bram ... the now

this is me ... as i am

26 January 2009

Once in every life, Someone comes along
And you came to me; It was almost like a song
You were in my arms, Right where you belong
And we were so in love It was almost like a song
January through December We had such a perfect year
Then the flame became a dying ember; All at once you weren't here
Now my broken heart Cries for you each night
And It's almost like a song But it’s much too sad to write
It's too sad to write

08 January 2009

08 January 2008
Must it be?

It’s getting harder all the time to write here on Bram’s blog. I never wanted to blog; Bram tried to talk me into it, but I told him I had nothing to say. And who would want to read my blog? My life was all about taking care of Bram and my kids, and making costumes for productions at my university. Each entry would be the same: “today I made costumes and talked to Bram on the phone several times. Then we came home and I made supper. We ate, then read or played on the computer or painted. We had our nightly half hour before bed chat, and we went to bed.” Repeat ad infinitum. Or I thought it would be ad infinitum.

I was happy to let Bram be the writer, and the public face of our relationship. I was satisfied to simply support him and encourage him in all his interests. I wanted Bram to be the star, the person people wanted to be with, to like, to emulate. It would frustrate me when Bram couldn’t get the jobs he wanted—why couldn’t everybody see how special he was, what a benefit he would be to any theatre company, to any kind of company, school, organization?

I think that Bram kept my demons at bay, kept me happy and calm. And sane. He’s been gone almost three months now and I am lonely and lost and so very sad. I’m also starting to feel bitter. I am bitter that at Christmas my mother told me I should be feeling better now. I will never feel better. I need Bram. I don’t know if anyone can understand how much. I think some people don’t want to know how much we needed each other.

When we lived in South Dakota, Bram had a pancreatic cyst. It was starving him to death and he wouldn’t go to the doctor. I finally threatened him with being carried to the doctor by two large friends and we found he needed surgery or he was going to die. The surgeon was honest with me; it would be a dangerous surgery. He called it “tiger country.” We walked down to the operating room beside Bram’s gurney, me and his family. And they each said goodbye and walked away. Except his mom. She wouldn’t leave so I could say goodbye to my husband. She was claiming her right as his mother, I guess. But I am his wife. I didn’t want to upset Bram before his surgery, so I leaned down and whispered to him, “Remember you promised I get to die first.” And I kissed him on his forehead and walked away. After the surgery, we all went to his room and his mother and I were the first ones through the door. When Bram saw me, he reached his hand out to me. I took it and drew closer. He smiled at me and whispered, “I kept my promise.”

But now his promise is broken and it’s the worst broken promise ever. I’ve endured many broken promises in my life, but this one, I just can’t get over. The sheer horror of it keeps me from looking at it squarely most of the time.

I wanted him to live forever.

For the last few days, I have been crying and I can’t seem to stop. I think I have been hiding the truth from myself all this time and it’s starting to push its way through. Bram is gone and I don’t know how to live without him. Bram is gone and not only has a bright light in the world gone out forever, but all my hopes and dreams have died as well. Bram is gone and I don’t want to believe it and I can’t face it. I’ll go crazy if it’s true. He was the best man I ever knew and the best thing that ever happened to me and I would trade places with him if I could, but I would never wish this pain on Bram. Why did I not prevent this from happening? Why didn’t I know heartburn meant heart attack? Why didn’t he tell me how bad he really felt? Why can’t we have just one moment in time to do over? All this time Bram let me believe I was the boss, but I cannot function without him.

Bram is dead and I wish I were too.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:00 AM
6 things said by the gallery

04 January 2009

22 December 2007
Bram was my husband

He was my world

He was my life, my sanity, my hope.
He was my ears. He was my voice. He was my shield against the world.
He was my comfort, my peace, my common sense.
He was every thing good and smart and creative and kind in my soul.

Bram's family doesn’t say “I love you” out loud to one another very often. They love each other very much and this is apparent to anyone who sees them together. They laugh and tease and make a lot of noise, and sometimes they pause and perhaps Aili would say to Bram, “You’re my brother.” And Bram would tell Aili, “You’re my sister.” Or Bram would say to Karen, “You’re my mum.” And she would smile back at him and say, “You’re my son.” Witnessing this, at first I was puzzled. But I soon came to realize this was their way of saying “I love you.”

Bram and I told each other “I love you” hundreds of times every day. We never parted without saying it. We never got off the phone without saying it. We said it during conversations, during meals, during moments of quiet. It was the last thing we said before going to sleep, after saying good night. It was the last thing we said to each other before the trouble started the night he died.

Bram and I didn’t give each other gifts on gift days. Whenever we saw something the other wanted, we got it for them and then couldn’t wait for the birthday, or Christmas, or Valentine’s, or anniversary, or whatever, and presented it as soon as possible. There was really no need for a special gift on gift days. But last Christmas, Bram gave me a bunch of coupons he had made. For example: This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Computer Discipline, allowing the husband to talk to the computer because it hates you.’ This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Have the husband reach high crap with the desired effect of having the item at a more attainable level.’ This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Fancy Schmancy Coffee from coffee joint of choice including a trip to town if not already there.’ The card the coupons came in (a father’s day card, because Bram loved giving inappropriate cards) said, “I love you more than I ever have before … and that’s a lot.” We could never touch each other enough, and we could never say I love you enough.

Sometimes Bram would tell me, “You’re my wife.” I knew what he meant, but I am not a Davidson by blood, so the correct response of “You’re my husband” seemed wrong to me—not mine, if you see what I mean. So Bram would say, “You’re my wife.” And I would reply, “And I adore you.” And he would say, “Yes, but do you love me?” And I would tell him, “There are no words to express how much I love you.” And he would say, “I know.”

I know I am not a beautiful woman, but Bram told me I was. He told me I was beautiful, smart, sexy. He told me I was the best costume designer and seamstress in the world. He told me I was the world’s best mom and a fantastic teacher. He told me the world wasn’t out to get me and I was worthy of being loved. He told me I was safe with him and he would never leave me. Never a very trusting type, always doubtful of my own worth, I believed every word he said. Because when Bram loved someone, they were better for it.

I loved Bram with all my heart, and I know he loved me with all of his.

Bram, you are my husband.

thought by Bram Davidson around 11:57 PM
3 things said by the gallery