Happy New Year (is there a statute of limitations on how long you can say that?)! I hope everyone had a nice holiday season. Long time no write, huh? I’ve been meaning to get something out for a while now, but due to an unfortunate kitchen mishap, I almost lost a finger, which makes typing a little difficult. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but here goes. I got my finger stuck in a blender. See? Told you. Now before you twist yourself into pretzels trying to figure out how some dumb fuck could possibly stick his hand down into a blender while it is running, I’ll save you thought. It was a stick (hand-held) blender. Not much better, but a little better. I was trying to blend up some very thick food, and it basically got jammed, and the food was stuck in there. I went to try and scoop out the clogged food with my pointer finger on my right hand and must have accidentally hit the trigger with my left hand. On it went, and there went the tip of my finger. Believe it or not, it actually could have been worse. Luckily, my finger was pointed in such a direction that the blade hit the nail and probably saved my finger. Skip ahead now if you get squeamish, but the blade actually got stuck in the bottom of my nail. You know, the part with the white half-circle (whatever that part is called) just above the cuticle. So I had to pull it out of my nail bed. But if my finger had been facing the other direction, your boy would have looked like one of those “4th of July” warning billboards you see every year.  That was about two weeks ago, and aside from looking like death, the finger is pretty much healed. No more pain. Just a whole lot of black and blue. And no, I didn’t go to the hospital. Since it hit the nail, there wasn’t much of a gash, so there wouldn’t have been anything they could have done anyway. Plus, I’ve seen enough hospitals lately.

Anyway, enough of that, and on to what has been happening here. It’s been so long that I had to reread the last one of these I wrote, so I know where we left off, which looks like it was right around thanksgiving. So that brings us to the holidays. Many of you don’t know me, and given that Tamara is a teacher at a Jewish school, it may be difficult to believe, but Christmas is a big deal in our house. Growing up, Christmas was always a time to look forward to. Not just because of the presents, although being an only child, I was spoiled rotten and had presents for days. But it wasn’t just that. I loved everything about the season. I like it when the weather drops. I know it only gets to about 50 here, with the occasional panic of a dreaded 47, but it’s all relative, and that’s cold for me. I love the lights around the houses in the neighborhood, the smell of the Christmas tree in the house, and of course, the presents. I think I have my mother to thank for my love of Christmas. There are people who obsess over Christmas, and then there was my mother, who took that obsession to another level. There were Christmas hand towels in the bathroom. There was Christmas bar soap that we weren’t allowed to use. There was a Christmas shower curtain and toilet seat cover, and if you can believe it, there was actually even Christmas toilet paper. And that’s just the bathroom. You can imagine what the rest of the house looked like. The outside was always very simple. Just one strand of clear bulbs going around the trim. It was actually pretty misleading in a way. You didn’t know from looking at it that you were about to walk into page 47 of the Sears catalog. So it’s pretty safe to say, and I’m not ashamed to admit…I’m a Christmas guy.

I spent our early years converting Tamara into a Christmas girl as well. It’s funny when you grow up the way I did and then start dating a Jewish girl who had the exact opposite experience. Now I don’t pretend to be Tamara’s first boyfriend. I know there was a dude or two before me, and she has told me about her first apartment and how excited she was to get her first Christmas tree. So I know that when we first lived together, I wasn’t giving her anything she hadn’t had before. But I’m also fairly confident that these earlier roommates didn’t come from “Christmas toilet paper” stock, either. So she was going to learn real quick what real Christmas decorations meant. Over the years, the number of tchotchkes (not going to lie, I googled how to spell that) has declined. In the early days, I was my mother’s son. When I had my first Christmas in my own apartment (Tamara and my first apartment together), I ransacked my dad’s garage and got a ton of my mom’s old stuff. Santas. Fucking. Everywhere. Eventually, at Tamara’s “discreet” urging, those things got pretty toned down to a manageable 3 storage boxes level. The rest stay put in the garage. I guess they will ultimately be Jackson’s problem. So now, our decorations are kept to a Christmas tree, stockings, and a handful of old favorites. And, of course, the village. For those of you who knew my mother and got to see our house in all of its Christmas glory, she had one of those Christmas villages that you only see in movies about life in a much simpler time. It started with a handful of items, and over the years, it ballooned into some kind of monstrosity that wouldn’t even fit on one table. It ceased to be a Christmas village and can more aptly be described as a Christmas metropolis. So, as much as I would like to honor her, I don’t have that kind of space (or inclination), so I just pick a few of my childhood favorites and throw together a small picturesque scene. The rest of the buildings stay in their boxes in storage.

