was going to hire me to build a house for him, but figured it would be cheaper to marry me.

We were known in the Keys as “Rock and Roll’s most beautiful couple,” which was strange cause Red didn’t play much rock and roll, he composed and played everything else.

I told them the music they were listening to was his original music from his 3^rd CD.

I told them when Red was on stage everyone loved it. I couldn’t count the number of times strangers would come up to me and tell me he was the best entertainer they’d ever seen.

Red love to tell stories of his travels and I never got tired of listening to his stories or hearing him play.

I shared with them I felt we had spent so much time apart it was going to take a long time for me to realize he wasn’t coming back this time.

I also told them whenever he went away I would always tell him to play pretty for me and ended my speech by saying, “So, Honey, play pretty for me.”

I choked out the last words. Thank God I hadn’t written anymore because not only could I not speak any longer I wasn’t sure I could stand any longer either. I walked back over to my seat between my sister and my son and cried while his father got up and started a prayer. When he couldn’t finish Red’s sister took over for him.

Then Red’s father apologized for not being able to finish and told everyone we were going to caravan to a restaurant to celebrate his son’s life.

I took apart the display and my sister and my son helped me load Red’s belongings in to the car. I knew I would have to do this at his other services but knew I wouldn’t have to speak at the other ones. There would be plenty of people singing my husband’s praises and I wouldn’t have to unless I chose to.

After everything was cleaned up we went out to the parking lot.

I shared this morning’s miraculous heron story with several people standing around Dr. Susan’s car. I told them I had asked God for a sign and I believed the heron appearing at sunrise was telling me Red was ok.

They smiled and said it was a good sign. They were glad I had seen it. A few of them were as amazed as I was and I am sure a few were just being kind and saying what they thought I wanted to hear. It still made me feel good to tell them and have them support me in my beliefs.

Of course I live on a lake so it is not uncommon for a heron to fly across the sunrise but I chose to take it as a sign. After all I had been standing there asking God for a sign and the bird appeared.

When I was done with my story we all turned to walk to our cars to head for the restaurant. All of a sudden, my son, Joshua yelled, “Mom, look,” and pointed above my head. Several other people yelled, “Diane,” and I looked directly above me to see a heron attempting to land on a telephone wire. The poor bird couldn’t balance on the wire so he flew off leaving a parking lot full of open-mouthed friends with goose bumps. This bird re-affirmed to all of us Red was at peace.

The bird trying to land and flying off is rather like life. We come into it with a bit of difficulty, we live it so briefly and then we fly on to other things.

We caravanned to the restaurant and all dined at Petrellos after the service. I set up the computer and watched the missing DVD of Red performing with his partner Bruce at the Hogs Breath Saloon in Key West for the first time in several years.

The food was fabulous. The family was so impressed not only with the food but many of them watched the DVD, riveted to the computer screen, wide-eyed listening to every note. I remember one of his cousins saying, “We always meant to get down to the Keys to see him perform. Oh my God, he was so talented, we had no idea.” 

I was so proud of my fiddle player.

Red’s sister explained to me they believed he had visited them the previous evening. A wind blew through the hallway and papers flew and the scent of the cologne Red used to wear when they knew him was evident. I believe she felt and smelt her brother and I wondered how long he would be around.

After dinner I showed my father-in-law which street to take to head back to Ocala. I had shared with him I hadn’t slept in days and he gave me a pill to help me sleep. He told me to take half of it and that it would help me feel that everything was alright and I would drift off easily. It had been over 72 hours since I had slept and even though I don’t believe in most medications I was thankful to hold this little pill in my hand.

My sister, my son and I got into my son’s car and we headed back to my home on the lake with Red’s sister and her family following close behind.

They came back to the house and looked over the 3 guitars I had and chose the Taylor, the most expensive one, to take with them. They left and we all went to bed. Even though I was exhausted I took a quarter of the little pill and went right to sleep.

The next morning Joshua cleaned out Red’s car while Julie and I ran errands. After we were done with business we drove to Shired Island, nearly ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, but made it back to Cross City on a wing and a prayer.

Monday night, December 3^rd, Joshua was lying on the floor in the living room watching the Patriots attempt to keep their winning streak going and I was ready to go to bed.

My sister Julie was standing in the hall and I was standing beside my bed and decided to attempt to go to sleep without the pill. I reached for the lamp beside my bed and my hands were about two inches away from it when the lights in the entire house shut off.

Surprised, I pulled my hand away and the lights turned back on. Then I reached to turn it off again and when my fingers were about two inches away from the light the electricity in the entire house shut off again. When I pulled my hand back the power turned back on.

I looked at my sister standing in the hall and by this time I was frightened of what was going to happen next. I reached for the light the third time to shut it off. Once again as soon as my fingers were about two inches away all the power shut off in the house and when I pulled my hand back the power turned back on.

Throughout this I was talking to my sister, expressing my surprise and disbelief. My son yelled from the living room, “Mom, whatever you are doing, stop it. I am trying to watch the Patriots’ game.”

I walked out into the living room in tears and lied on the floor beside my 28 year old son and told him what had been happening and wept like a baby.

Joshua told me, “Mom, it’s probably Red just letting you know he’s here watching over you. He loved you so much he would never do anything to hurt you.”

I knew he was right.

I watched a little more of the game with him and got up to go to bed. This time when I reached for the lamp I asked Red to please stop scaring me. It was nice to know he was here but it would also be nice if he didn’t scare me. The light stayed on until I turned it off and the rest of the power stayed on in the house.

I climbed into bed and slept for a few hours and had my first dream about Red.

We were in the bathtub. We used to take baths together whenever we had the time facing each other and laughing and talking and sipping on wine usually in candlelight under the sky light window in our home in Georgia. Occasionally we would sit in the bathtub at The Cypress House but the one in Georgia is a Jacuzzi tub and the jets are much more fun.

In the dream he was lying down on his back in the water and I was lying down on top of him face up with my face just out of the water. I lied there for a little while. It’s hard to know how long things take in dreams. Then I sat up on his chest.

I looked down at him and he just lied there under the water not moving at all so I got up and left him there.

I am told dreams are generally quite symbolic. I have come to determine in this dream my soul and body realized I had to leave him there wherever “there” is and go on. Of course, it is going to take some time to convince my mind of that but I am working on it.

Joshua and Julie left on Tuesday morning and I planned on driving to Atlanta on Wednesday so I felt comfortable staying one night in the house alone. Before they left my sister encouraged me to book my ticket for Christmas. I had found an email yesterday with Red’s frequent flyer miles statement and decided to use them to go to New England for the holidays. There was no sense in staying home alone. Besides, The Cypress House was rented for the entire month of January and I would need a place to stay. I wouldn’t be going to the Keys with Red so why not book a trip home for the holidays.

My family and friends told me they were uncomfortable with me staying in the house my husband had just died in. It was my house and I have always been a very strong woman so I told them they had nothing to worry about. If I felt I couldn’t stand it I could just grab my toothbrush and drive to Dr. Susan’s.

Besides, I had a list a mile long to accomplish. First thing tomorrow morning was to pick up Red at the funeral parlor along with the 11 copies of his death certificate at $11 a piece.

Quite honestly as I write these words I do not remember that first night by myself. All I remember I was very sure I would be fine.

I also remember cleaning the house a bit knowing when I came back from Georgia I would be hitting the road for the Keys to do the ceremonies there. I packed my bags intending on staying just a couple of days and I took another quarter of that little pill to help me sleep. I went to bed trying not to let the video of my sweetheart’s death in that very spot run through my head.