But then there’s Tom Petty, who we all know passed away October 2. I was never what you’d call a “huge fan” of him or anything but I got to thinking about how his music has been a constant in my life. He has so many songs that I can recall hearing on the radio as a young kid growing up in the 90s. His songs from the 70s and 80s were insanely popular, and they still are (even before his death, which will now surely propel his radio spins). He has this friendly type voice, or some kind of familiarity about it. I almost want to say “wholesome”, but that seems rather contradictory for a rock singer. Sincerity. Tom Petty just has reliable music. Petty is one of those artists where if you say you’ve never heard his songs, I will bet you have — because they are played everywhere.

See “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” — a great rock song which was the subject a few years ago when it seemed evident that the Red Hot Chili Peppers ripped the drum beat off for “Dani California”. “Mary Jane” is a great one for those late night drives where you’re fresh outta work.

Last year I decided to dive into Petty’s discography after becoming obsessed with a handful of his well-known singles. “Here Comes My Girl” is among my favorites, of course. There’s a special nostalgia about it. The song has spoken word verses, but he pulls it off better than you’d think.

“ You know sometimes, I don’t know why
But this old town just seems so hopeless
I ain’t really sure, but it seems I remember the good times
Were just a little bit more in focus”

Petty’s death got me thinking about how it will be when Bruce Springsteen passes. I dread thinking about it. I got into his discography when I was 17 years old — it sucked me in. The passion of Born to Run dominated the summer of 2007 for me. I would drive my sister to school and years later she would tell me she hates his music because I played it so much.

To this day, I somewhat feel he doesn’t get enough recognition, despite being one of the best-selling artists and a touring staple. Springsteen has so many stories in his lyrics and such a conviction in his singing. He is truly genuine. See: “Factory” — a song I associate with my father. Bruce’s lyrics are straight to the point and he perfectly captures the mood.

And the whole Nebraska album, which he solely recorded on his own. An acoustic album filled with haunting songs of just him, the guitar and his harmonica.

For ages 3–5, I only have a few song memories. Rocky Mountain Way by Joe Walsh — in which I swear I nailed the guitar part (I didn’t) while strumming on one of my dad’s guitars. The other one is jumping up and down on my parent’s bed to Shiny Happy People by R.E.M.

When I was six, I was really into the 60s band, the Monkees. I listened to oldies radio all the time until I started moving into pop that was coming out at the time. The NSYNCs, the Britneys. But I came back to rock when I was 11, consuming the likes of Ozzy Osbourne, Guns N’ Roses, Van Halen, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana and more. I remember hitting pillows with drumsticks to Def Leppard songs and embarrassing myself in front of a friend while I had her sit through me singing a Guns N’ Roses song just like Axl. (Facepalm)

In September 2010, we took a week long camping trip. It was the end of summer and in the middle of the trip, we had the whole campground to ourselves. It was so much fun, despite me having to bundle up in 5 sweaters. We cooked hot dogs and marshmallows over the fire, and ate cheez-wiz on crackers while listening to his transistor radio he got as a teen.

The ‘C’ Word

At the end of our camping trip, we both went back to work. He began feeling ill. He was a smoker and was coughing up blood and having a hard time breathing. I recall it took a little pushing to get him to go to urgent care, where he was diagnosed with pneumonia. They said if it didn’t clear up, he would have to get a CAT scan and get tested for cancer. Those weeks went by and I changed jobs — I would do data entry from home. He continued working.

I would accompany him to his doctor trips — and on one in November, it was discovered his left lung was collapsed. He had been on steroids for what they thought was pnemonia and it didn’t help of course, since it wasn’t that at all.

At 20 years old, I would learn the word oncologist and what they do. In late November, after a series of trips to doctors and at the hospital, he was diagnosed with stage 4 Non-small cell lung cancer. It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry. At this point, he continued working for a few weeks until he couldn’t. He was devastated that he had to quit working.

I remember my mother telling me I should move back home. She said she didn’t want me going through it. I wasn’t going to leave him. I was kind of angry for her to assume I’d abandon him. I was literally the only person who could be there for him. His brothers and sisters all had their families to take care of, his friends either too far away or taking care of their families, as well. Later on, my mother would say in an email, “Every ounce of my being hurts for you, I want to fix this for you and I cannot, it makes me feel so powerless as a parent.”