As much as I love Christmas and look forward to it every year, I was admittedly very distracted this year. I try to play off my emotions as if I am holding them together, but there is still this relentless feeling of sadness and loss. All the time. That’s not to say that it hasn’t gotten better, because it has, but we are still a long way from recovery for me, and if I’m honest, I don’t know if I will ever fully recover from this. I’ve said over and over again how Tamara is the one handling all of this significantly better than I am. And this is the case here as well. She’s the one that has to endure the actual recovery from a tragic injury. But the emotional trauma I have endured is also pretty substantial and not to be dismissed or ignored. So, needless to say, I was not very much in the Christmas spirit this year. The idea of rummaging through the garage to get all of the boxes out, meticulously placing the 600 individual lights on the tree, and setting up the village just seemed completely secondary to me. But I knew I had to pull myself together to provide, not only them but myself as well, the most normal Christmas we could have. It is so important to me that no matter what adversity we are dealing with, we are not giving up and let ourselves wallow in any kind of misery. I have been doing everything I can to make this period of our lives as normal as possible for everyone. Jackson, in particular. As soon as we start to dwell on what is different or unusual, I fear we have lost what the season is really all about. And I wasn’t going to let that happen. To any of us. So I pulled my shit together and got the house decorated. The inside, at least. The outside was a bit of a different story. I had a plan, but that went to shit, and before I knew it, it was the 15th, and I didn’t think it was worth it to go through all of that for like two weeks’ worth of decorations. So I had to let that go. Something I’m working on is trying to be kind to myself (a therapy term) and allow for things like that to go by without beating myself up about it. I’m trying.

There’s part of me that feels like we are starting to settle into a bit of a routine. We are figuring things out and adjusting as best as we can adjust to a situation like this. But I would be lying if I said that there are not still some very emotional moments. One such moment happened as we were decorating the tree. Historically, this is a day-long event. First is the purchasing of the tree itself. Now, I’m not as meticulous as my mother was. She was gnarly. The trees on display weren’t even worth considering. Our tree had to come from the back, string cut, and displayed for her approval. Sometimes there would be as many as 5-10 trees unwound before she found one worthy of the Deverell house. You’d think that would be the end of it, wouldn’t you? Well, you’d be wrong. One year, we got the tree all decorated with lights and ornaments, only for her to decide it wasn’t up to snuff. So down everything came and we had to go back to the tree lot to exchange it for another one. Gotta be a once in a lifetime thing, right? Wrong again. Another year she was also displeased with the tree we ended up with, but when we couldn’t exchange it (because honestly, who exchanges a Christmas tree?), we ended up giving it to a friend and buying another one. Imagine being 12 years old and watching your mother argue with the poor teenager at the pop-up tree lot, demanding he take it back and give her a different one. Fun times. So, no. I am not that insane about my trees. But historically, I do also tend to bring my own knife and opt for the ones that are still tied up in the back because these are the more recently cut ones, while they display the older ones hoping to sell them and make way for the new. So they may last a day or two longer. Now, I have never returned a tree. I promise. But I still like to pay attention to detail, so once the tree is in its place in the living room, I used to spend hours meticulously adding about 600 lights to it. Individually tying many of them to the branches in an effort to hide as much of the wire as possible. Then, once the lights were on, it was time to bring the family back in so we could put the ornaments on together. As I’ve mentioned, this year was incredibly difficult to get motivated to put in that time and effort. So we probably only had about 400 lights. Many of the wires were visible. But fuck it. At least it was there (there’s that kindness for myself again). When it came time to put the ornaments on as a family, I think it hit both of us very hard and reality kind of clicked in. For a moment, it was just like any other Christmas. But very quickly, it became apparent that Tamara was not going to be able to help in the way she wanted. It’s still pretty difficult for her to walk without holding on to the cane, so it becomes impossible to hang ornaments when your one good hand has to hold onto the cane. We tried a few different ways to get her involved. Some of them worked, and some of them didn’t. And at that moment, both of our hearts sank. I try to hold my emotions in, which I’m sure is the least healthy thing I can do, but part of me feels like I have to be the one to keep it together, so others can express themselves. The tears started flowing from Tamara, and as is the case so many of the times she gets emotional, she told me she didn’t know why she was crying. I told her I did. I know why she’s crying. Because all of this is just so fucked. Here we are at what is usually one of the happier days of the year, and we are just smacked in the face with our reality. I held her close to me, and almost simultaneously (she beat me by about one second), she said to me, “At least I’m here.” It was such a powerful moment because I was thinking the exact same thing. My pessimistic personality doesn’t always allow me to see things this way, but I’ve been trying to see things in a more positive light. Because she’s absolutely right. I don’t think I respect just how easily things could have been far worse. 45 minutes earlier, and she would have had this massive stroke in the car while driving home. A couple of hours later and it would have happened in her sleep; where who knows if I would have been able to get an ambulance here as quickly as I did. All I could think at that moment was how fortunate we were to be spending this holiday together at all and how much harder it would have been for me and Jackson to be celebrating our first Christmas without her. I can't even think about it. But Tamara has always been that positive person. And thank god for that. She brings me back from my depths of despair with her calming touch and warm heart.

