Widow's Voice

Only Happy When It Rains

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(Reposting from almost exactly 2 years ago as I’ve had another crazy week with emergency vet care for my kitty, Freya.)

rain drops on a window

Mario wasn’t one of those guys who carried on and complained or wilted like a flower when he was sick or had some physical pain. His tolerance was high, bolstered by a masochistic tendency.

In a way, he reminded me of that old song by the band Garbage, “Only Happy When It Rains” (in fact, Mario really liked that song too).

I’m only happy when it rains
I’m only happy when it’s complicated
And though I know you can’t appreciate it
I’m only happy when it rains
You know I love it when the news is bad
Why it feels so good to feel so sad?
I’m only happy when it rains
Pour your misery down
Pour your misery down on me
Pour your misery down
Pour your misery down on me
I’m only happy when it rains
I feel good when things are goin’ wrong
I only listen to the sad, sad songs
I’m only happy when it rains
I only smile in the dark
My only comfort is the night gone black
I didn’t accidentally tell you that
I’m only happy when it rains

And he was always like this. He was even known for allowing other people to pour their misery down on him. Even before the alcoholism really took over. I’d never really met someone who seemed as content and comfortable with physical misery. It wasn’t until his very last days on this rock that it changed. He was sitting on the couch trying to eat some food and was so weak he kept dropping either bits of food or the fork. I came over to assist and he said, “this just sucks”. That was the moment both he and I broke. Physically, mentally, it was all just too much. We truly just had a moment there sitting on the couch where the misery, physical pain, and emotions took their biggest toll. Any remote “enjoyment” that he had once derived from being miserable was fully sucked out of him.

Whenever I am miserable or have some sort of physical pain, I’ll always think of Mario in his earlier days and how he took it all in stride. For over a week now I’ve been legitimately miserable with hay fever. As soon as I returned from what was otherwise a relaxing camping trip on the coast, every hay field around me seemed to get cut. On Sunday I sneezed so much that I hurt my ribs. Tonight it’s not the allergies keeping me awake, it’s the rib pain.

But in the morning I’ll carry on. Unlike Mario, I don’t find any sort of enjoyment in not physically feeling my best. Hoping for a better week ahead.

About Sherry Holub

I met my spouse, Mario, at UCLA School of Art in 1993. After graduating in 1995, I founded a small agency specializing in web and graphic design. Mario became my partner in the company in 1999. In 2002, we were married at the Costa Mesa, CA court house because neither of us wanted a big wedding ceremony (after already being together since 1995).

Mario was a highly talented artist, musician, illustrator and 3D Designer, but a tortured one. He was one of those gentle, creative souls who ended up burning twice as bright for half as long. Mario lost the battle with liver disease induced by alcoholism (almost exactly 6 months after he became sober) on 2/10/21.

I’m a long-time artist and writer with a background in photography who enjoys cooking, getting outdoors, staying young at heart, and sharing experiences to potentially help others. When it comes to writing, I’ve written both for fun and professionally over the years. Writing is also sometimes therapy for me and I don’t mind sharing my personal experiences with a wider audience.