24 November 2007
Sometimes

...Bram made me crazy

I look over these entries and realize I am making Bram sound as if he was an angel walking the earth. I always felt he actually was an angel, sent here to heal me and make me strong and happy. He filled up every moment of my life and all I ever wanted to do was keep him happy and healthy. That’s not to say he didn’t make me crazy sometimes. He was a wonderful man, but not perfect. It is hard to recall any time I was truly angry at him. But he did do things that I complained to him about.

Bram stole all the blankets when we were sleeping. Then he would get too hot and push them all off his side of the bed. When I woke up freezing, I would have to crawl over him and hang off the bed to retrieve the blankets. I also had to remake the entire bed almost every day because he would twist the sheets all the wrong way and pull them off the mattress in his sleep. He said beds aren’t meant to be made anyway.

He made up words. No, what I really mean is, he made up his own definitions for words. One time he gave me a huge hug and kiss and asked, “How’s my wizened wife?” I pulled away, appalled. “What did you just call me?” He repeated the word and I asked if he knew what it meant. He said, “Wise, from a lifetime of experience.” I told him wizened means ‘old, wrinkled, shriveled.’ He said that’s not what it meant, because that’s not how he meant it. He was always using words ‘wrong,’ and when I called him on it, he’d tell me words meant what he meant them to. I think he just loved playing with words.

He didn’t finish things. He had great enthusiasm and wanted to try everything. But after starting projects, something else would capture his interest and he’d move on to that. Around my house, I have half-painted miniatures, half-sculpted figurines, a half-woven kitchen rug, a pirate ship with all the pieces ready to put together, half-written stories, half-knitted scarves, half-macrame’d wall hangings… the list goes on and on. I never resented his new projects, I just often wished he would finish them so they could be displayed, published, used…

When he got irritated, he had what Monica called his “snooty face.” His lips would purse and his brow would wrinkle. I understand no one can be happy all the time, but he’d deny he was irritated. I’d ask him what was wrong because he had his snooty face on, and he’d deny it. “I don’t scowl.” He’d scowl.

We rarely argued. When he’d do things that irritated me, I’d tell him, “You’re making me crazy.” “You’re making yourself crazy.” He’d tell me. And I couldn’t argue with that. Bram believed if you were bothered by someone else’s actions, that was ultimately your problem. You choose to be bothered, or you choose to ignore it. Bram chose to be happy.

Bram was such a calming influence on my life. He made me feel strong, and ‘wizened’ and beautiful and loved. He tried to make me see that the whole world wasn’t against me and I could choose to be happy and relaxed. He called it ‘finding your Zen.’ With him gone, I am having a hard time finding my Zen. I miss him so terribly and I don’t know how the world keeps turning when such a wonderful man is no longer with us.

thought by Bram Davidson around 11:15 PM
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