Another tradition around here is our annual Christmas Eve party. Growing up, Christmas eve was always a big deal for my family, and it was always such a special night. As I got older and my friends moved away, it became even more special because it was a time for all of us to get together and celebrate. Eventually, I took the reins from my parents, and we began hosting the event. This is another one of those things that I was really not looking forward to. It’s a lot of work to shop for food, cook everything, clean the house before, and then clean up afterward. And again, I’m flying solo, so the workload just seemed so daunting. But I know how important the event is for all 3 of us. Particularly Jackson. I’m trying to create the same happy Christmas memories I had. You can probably tell just from the tone of this entry how much Christmas has meant to me, and I’m hoping to keep that tradition going down the family line. And I’m glad I powered through. It ended up being a very nice evening, and I wasn’t nearly as alone as I thought I would be. As always, the community rallied, and people were more than happy to bring things, and help out in any way they could, which I usually have trouble asking for. The hardest part of hosting a big party is cleaning up after. But my dad, who was staying with us for the holidays, took that upon himself, which made it so much easier on me.

As I’ve gotten older, the receiving of gifts has taken a pretty substantial back seat to being the giver of gifts. There’s an old joke that there are three phases of life. 1) You believe in Santa Claus, 2) You don’t believe in Santa Claus, and 3) You become Santa Claus. I’m definitely in that latter stage of life, but I love it. I have a tendency to go a little overboard when getting gifts. I guess it is just the way I was raised. The gifts were always flowing out from under the tree and into the hallway like the blood from ‘The Shining.’ It is important to me that Jackson has a lot of presents to open. It’s a quantity over quality thing. I just like seeing the anticipation build over the days and weeks leading up to Christmas morning. So, while there is always a premiere gift or two under the tree, there are also a ton of less flashy gifts (socks, new sheets, etc.) just so he has things to open. With Tamara, there is a bit of a routine there too. I always have the funny gifts (one year, I got her a pair of underwear with my face on them), the fancy gift (this year was a new apple watch that I wanted her to have for when she goes back to work), and then there are the thoughtful gifts. This year’s thoughtful gifts were many. First, I framed her diploma for the master’s degree she worked so hard for. Luckily she didn’t notice it was gone for the three weeks it was wrapped and under the tree. As with Jackson, I also want Tamara to have lots of gifts to open. One of our favorite traditions that we started way back in the early days is getting our annual ornaments for the tree. Our tradition started way back in 2003 when we got our first tree together. We got the standard “Our First Christmas” Hallmark ornament (technically, it was our 2nd Christmas together, but whatever). That ornament remains Tamara’s favorite, by the way. But that kicked off a tradition that has spanned the next nearly 20 years. Every year, after we get our Christmas tree, we go out in search of our new ornament for that year. It always has to be something indicative of what happened that year. So we have several “New home” ornaments for all of the times we have moved together. We have “Baby’s fist (2nd, 3rd) ornaments. We had the new dog ornament for 2007 when we got Buster. Some years are busier than others, so there are also some years when we have to get creative. Like maybe there is a snoopy wearing an American flag outfit because that was an election year. Or maybe there is a Santa in workout gear because it was an Olympic year. That kind of thing. This task has gotten a bit more difficult in recent years. First off, the amount of brick-and-mortar Hallmark stores has declined significantly. And, of course, there is always Amazon, but we always loved going to the store and picking out our ornament together. Then there was the pandemic. So for the past couple of years, we didn’t really get any new representative ornaments. I mean, we did get a dumpster fire to represent the shit year that was 2020, but other than that, it was pretty slim pickens for ornaments. And there were some milestone moments in those couple of years. So I decided to retroactively true up our tradition. In 2020, we moved from our place in Beverly Hills to our current home in El Segundo. Normally we would have gone to the Hallmark store to get a “New Home” ornament, but that was at the height of the pandemic when everything was still closed. So no luck there. Then in 2021, we had two dog-related events. First, we lost Buster after 14 loving years. And after a far shorter period than I had planned, we had a new puppy. Frank. So we would have gotten a “New Dog” ornament in 2021. But again, we spaced. So I took it upon myself to hit the internet and find some ornaments to represent these occasions. I got the 2020 new home ornament. And, in a total coincidence, the new dog ornament for 2021 was a Boston terrier puppy in a sock with the ’21 on its collar. So this was able to kill two birds with one stone. It represented the new puppy we got (Frank) as well as honoring the dog we lost (Buster), who was a Boston terrier. This brings us to 2022. How do you summarize 2022 in ornament form? I spend a lot of time trying to find the right ornament. But ornaments tend to be on the happier side, so I wasn’t able to find one that represented extreme feelings of sadness and loss. I’m pretty sure a sad-looking Santa-sticking-his-head-in-the-oven ornament wouldn’t be a big seller for the Hallmark company. So I had to improvise. I found one that just said “Survivor.” Not only will that have to do, but I think it was pretty apropos.