I began immersing myself in photography and music. Kesha and Lady Gaga, who were both popular at the time, were two artists I really liked. They were an escape. On the more somber side, I listened to “Twenty One” by the Cranberries and “This Woman’s Work” by Kate Bush.

I sunk into total depression.

Chemo and Isolation

We got him enrolled in Medicaid and eventually into Disability, which was granted quickly due to his condition. He asked me one night why all these bad things were happening to him and if he deserved it. No, of course not.

That following week, they found spots on his brain. I was told by the doctors to keep an eye out on his memory and if there were any major changes. I ended up quitting my job to take care of him full time.

I had an encounter with my mom ex-best friend at the supermarket one day. I hadn’t seen her in some years — as a kid, we would hang out at her house a lot. She asked me how I was doing and I said, “Just okay”. She asked why and I told her about the cancer diagnosis. “If this guy has cancer, then why are you still with him?” I was so angry. I forget how the encounter ended but I didn’t chew her out about it, when I should have.

I became a homebody. I rarely left unless it was to get groceries or medication. I wrote in my journal about how I felt like I was on the verge of mental breakdown and that there was so much stress. On the first day of his chemo appointment, I rear-ended someone because they were going too slow. They slammed on their brakes. I was losing it. I got a ticket and my car was really banged up.

They said because of the chemo, it might hurt to touch him. The chemo wiped him out. He stayed in bed for the whole next few days and barely ate anything. He slowly lost his hair. He would sleep up to 18 hours a day following the chemo appointments.

His cancer metastasized to both of his lungs, his brain, shoulder and his lymph nodes. And day after day, it was just him and I stuck in the trailer together.

Hospice

In February 2011, I learned another new word — hospice. His sister suggested that we get in-home health care. I was told not to fear the word “hospice”. It would be some much needed help. After the third round of chemo, the nurse informed us it would be the last time we’d be in for it. It was not working and any more of it would just kill him. I felt like I was living in a nightmare. I could still see the youth in him, even though he was bald and looked terribly aged. It hurt me to know there was nothing I can do or say to help him.

March came around and I had my first outing in a long time — a Lady Gaga concert. A work friend and I drove downstate and we met up with my sister who traveled from Pennsylvania to Michigan to attend with us. It was the best time I’d had in a long time. Back home, his sisters were up for the weekend taking care of him and when I got back, there were plans to put a hospital bed in the living room for him, as well as an oxygen tank.

It really happened so fast. It was so upsetting all at once, and after they said a hospital bed was going to be put in, it began to feel a lot more real. It wasn’t a nightmare.

Deterioration

Hospice came by to talk with us and I was assigned to be his “healthcare agent”. I was to decide what would happen with him if he cannot speak or make decisions. They also told me when he died that I shouldn’t call 911 since they would just try to revive him and that I should only call hospice.

His brother gave us his old laptop so he was able to stay in bed and watch something other than the Food Network all day. He loved to play Risk and Spades.

The stress and the everyday burdens I faced was growing and I worried for my mental health. I dabbled in drinking and got drunk a couple times a week. I also chatted with a group of people online everyday who knew what I was going through. I tried to escape anyway I could.

One morning, I was woken up by his yells from the living room, where his hospital bed was. He had fallen on the floor after trying to go to the toilet. It was my absolute fear to change diapers. It didn’t end up happening.

The Inevitable

His condition worsened and by this time, his sisters were alternating their weekends to visit and stayed with us. He began to feel some pain on his left side. We were instructed to give him morphine. I didn’t even really know what morphine was. It ended up not being strong enough, so I had to go to the pharmacy for methadone. Soon after he practically became mute. He would grunt, writhe in pain and nothing more — think zombie moans. He would lose the last fragments of himself to the medicine in order to not be in pain. In the moments he was semi-conscious, he put up a fight when I tried to feed him.

On Friday April 8, 2011 at 1:30 am, I was woken by his sister who said he passed. We called hospice and they came and took his body. It looked like he was still breathing but it was just an illusion. It was the first time I’d seen a dead body. I watched as they put him in the ambulance and thought how cold he must have felt. He hated the cold.

