In actuality, this is an entirely new post since it’s not attached to the “Gathering My Thoughts” post, but it’s still in the same vein.
In addition to losing the person I love most in this world, I’ve come to the realization that the loss of him also makes me feel old(er). While he will always remain at 58 3/4, I will continue to age. We once thought, or hoped, that we would grow old together. We pictured ourselves doing many of the same things, but at a much slower pace – still being completely affectionate, still playing cards and board games, still watching all kinds of movies and possibly still doing dances like the Body Language and the Freaky Dekey! I thought I’d live to my 80’s or 90’s, but now I don’t want to. I can’t imagine 20 or 30 more years without him. It’s been 7 weeks since his passing and the pain doesn’t go away.
In my checkered history of boyfriends (and other men in my life who weren’t “boyfriends”), no one has ever taken care of me in the way that Noy did. He cooked for me (I possessed no cooking skills whatsoever), we cleaned together, we did each other’s laundry, he drove me to work when we lived in Burbank and my job was in West L.A., he picked me up from work whenever he could and he babied me when I was sick, In college, when my hair was down to my waist, he took incredible joy in washing and brushing it. When we lived together in L.A., I used to stand on the ledge in the shower and wash his! I remember going out for his birthday with another Thai couple one year in L.A. We drank at a bar or club over on La Cienega, but ended up at the Red Onion on Wilshire Boulevard. We drank and danced, and danced and drank, and apparently drank some more. When I woke up the next morning feeling queasy, there was a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. I felt like tossing my cookies, but couldn’t quite do it. Noy volunteered to stick his finger down my throat, even if it meant that I would get sick all over him; I declined. When I did finally feel able to toss my cookies on my own, he bundled me up in his robe, just in case I had an accident. Once my stomach felt better, he went out and got wonton soup for me.
Our Chow Chow, Pea, was actually my dog, in the sense that I bought him and did most of his training. Although his real name was Kolohe Pea, which meant “Naughty Bear” in Hawaiian, we called him Porky Pig whenever we were talking about him because he made a snorting/snuffling sound when he was happy; we referred to that as the “happy pig” sound. I worked in the morning and Noy went to work in the afternoon. Before Pea was completely paper trained, I instructed Noy to put Pea in the bathroom with newspaper, a water bowl, a towel and a toy whenever he left for work. Yet when I’d get home from work, Pea would be out and running around the apartment, although Noy insisted that he’d put him in the bathroom every day before he left. One afternoon we decided to see how he got out. We put him in the bathroom and sat in the living room waiting. Pea simply continually ran into the bathroom door until it eventually bounced open (it didn’t fit the doorway exactly), then he’d run to the sliding door between the little bathroom hallway and the dining room, stick his fat little paws in the corner and keep pushing at it and scratching until it opened, too. It took him less than 5 minutes to escape the bathroom! Pea was a fat little puppy who loved to eat. At first, his little legs were too short to go down the stairs without him bumping his nose. He had the same problem with curbs, so I’d always pick him up whenever we got to stairs and curbs. Of course, he grew to be 35+ pounds, at which point, I refused to carry him around. He had a funny habit of insisting on sitting in Noy’s lap while Noy drove, though. Most dogs want to sit with their face sticking out the window of the car. Pea did, too, but he had to be sitting in Noy’s lap while doing it or he just wasn’t happy! Noy didn’t mind, so we’d indulge him. Noy’s nephews told me that Noy had a pug in Thailand that followed him everywhere. When I asked what his name was, they told me it was “Chow Chow!” They never understood why he’d named him that, until I told them the story of Pea and showed them pictures. He really did love Pea and vice versa.
You know how superstitious I am. Noy and I were always meant to be, according to my beliefs. My lucky numbers are odd ones, particularly 3, 5, 7 and 13. His birthday was 5-30-57. He came from a family of 5 children that were born girl-boy-girl-boy-girl; he was the second child and the first son. I came from a family of 5 children as well. Ours were born boy-girl-boy-girl-boy; I was also the second child and the first daughter. Both of us even had a mole on nearly the same spot on our backs.
In college, I used to vividly dream that he died in my arms. I didn’t dream it only once, but several times. It seemed so real that I’d awake crying, then immediately call him to make sure that he was ok. Although he didn’t die in my arms, I’d rather he had died in my arms than for us to be apart when he passed.
The other part of my superstition has to do with a black crow. On January 2nd of this year, when I was in L.A. walking around our old neighborhood, possibly 4 blocks or so up the street from where we used to live, a black crow appeared and followed me for two blocks, squawking loudly the entire time. I admit, Noy was the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t think about it too seriously, though, because he hadn’t been sick recently and his health seemed to be holding steady. On February 27th in San Francisco, as I was down at Fishermans Wharf, another black crow appeared in front of me by the cable cars in Aquatic Park. Once again, he was quite noisy. Although he flew away very briefly, he came back to the same spot in front of me and squawked. The following afternoon over near Japantown, another extremely noisy black crow followed me for a few blocks again. Once more, Noy came to mind, but I refused to believe that anything was wrong. If he was sick, I was sure that he or his family would tell me. At that point, I didn’t know that he’d already been in the hospital for nearly two weeks. We generally communicated via Line every 2 or 3 weeks. I’d sent him a message, but he hadn’t answered it yet. I wasn’t alarmed because we didn’t necessarily answer each other right away; it might take a day or two. Besides, he often went on weekend trips with his friends from high school and/or college. I should have followed through on my initial feeling and checked on him, just to be sure of his health, but I didn’t – something I’ll regret forever. Now my two loves, Noy and Pea, are together again.
The only other time I’ve felt such a loss was when my Filipino grandmother passed away in the late 70’s. I’d just spent the summer with her in San Francisco, but had gone back to Kansas to start my next semester of college. When she passed away, my only solace was Noy. As soon as he found out, he drove over to the dorm, picked me up and took me back to his house. For the next two, maybe three, days I did nothing other than sleep, cry and occasionally eat. Noy would hold me while I cried, he’d feed me, he’d kiss me. As usual, he was so caring. Now that he’s gone, I find no solace in anyone.