We spent Christmas day the way we always do. With a nice big breakfast, some hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream, with or without some peppermint schnapps. Followed by about an hour of consistent gift opening. Shortly after, we visited with some more family for a little while, which was nice. But after the gifts have been all opened and the breakfast has settled in, that brings us to about noon. Which leaves a lot of free hours. Normally we see a movie to kill some time, but the only thing anyone had any interest in seeing was the new Avatar movie. But unfortunately, the shows were all sold out in any theater we would be willing to go to. I’m at the point now where unless the chairs recline like a first-class airplane seat, I’m not interested. Especially for a 3+ hour movie. So we did what we used to do. Which Tamara always hated and led to the movie tradition. We sat. And sat. All day. Another holiday tradition is Tamara having about all she can stand of just sitting and doing nothing, so the next day she did what she always does and organized a family outing for me, Tamara, Jackson, and my dad. She wasn’t about to spend another day just sitting around the house all day. So she got us tickets for the Academy Award museum down in miracle mile. It was successful in that it got us out of the house for a few hours. So mission accomplished there. The museum, however, is not what I would call a must-see experience. After about an hour of dragging ourselves around that place, we all agreed it was a slow death, so we took off. But it did serve its purpose. It got us out of the house, so Tamara’s tradition of finding something for us to do so we aren't just sitting around all day lives on. 

In a somewhat fitting end to what has been a shit year, our family also wrapped up the year with a tragic loss. On January 28th, we lost Tamara’s stepfather Henry at the age of 94. His health had been deteriorating fairly rapidly over the past year or so. Especially the last few months. But getting that call was still a shock to the system and a devastating blow to end an already terrible year. I got the call while Tamara was in therapy. I was working in what has become my office at the clinic. Tamara was about 30 minutes into her two-hour session, and I had no idea what to do. I wanted to get out of there to be with the family right away, but they were not home at the time, so they weren’t around to be with for another couple of hours anyway, so I decided to let Tamara finish her session. But what a terrible 90 minutes that was. I hate having bad news like that and just having to sit on it. It was especially difficult as I could hear the usual screams and cries from the other room while Gina was working on her. But it was gutting for me to know that her day was only going to get worse. So when the session was over and we were making our way to the car, I stopped her in the lobby and broke the news. The tears started immediately. I guess it can’t be considered a shock when someone dies at the age of 94, but we were all expecting a few more months out of him, so it definitely caught us unprepared. For those of you who don’t know, Henry came into the picture at a pretty young age for Tamara. Pre-teen years. So not starting at birth or anything, but still a very substantial percentage of her life. I’ve heard stories about how difficult this transition was for her and what a nightmare she must have been toward him. But eventually, as he does with everyone he ever met, he endeared himself to her, and she loved him very much. I have fond memories of Henry dating back to the very beginnings of Tamara and my relationship. Even pre-dump. Henry was a big sports guy, and living in a house with four women didn’t exactly give him many opportunities to talk about it. And from the sound of it, many of Tamara’s previous boyfriends were not exactly sports fanatics either. But I was. Particularly at that point in my life. I felt welcomed by him very early on, at a time when most people in her life were still concerned about this kid Tamara had started playing around with. I was asked to sit next to him at the dinner table, where I would sit for the next 22 years. He had his quirks, to be sure, but part of what made him such a great guy was his ability to embrace those quirks. He knew some of the stuff he was into was weird, but he loved to talk to you about it anyway. And if you didn’t know him, you had no idea if he was serious or not. He always welcomed me into the house by offering me a “world famous” Henry margarita, which was just margarita mix and ice thrown in a blender. Or maybe it was a glass of that scotch that I never had the heart to tell him was terrible. I could go on and on with my Henry stories, but I’ll just go with my favorite. Henry could shoot the shit with the best of them. He was a very personable guy. But when he was done, he was done. He had no love for the “Jewish goodbye.” You know the type. Where you have to say goodbye to every single person in the room. He was more of an “Irish goodbye” kind of dude. Where you just leave without saying anything to anyone. But he married a big fan of the prolonged goodbye. We were at a wedding one time, and it was time to go. Tamara’s mom was doing her thing and saying goodbye to everyone. After around the sixth or seventh person, Henry had reached his limit. In a room full of people, he grabbed a wine glass from the table, clanged his spoon against it, and when everyone turned to look, he proclaimed, “We’re leaving!” and then walked his ass out the door. Greatest goodbye I’ve ever seen. There are a lot of stories like that. He was a good man, and we will all miss him very much.