The rest of that night is a blur but I called my mom, who was pretty much knew what the phone call was about. She was said she was so sorry. Miraculously, I got to sleep that night. I was woken up by my mother’s embrace and we both had a moment. She helped me get a lot of my things packed up that day and I moved back in with my parent’s within the day. Just because I had no reason to remain there alone…

Aftermath

I isolated myself completely, spending hours listening to music and being on the internet. I documented my thoughts and feelings in a blog. I still was trying to escape. I needed the isolation though — I felt broken in so many ways and I was still figuring out how to cope. I’d never had someone close to me pass away.

I couldn’t even muster up the strength to go to his funeral. He didn’t even want one, but they cremated and buried him by some family upstate.

He was 52. His mother also died around this age of cancer.

I hated that our relationship had such a bleak ending. Most relationships end in a break-up… and I was pretty bitter for a long time. It’s so hard to even think about the end of it all because I was in such a dark mindset. I was confined to the house — and also confined mentally.

The reason why I wanted to write about it is because it is a unique thing to go through at 21. It was the biggest thing that has ever happened to me and I had nobody I could really relate to about it.

It was 6 years ago — so I’ve had a lot of time to mourn. I ended up pretty much taking a year off any kind conventional life. 2011 and 2012 were landmark years of my life where I learned how to cope with loss and how to pick myself up again. 2012 saw myself moving to another state, 550 miles from my family, a new job, a new boyfriend and a new life completely. A lot of growing up happened in 2012.

But I still think about him and all the times we had together and I really cherish it. And I still miss him. I think about the good times more than the bad. The best time in my life.

When I was 19, I was involved with an older man.

First, we were just work friends, then we starting hanging out outside of work. Me and a female co-worker would join him at his mobile home in a trailer park for movies and snacks. He made us laugh and was just good company. He also didn’t seem his age — 48 or 49 at the time.

At the time of all this, I was in an verbally abusive relationship with a boy the same age as me. We had been dating since we were 15 and we were living at his parent’s house while they were out of the country. I spent many nights by myself with his dogs while he pulled all-nighters and had LAN parties. We began to fall apart because of the issues between us, and quite frankly, we hardly had anything in common to begin with. He would belittle my taste in music and call me stupid all of the time. When he took a one month trip with his friend to Utah, I started hanging out with the older man more. This time, alone.

We were at first friends, of course. We took a few hiking trips. We even went somewhere with my sister who is one year younger than me. I introduced him to my family. I don’t remember any stigma there — we were simply friends at the time. We enjoyed each other’s company.

At the end of August 2009, my boyfriend came back from Utah. I can’t recall every little event but there was a rift between us. He got into an argument with me and turned off the internet, took away my car keys and my cell phone. I also vaguely recall making him a birthday cake and him being too busy to even eat it but most of all, I was fed up. There was a long list of stuff I had endured over those last four years. And also the fact that I was working a minimum wage job and supporting him as well — for over a year. I was done!

New Beginning

I literally packed up everything I had and quickly moved in with the older man, who we’ll call Greg. We had grown close in such a short amount of time. He was initially surprised, obviously, since I arrived unexpectedly but he was very laid back about it. He knew that I had it bad with my ex.

Over the course of the next few months, we went hiking. Our friends at work eventually found out us becoming a couple. I didn’t really realize the big stigma of it. I didn’t date him because of his age or anything — it just happened that way.

One day, at the laundromat — where we went weekly — an Asian woman approached me and started asking me a bunch of questions like if I had kids and if I lived with my parents. I said, “No, I live with my boyfriend”. I pointed him out. She exclaimed, “Ohh!!! Very lucky. That is very lucky”. I’m not sure what she really meant but I did feel lucky. We got along so well.

Despite some tight-lipped judgement from our co-workers, at the time I didn’t understand the stigma of it all. I liked that he was older than me. I could ask him anything and he would know it. He was more patience with me and never yelled at me.

Over the course of the next year and a half, we would go on weekend trips to nearby hiking trails and spend the whole day out of the house. He showed me places I’d never been to and would probably never know about. He would go to every holiday dinner my family had. He taught me how to fish — we even went river fishing once. (I wore waders!) We spent time at home watching TV. Nothing crazy. Our relationship wasn’t even overtly sexual, but rather a deep closeness and bond. I feel richer having had him in my life.

Seeing how people respond to it when I tell them about my past relationship with an older man, I can tell it grosses people out. I usually keep it to myself but it was a very big chapter in my life.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last.