Widowish: A Memoir(10)

When I left for Seattle, I went with no commitment from Joel, and I wasn’t expecting one. Our lives were separate—we had never been a couple. As much as I continued to long for someone just like Joel, I put all of those feelings behind me. My life was starting, and I couldn’t wait. It was 1993. Seattle was the place to be. It was the epicenter of the biggest shift the music business had seen in decades—grunge. I was young and unencumbered . . . Kurt Cobain was still alive. I was writing on a TV show and still very connected to my love of music, which was entirely accessible to me. I was in heaven!

A few months later, Joel started a new job and was on tour with the metal band Anthrax. The weekend they rolled through Seattle, Joel called and asked me to meet him at the theater where the band was playing. I was excited to see him and catch up. But when I left work that night, he was standing outside the production offices waiting for me. My heart nearly burst out of my chest. I felt scared and excited at the same time.

“What are you doing here?!” I asked.

We stood there looking at each other. It felt like the world around us had stopped moving.

Joel walked toward me, reached for my hands. “I’m here because I can’t live my life without you. I don’t want to anymore.”

A thousand thoughts swirled through my mind.

“What?” I asked. “You’re married.”

“We separated. Months ago. Right after you left.”

I was stunned. “Really?” I couldn’t believe that the man I pined for all those years was standing in front of me making this declaration.

“I love you. I want to be with you. Please tell me that’s OK.”

I stood there silently staring at Joel. But I was smiling. “I can’t believe this,” I said.

“I know. It’s weird.”

“Yes,” I managed to say.

“Yes, this is weird, or yes that it’s OK?”

“Yes,” I said again. “Yes.”

Joel smiled, took my face in his hands, and kissed me, deeply.

We didn’t stop kissing the entire few days he was in Seattle. We were giddy with the fact that we were together. That we could hold hands and kiss and spend hours on end talking about life in a way that we never had before. Joel confessed that he was ready to make serious changes in his life, a life that he wanted to spend with me.

My world was rocked when Joel showed up in Seattle, and it was good that he left to finish up the tour. It gave us both the time we needed to sort out what was transpiring.

While I really loved Seattle, I wanted a TV writing career and to start a life with Joel. I knew that meant living in Los Angeles. When the Anthrax tour ended months later, Joel bought a one-way plane ticket to Seattle. Together we took our time driving my old BMW down the coast and back to Los Angeles. By the time we arrived, we were a bona fide couple.



In the ICU, I held Joel’s hands, which alternated between freezing and feverish. I tried rubbing his feet with lotion, because they felt cold and dry, but the doctors stopped me from putting socks on them due to a concern that they would deregulate his already fluctuating temperature. Every day I was granting permission for another test, approval for yet another doctor to assess him, all while trying to make sense of what was happening. I wanted to ask Joel, no, beg him, What should I do?! I was afraid of making any decision for fear it was the wrong decision. I was trying to manage his care in the hospital and protect Sophie from the full extent of what was making her daddy so sick.

Our friends and family were scared and worried for us. I gave Joel’s best friend, Greg, the task of updating a small but close group of friends so that I wouldn’t have to answer every phone call, text, and email.

After just four days, the doctors told me that I should move Joel to the hospital where his MS team was. Because the diagnosis was unclear, so was the prognosis. The prevailing thought was that this was perhaps something to do with Joel’s MS and/or his new medication. It became evident that while this hospital provided full-service medical care, they had done everything they could for Joel.

But moving Joel meant a commute to downtown LA. It was a logistical nightmare. How would I be able to be there every day and be available for Sophie? Why couldn’t this hospital help him? Nothing made sense to me.

I spoke to Joel’s dad about the move. Hal liked to tease that I never wanted to stray too far outside of the valley. “Melissa,” he said, “I agree with the doctors. I know it will be tough for you, but let’s move Joel downtown.” Hal meant that as a joke—he was optimistic, but I wasn’t.

What lay ahead was fraught with uncertainty. There was tremendous mystery surrounding Joel’s condition. Cultures for a variety of viruses had been taken, and all of them came back negative. While they supported and encouraged it, the doctors were also concerned that he may not survive the transfer to the hospital downtown.

I called Joel’s sister, Andrea.

“You really should come down here, sis,” I told her. “Your brother is in bad shape.”

She seemed shocked. “Really? Dad said I should wait. He said Joel’s going to be fine in a few days, and it would be more meaningful to come when he’s home.”

I lost it. Tears started pouring out of my eyes. I yelled, “When he’s home?! Andrea, I don’t know when he’s coming home! I don’t know what shape he’ll be in when he’s home! If he comes home! Why would your dad tell you Joel’s going to be fine—that’s not what they’re telling me!”