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"Rags"
Chapter 1
THE PHONE
Please lord, let her
telephone me now, let my phone ring, let me hear the sound of
her sweet voice. All this is a small request; it would mean so
much to me.
Maybe if I don't think
about her, the telephone will ring. I could think of something
else, I could stroll through the garden; I could sit by the pool
or perhaps write her a letter. I could carefully print each word
and recall, year-by-year, month-by-month, day-by-day, hour-by-hour,
and minute-by-minute of our relationship. I won't overlook anything.
I will recall my fondest memories and fill each page with my
cherished thoughts, and, if the phone rings, I won't stop to
answer it until I finish page one.
I won't look at my
pocket watch, or listen to the clock chimes. It's after eight,
and she promised I would hear from her by five o'clock. She had
called me at 8:45 this morning to ask how I was doing. She spoke
to me very briefly, asking me how I slept. Did I have my morning
coffee? Did I eat breakfast? Did I read the morning newspaper?
Twice she called me honey. I couldn't believe it. Maybe yesterday
was just a bad dream. Maybe she wasn't really angry with me.
Perhaps my prayers had been heard. Perhaps she had decided to
forgive me. I don't think I asked her what time she would call,
she told me "Honey, it will be around 5 o'clock," I
can't believe she hasn't called. I don't believe she would say
she was going to call if she wasn't going to call. The fact is
she hates the telephone. She would not answer the telephone if
she didn't have to, and really did not like to talk on the telephone,
even with me.
With my failing health,
gray hair, weight problem, and forgetfulness, I was still honey,
her sweetheart. I'm sure there were people around when she said
those kind words to me. However, she said them, and they were
mine, no one could take that away from me. I have that to remember
even if I never see her again. A life that 24 hours ago seemed
so complete was now in complete disarray.
I pulled out my pocket
watch, 8:30, the clock chimed and then silence. The telephone
didn't ring. I couldn't stop staring at the cold black instrument
sitting on the little table next to the staircase. All I could
think was, "Why won't you ring? You could ring if you wanted,
it wouldn't hurt you, and it would make me so very happy,"
with a smile on my face, and love in my heart.
Damn you! The pain
you caused. You're connected to her through your root system,
yet you won't ring. You won't connect me to her; all I ask is
let us connect ear to ear. But no, I guess I am being punished.
I have to do something else; I can't keep staring at the telephone.
I went upstairs to
our bedroom and sat down in my rocking chair, looking out at
a full moon and feeling the cool ocean breeze, I realized the
phone was not going to ring. She would not call tonight, not
tomorrow, not ever.
She was always so
sweet, at least in the very beginning when I met her. It's very
easy to be sweet before you love them. I even thought she might
still like me a little.
If the phone rang
I would know she…the phone wasn't going to ring. She would
no longer have to do things she didn't want to do. The only thing
left for her to do now was to see how much she could hurt me.
The pain was now very
clear. She had carefully planned the way our relationship would
end and would make sure I would feel the hurt and devastation
of a long term relationship that was now near its end. Was I
being punished? If she would just call, perhaps we could stop
the hurt. We would say comforting things to each other the way
we used to. I sat quietly and reflected on our relationship,
looking at her beauty in the gold-framed portrait from the moonlight
through the window of the bedroom and ask myself, was she ever
happy with me? Or just pimped out?
My Rolex and diamond
ring were gone. As well as seven square-cut large white brilliant
diamonds on a 14kt gold nugget setting that she gave me on our
first Christmas twenty-two days after we met. A twenty thousand
dollar diamond bracelet I gave her for Christmas in 2000, gone.
Paintings, lithographs, silver, china, crystal, diamonds, platinum,
gold, and rubies, fur coats, cars, and collectables, gone. I
was broke, homeless, and my prize possessions stolen from me,
and yet I set in the moonlight and cursed her, and the telephone,
and realized she would not call. The loneliness began to set
in, the personal loss was becoming very evident, I felt cheated,
betrayed, and useless.
Maggie and I have
traveled down red dirt roads without any boundaries, two-lane
asphalt highway at 320 miles per hour, and river water as smooth
as glass. We shared our visions that were from eyes full of tenderness,
hoping all the time our love would last more than just thought.
My head no longer was full of love, but of scars, empty dreams,
and broken promises.
Chapter 2
INDIGENT
In poor health and
walking with a cane I moved quietly through the rooms of our
tri-level home. My clothes, shoes, and some books, were thrown
in cardboard boxes and loaded in the pick-up truck I parked in
the driveway.
Rags and I were able
to make two trips to our new home. With the third trip, it had
been discovered that Maggie had changed the locks. I called her
to see if perhaps in time we would share some of the bounty she
had sold or stored around town. She said "sure," she
was not planning to be mean, and of course, I did not tell her
I had just left the house and knew she changed the locks.
The weather had been
nice during the week, I stayed in a hotel close to the beach,
trying to collect my thoughts and make some plans.
It began to rain drops the size of quarters as I put the last
of the cardboard boxes in the truck. My books were very important
to me. They had promised growth, wisdom, and comfort over the
years for both Rags and I.