I’ll wrap this update up on a positive note. I have a feeling Tamara isn’t going to like that I’m sharing this part, but I think it’s important because it highlights just how much of an inspiration she is to so many people. One of the other patients in Long Beach is another stroke survivor. I will withhold her name or what she does, but I will say that she is very wealthy. Like private plane wealthy. She is also way too young to have had a stroke (I think she’s in her 30s) and is also a mother. So they have a lot in common already. We tend to see her either on our way in or on our way out of therapy, but during the weeks when there are two therapists working, she and Tamara are often paired together. One of them works with Gina, while the other works with Trudi. This other girl has had some challenges with the therapy in the past but is working hard, just like all the rest. Honestly, all of these people are pretty inspiring to watch. What they have been through, and the dedication it takes to persevere. How can you not be inspired? She has clashed with the therapists so much that they considered firing her as a patient (they, of course, didn’t). I say all of this to paint a picture. Basically, she is everything I would be in this situation. Or, at least, she was. At some point, something clicked for her. Maybe it was because the therapists had a serious, come to Jesus, talk with her and explained that unless she shaped up, they would not see her anymore. Because honestly, her attitude and work ethic became a distraction for others. It is hard to get the most out of therapy if the person next to you is complaining and resisting the whole time. So I assumed her change came from the threat of having no more therapy. But I assumed wrong. You know what did it for her? Tamara. She was so inspired by Tamara and how hard she is working that she wanted to be more like her. She was so impressed by Tamara’s resilience and work ethic in her recovery. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but Tamara is the only person out of all the clientele down in Long Beach who is determined to go back to work. All of the other patients either didn’t work before their injury, or have opted not to go back. So this desire to return to work has also been a major inspiration. So much so that she has offered to sponsor Tamara’s recovery. What does that mean? It means she wants to pay for all of the therapy we are getting in Long Beach! How absolutely incredible is that? And how do you thank someone for something like that? Well, Tamara thought of a way as only she could. She is sending video recordings of herself with the kids at work to show this person exactly what her money is paying for. Incredible. I would never have thought of that, but it’s a beautiful way to pay tribute to someone for their incredible generosity. And honestly, it doesn’t surprise me at all that someone would take that kind of a liking to Tamara. I’ve learned so much this past year about how fortunate I am to have her in my life. I always knew what a special person she was, but I think it took this kind of tragedy for me to see it and understand the gravity of it. She just exudes love and compassion. Of course, Tamara inspires me every day, but it’s so heartwarming to get to see just how many people share that sentiment.

So that about wraps it up for today. As I said, I wanted to get this out weeks ago, but due to a self-inflicted blender wound, I could not. The time between the next update will not be nearly as long. We are approaching the one year anniversary of the stroke if you can believe it. Next Tuesday will be a full year, and I have a lot of emotions built up about that. We both do. So more on that next week.