Beyond the Fence

Alone

"You've been a good neighbor," said Mr. McNee as he shook my hand goodbye.

"Yes, a good neighbor," Mrs. McNee chimed in as she walked up and nudged her husband aside with her hip.

She lifted herself on her tip-toes as I leaned down to accept her kiss on my cheek.

"You two were good neighbors," she said with a hitch in her voice, "They should have stopped him. Cassy didn't deserve that. She was such a beautiful girl."

"Stop that now," grumbled Mr. McNee, "I'm sorry Lee. She still gets emotional about everything that happened."

"It's okay," I said softly, "I agree with you, Mrs. McNee. She was beautiful, didn't deserve what happened, and he should have been stopped."

She kissed my cheek again then wrapped her arms around me for a long and strong hug. "You need to look beyond that fence around your yard, you hear me? There is a big world out there and you need to go beyond the fence you have built up around you too. Go through the gate, you hear me?"

"I hear you," I said as I hugged her back, "I hear you loud and clear."

I walked them to their car, helped Mrs. McNee into her seat, and walked to Mr. McNee and shook his hand. "Thank you for being such great neighbors and wonderful people."

"You kept the lines in the front yard straight," said Mr. McNee with a smile, "That's how I knew you were going to be good neighbors. You cut in good lines, kept the weeds out, and kept it watered. That's the way to take care of your lawn. You let me know if the people that are moving in don't take care of the grass, ya hear me? I will come over and give them a lesson on how to mow grass and make it look good."

He turned, got into the car, and drove away with a wave and a honk of the horn.

I was happy for the McNees. They both had worked hard, raised two sons, and retired with good health. For being in their late 70s, they were both active in the community, physically able to take care of their house, and travel on vacation whenever and wherever they wanted. Moving into a condo was a way they were rewarding themselves for working so hard all of their lives. Although they both enjoyed doing yard work, it was beginning to wear them down, so, moving into a condo was the next move in their life. They really were good neighbors and I hoped the new neighbors had the same sense of pride in ownership of the house, that the McNees did.

I went back into my house, stripped out of my clothes, and swam in the pool for a while. On the occasions we were able to be at home together, maybe two to three times a week because of our work schedules, Cassy and I would strip down after dinner and go for a swim. It was a tradition I had continued and a way for me to still feel connected with her.

"Well, I am all alone again," I said to Cassy, the water, the sky, or whatever lizard hanging onto the screen around my pool that would listen, "The McNees are gone and I am alone again."

Melancholy is not a feeling I enjoy having. It felt like a wave as it rushed over me while laying in my smooth-surfaced pool. I refused to feel sad, melancholy, or depressed. Fighting emotions, for me, had been a way of life for as long as I could remember. I believe the ability to suppress my emotions had saved my life. I was able to function in a logical and efficient manner while storing the emotions away. "I will deal with the emotions later," I always told myself.

After Cassy was murdered, dealing with emotions became a priority. Since I had never learned coping mechanisms that would help me, I felt as if I would vibrate apart starting from the inside. It didn't feel like I would explode, vibrating apart was the most accurate way I could describe my feelings and emotions.

Fortunately, the fire department has an incredible support system. My captain, my crew, and firefighters from other departments rallied around me. I received encouragement and resources for help from firefighters from around the globe. Pulling within myself, building a fence, that would eventually turn into a wall, around my emotional self was the direction I was heading until my captain stepped in and guided me to professional help.

"We have the EAP for a reason, Lee," he said one day as we sat on my lanai, "I set up a time for you to go visit a counselor tomorrow. I will pick you up at 8:30 and you will have an hour session from 9:00-10:00."

"The EAP," I asked, "I thought the Employee Assistance Program was for employees that had a hard time paying their bills and stuff?"

"Nope," he said after standing up and kissing me on the top of my head, a gesture I have never forgotten and will cherish for the rest of my life, "It's to help us goons get through the crap we have to go through. Sometimes it helps us cope with the stuff we see on the scene, sometimes it helps us learn to live again after we suffer something that no one should ever experience. I love ya kid and want to make sure you are okay."

I would be okay. The counselor said I would, I felt like I would be okay, and I believed I would eventually be okay.

Getting help can be a difficult thing to do for those of us that are used to providing help to others. We fix things or do our best to fix the things that are broken. How can we fix something if we, ourselves, are broken?

"What a better way to help someone," my counselor had said, "You can aid others with applying the techniques you learned that helped you cope with, get through, and sometimes fix the situation or situations you had."

Eventually, I enjoyed my time with my counselor. He had worked with a lot of firefighters and police officers. There was no, patting my hand and singing Hakuna Matata, with him.

"I am going, to be honest with you," he told me at our first meeting, "I will be honest, blunt, and I may say things you don't want to hear. But, the things I say will not be said to hurt you or in a mean way."

We met for three months. I learned a lot of different coping techniques that worked for me and some that were better left for others to try. However, one technique he mentioned to me that I didn't need coaching, was masturbation.

"It's okay to masturbate, Lee," he said at the start of one of our last sessions, "it releases chemicals that help relax you, and psychologically connects you to the scene or experience you are fantasizing about."

I cannot say I was shocked when he encouraged me to masturbate. I think it was more of a sense of relief. It felt like a deluge of cool water ran through me and must have shown on my face.

"You haven't had any release, have you," he asked, "you have felt like it would be wrong to think of her that way or it would be cheating if you looked at or thought of another person."

I didn't say a word, I looked down, wiped a tear from my eye, and nodded my head.

"It's okay, man," he said, "if you decide to meet someone else in the future, it would be best for you to work through these feelings and emotions now. You wouldn't want her to be weighted down with the baggage you could have sat down years before."

It took me a week and a half after that session for me to follow his advice, but when I came that first time after the death of my wife, I cried for an hour straight. That night, while I lay in bed, I ended up crying so hard I eventually cried myself to sleep.

Now, however, my time of release, masturbation, or jerkin' the gherkin', is not followed by tears. I feel a sense of relief, calmness, and excitement bunched together deep inside.

I paddled myself to the side of the pool, got off of the raft I had been floating on, and grabbed a towel. I dried off then chuckled as I hung my towel on my hardness while walking into the house. Cassy would laugh whenever I did that and I would do that occasionally, now, in order to be silly.

"Going to take the advice of my wise counselor," I said aloud to the lizards, sky, and Cassy, "time to feel some relief while I take a shower."

I stepped into the shower, already stroking myself with my right hand, kissed the fingers of my left hand, and blew the kiss toward the sky.

"I miss you, Cassy," I said as I closed my eyes, "I wish you were here doing this instead of me, but, this is what I do because I feel so alone."