She Wore My Diamond, I Wore Her Gold

The 17 Year Date

It started on a blind date, our first date,  set up under the auspices of Match.com, circa August, 2009.  Michelle and I met for dinner at the Elephant Room at Chandler Mall in Chandler AZ. There was magic between us, we knew it, we embraced it and we took it with us, hand in hand, through the comings and goings of the following 17 years. We never married, but she wore my diamond and I wore her gold. Marriage enough for us. 

Fast forward to July 7, 2026, a stiffing hot 115 outside our two story condo in a Scottsdale. I was working in the spare bedroom turned into office and looked over and across the hall to M (My nickname for Michelle) who was curled up on the floor, snoring, obviously asleep and most likely put there from new pills prescribed by yet another doctor over the past 10 years. That's a story for another time. Snoring showed breathing and breathing meant life, awkward as it seemed on the floor. About 30 minutes later I look up at her, still curled up on the floor, but this time no snoring. I walked closer and now she was pale with no detectable breaths. In a panic I called 911, who explained to my screams how to apply CPR while waiting for help to arrive. Hands locked upon her chest pushing down in a rhythmic ten count Harder, harder, harder. When the ambulance finally got to our place, they took over but to no avail. As I backed away from the lifeless body surrounded by a half dozen emergency worker bees, I knew it was over. 

The first glance I had of Michelle at the Elephant Room as a beautiful blond spilling over in sex appeal. My last look as of her was what looked like a gunny sack being carried onto a gurney and carted out of the home for one last time. I'm having trouble going back there now, it is a ghost ship of our most recent years together. Her spirit gone, my memories poisoned by how it ended. I never said good-bye and now I mourn for her every day. I want so much to say, "I'm sorry, M," I''m sorry I couldn't save you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," but she's not there.  

I don't know what happens when people die
Can't seem to grasp it as hard as I try
It's like a song I can hear playing right in my ear that I can't sing
I can't help listening

And I can't help feeling stupid standing 'round
Crying as they ease you down
'Cause I know that you'd rather we were dancing
Dancing our sorrow away

As I read my own words mixed with lyrics of Jackson Browne (For A Dancer) my eyes fill with tears, so much so I have to stop typing, stop thinking, stop remembering. Why do I feel so responsible, because she died on my watch and although there is not one act or omission that connects this carzy fate, she died on my watch, in my care, in my arms, despite my begging her to awake, begging for her to come back to me. 

Time to stop grieving? 

Not in this life. 

.