Milton: In the Beginning

Today marks two months since Milton died.

I've taken our wedding rings off my finger and put them on a chain, with a pendant he bought me for our anniversary.  A month later, and the depression around my ring finger remains.

I've found it difficult to write since Sunny died; except for when I was keeping this blog on a semi-regular basis.  It's been years now, but I felt it important to document the passing of Milton, and Lamar.

I probably first met Milton online. Yahoo chat no doubt.  Sunny and I were already together, living in Houston.  But since Sunny and I worked opposite shifts, and I really had no other friends in Houston, chatting online was my outlet for conversation and fellowship.

We first met Milton in person during a visit to Austin.  He belonged to the big men's group that Tom Adams had formed in Austin.  I could see then that he was shy in some ways; but always ready with a laugh, a smile, and his sweet baritone voice. It was only later that I found out he had also surrounded himself with a couple of people who were just there to take advantage of him.  That was a part of who he was; tough, gruff, but so longing to belong and to be loved that he gave of himself unguardedly to anyone who reached out to him.

After Sunny's death, I moved back to Austin. Tom was kind enough to save me from financial ruin by allowing me to stay in his spare bedroom.  I began going to the group dinners.  One November night in 2005, but after the dinner while Tom and I were saying goodnight to Chuck and Keith, Milton was off by himself, leaning into the front door of his van, smoking.  He was just feet away but it seemed emotionally across an ocean. My heart fell as I grasped the depth of his loneliness.  So I did something bold.  I told him I would go home with him if he wanted me to.  His eyes lit up and danced. He didn't smile though. He just very casually said "okay." 

Milton had a mustache at the time, which I didn't care for and he said he'd never shave off for anyone. His smoking always bothered me, too.  I wish I had been firmer with him about that, as the cigarettes became a big factor in what was ultimately a horrible death.  But I won't get ahead of myself.



We made love that night; and pretty much every chance we had after that.  One day he asked me "when are we going to do this all the time?" I had already become obsessed with him; and felt a strange jealousy that I had never felt before.  See, he continued to see other guys once in a while and posted on Craigslist (though he said nothing ever came of those). Normally I shouldn't have cared.  I believe in open relationships, but I suppose losing Sunny triggered some fear or possessiveness in me. Or perhaps it was simply that I loved him, and this was a man I was meant to look after, and vice-versa, until death do us part.

My jealously nearly broke us.  After returning from Christmas break spent with my family, I started an argument over his side affairs.  I claimed it was just that I wanted him to be open and honest about them (he always had trouble when it came to that); but that wasn't it.  I hypocritically wanted him to myself. We separated, but days later I was apologizing, suggesting we could remain friends.  By New Year's Eve, we were holding each other again.

I moved in with him.  We were happy. One morning I woke up to the sound of him laughing softly.  I called out to him "what's so funny?"  He came in, face baby smooth.  I knew he was asking me to marry him.  I said I do.

We moved out of his tiny condo into a rented four-bedroom house.  Then from there began looking for a home we could own together.  It wasn't until we were ready to close on the house that I (and Milton as well) found out one of his friends, Donald Grant, had stolen thousands of dollars from him, preying on Milton's trust and kindness. Unfortunately, there was no paper trail, no way to recover the money.  It was then that I realized I had to protect Milton from his own generosity and spontaneity.

We eventually found a home in Buda that we fell in love with.  We only got to spend a couple of years there though.  Changes at Time Warner made it impossible for me to stay on, and Milton's health kept declining. He spent 80 percent of his time sleeping. I quit, worked as a security guard for a short while, then came home one morning in 2012 and found Milton riding around in his wheelchair, dragging a rug that had gotten stuck under the wheels.  He couldn't say much of anything except his own name.  After asking him a few questions, I was convinced he'd had a stroke.  I drove him to the hospital (we were close enough it was quicker than waiting for an ambulance).  After several grueling hours, doctors announced he didn't have a stroke, he had a severe case of pneumonia.  But it was the beginning of a long, drawn out end.

The severity of his condition was actually good fortune in a sense.  An x-ray of his lungs showed the pneumonia. But the radiologist also noticed something, comparing it to x-rays Milton had from a previous pneumonia case the year before.  A spot in the same place as previously, but larger.  I don't know who this radiologist was; but their astuteness likely bought Milton precious years of life.

Not everyone in medicine is as brilliant, though.  The first oncologists he saw told me Milton had stage 4 cancer, and only a few months to live.  And he wanted me to be the one to tell Milton that.  After a few moments of shock, I demanded a second opinion, and demanded that the doctor not tell Milton how long he had left.

It wasn't until we saw another oncologist that we were told the tumor was actually pretty small; we'd caught it early. But the PET scan also showed, Milton had a cancer in his throat, near his larynx but not on it.  We were horrified.  More tests, and it turned out they were two completely different cancers. We were able to arrange to have both removed at the same time, by two separate doctors. 

Shortly before Milton's surgery, I was hired to work in Beaumont; which meant having to leave our home in Buda; and the start date was just a week after Milton's surgery.  I was going to put it off, or decline the job; but Milton insisted.  He was determined that everything would be alright.  So, we hired movers, packed up what we could with the help of my father, nephew and in-laws.  Then we were on our way down US 290 to East Texas.

It's late. I am tired.  More to come later.