A lifetime of education
lined banker boxes with miss-matched socks, shorts that were
thrashed and in need of mending, t-shirts that were faded and
stained, and Levis that were thread bare.
I had become easily
disoriented not realizing that my medication had been changed.
In my confusion, I was not sure what, when, or if I had even
taken any medication at all. Later of course, I found out not
only had I not been taking what was prescribed, but that the
doses had been changed, and not by my doctor.
Rags and I got settled
in at our new home on Labor Day weekend, and within the first
week I was in the hospital, "congestive heart failure."
My doctor came in and we talked. I cried, trying to be strong
and not show anger as he explained to me the damage to my heart
and brain from the stroke I had some six months earlier, causing
damage to my left side, my face, and my speech. Physical therapy
was an option, but it should have been started as soon as possible
after the initial stroke. I believe Maggie knew, but she chose
not to help me. It became more important for her to help herself.
A hospital social
worker came in to see me, letting me know that my healthcare
coverage had been cancelled at the end of last year and I would
be responsible for the hospital care provided. Curious about
any options, she suggested MIA with the country. I was denied
because I did not apply while in the hospital. With the help
and persistence of my sister, I was able to get medical coverage,
physical therapy, and prescriptions.
I was now indigent.
I colored in coloring books. I worked on my ABC's, lifted 5-pound
weights, and worked on my speech. Slowly I improved, and with
the challenge of each new day I knew I wanted to promote personal
growth and started making notes. A plan had been started in my
mind on one of my trips to physical therapy. There was a definite
future plan for me and all I could do was continue to open myself
up and receive the blessings that were being shower upon me.
I longed for a ride
in the country on my Harley. I wanted to perform again in front
of live audiences. I missed the sparkle in the eyes of my audience
as we explored happiness and love in personal growth. I had enjoyed
a very lucrative radio career, published two successful magazines,
and had written a book that was in multiple printings.
Maggie made sure that
I was broke right down to putting the vehicles in her name, and
I learned there was nothing I could do about it, and I still
was not angry. My friends and my family kept asking me when I
was going to get angry. I had no plans, so it would serve no
purpose, and it would drain productive energy from me. In a matter
of months, I had gone from being able to do anything I wanted,
to indigent. We had dined in five star restaurants, stayed in
hotel penthouse suites with domestic help, and were flown around
the globe on our own personal jet, American Spirit I.
Maggie was always
very quiet, yet persistent. She always got what she wanted, and
never really complained. I was sure that she was concerned about
my health and well being. The children were very supportive and
visited me at the hospital. Maggie had me served with a temporary
restraining order the same day I was released from the hospital.
I responded with a letter to the court from myself, and my attending
cardiologist. I was now more than 100 miles away from her, and
I had no record of domestic violence, and could not drive by
myself at the time because of memory impairment.
As our names were
called, Maggie made eye contact with my attorney, surprised that
I had showed up in court. Explaining her side, the judge was
curt with Maggie when he asked her direct questions. He questioned
Maggie about how we had worked together, she said, " Oh,
from time to time I had typed some correspondence for him,"
looking at me the judge asked me if that was true. I said, "Not
exactly your honor, Maggie was co-founder of one magazine, managing
editor of another publication, and also wrote a monthly column
named, "From a Woman's Point of View."
The judge read the
letter addressed to the court aloud, when he finished, he removed
his glasses, looked at Maggie, and said, "The way I see
it is someone here is lying, and someone is telling the truth.
Maggie, your request for restraining orders are denied,"
he dropped his gavel and said, "get out of my court room."
That would be the last time I was to see Maggie, and the very
beginning of my personal healing process and new direction in
my life.
Physical therapy was
a daily routine. Spending three or four days a week at the medical
center, then the routine at home which included lifting weights,
playing with silly putty, and walking. My speech was improving
and I could now color within the lines fairly well in my coloring
books. My memory was still not cooperating and the doctors told
me it would not get much better. We learned that reading out
loud helped both my speech and my retention.
Maggie and I had enjoyed
a healthy active lifestyle with a little romance, and I hoped
that if physical therapy went well that perhaps I could find
romance in my life again.
As the holidays approached
I became a little apprehensive, but my family helped me by letting
me pick out a Christmas tree and with the help of my mom, my
sister, and my nieces I decorated the tree and we hung lights
outside and, like a youngster, I looked forward to Santa's visit.
We took baked goods to the medical center, sharing holiday cheer.
The progress I was making was a tremendous holiday gift.
Another present was
delivered by the US mail. Arriving from the hospital trustees,
in response to the letter we sent that I was not able to pay
my bill, they determined that at the time I qualified for charity
care. Proof that you can get assistance; they met my healthcare
needs and asked that should my economic situation improved if
I would consider making a charitable contribution so they could
help others the way they helped me. This stirred up the thought
process and as I read from Oswald Chambers, "My Utmost for
his Highest", Rick Warren, "The purpose Driven Life",
and Peale, Tozer, and Schuller, all of them with a message that
you can do it, no matter where you are.
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