Leighton Hamilton Playing the Blues

An old beau of mine has been on my mind a lot lately. Maybe because this is the fifth anniversary of his death at the young age of 56. Or maybe as I myself grow older, nostalgia kicks in. Anyway, he spent his last years back in his hometown of Dalton, Georgia, and Tuesday nights were spent in front of the mike at The Blues Train Cafe. Here are some photos from that period.

A Quote For Roberto

“You’ll get over it…” It’s the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because ‘it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never loses. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?” ~ Jeanette Winterson (Written on the Body)

Tomorrow Is Robert’s Birthday.

Tomorrow would have been Robert’s 64th birthday. We’ve celebrated every birthday, his and mine, together since I was 23 and he was 33. Birthday celebrations were always low-key with a couple of notable exceptions. I’d buy him a new shirt or pair of pants, make his favorite dinner and otherwise cater to him on “his day.” He looked forward to the extra special treatment, a day when he had a free pass to do just about anything. 🙂

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Four and Counting….

It’s been almost four months since Robert’s been gone. And I really don’t feel any better about it. I seem to be suffering some kind of delayed grief reaction. By this I mean that I seem to be crying more lately than I did in the beginning, and that may be due to all the myriad things that were going on at that time. Now, I have time to sit and actually think about things and feel them, the way I wasn’t able to back in December. At first, I could fool myself and pretend he was just in the hospital, where he’d spent so much of the time these past few years — and especially in 2011. But that didn’t work for long. Because even in the hospital, we had daily calls and almost daily visits. I’d generally head up to the hospital after work each night or spend most of the weekend up there, dragging my laptop and snacks with me. And of course there are reminders of him everywhere I go. He was my life. Every grocery store, every drive I take anywhere, TV shows, all my routines, were all tied up in Robert. And even though …

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Missing… Read It And Weep

One good thing about having a cold. You can go ahead and cry and people will just attribute your puffy eyes and blotchy face as another manifestation of that disease. I’ve been doing a lot of crying lately. As much or more as when the death happened. I know there is no time limit on grief, I still think of my mother and tears well up in my eyes, and she’s been gone 30 years. I’ve actually known Robo longer than I knew my mother, 31 years versus 22 years. So naturally his death hit me hard.

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I Will Remember…

How Robert waited until he heard me stirring in the morning to ask what’s for breakfast … our favorite meal of the day. How he thoughtfully brought me an ice cold Big Red to drink in the car when I got out of the hospital after my surgery in 1991. How he spent the next three weeks doing just about everything for me (that I would let him, fiercely independent as I was and still am). How he walked three miles in the pouring rain in shin deep water in 1996 to rescue me and my flooded out 300ZX. How he decided it was time for me, at the ripe old age of 35, to finally see the ocean, even if it meant I’d bitch about the heat and the sand in my shoes. How he snuck around and saved to buy me an art print he saw me admiring and even had it custom framed for me for my birthday one year. (I still have that print; it’s hanging over the mantle). How he always liked to sing in the shower. How he left a mess of soapy puddles and soggy towels after every bath. How handsome he looked …

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