Love Letters

Happy Birthday Wherever You Are

2008-10-11T08:55:00.002-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It's been a while since I wrote, I know. That does not mean that you are not in my thoughts. I miss you every day and often wish for your counsel and advice. Where you still here, I would have placed your birthday card on your pillow once you had vacated that warm place beneath the covers. Later there would be presents and perhaps a special dinner or some other activity of your choice. Today, I will make do with this letter and hold you close to my heart.

You would be happy with how your children have grown. Your son is almost as tall as me now and is beginning to show a shadow on his upper lip with small, curly hairs sprouting from the tip of his chin.

Your daughter is off to college and appears to be loving it. She usually only communicates with me when she needs a bill paid, but we got together a couple of weekends ago at a family wedding and she seemed to sincerely miss us. She says she's not crazy about going to class, but loves doing the homework. She really seems to dig the educational part of this. She's also loving the community from what I can tell. She's joining a sorority to fill the hole left when she said good-bye to her posse from high school. I will get to hear more next weekend when she will come back for a couple of days visit with friends in the Cities.

To spend the time with her, I will have to abandon your son while I am down south. This does not happen often enough to suit him. He loves it when I leave because then he gets the one bed in our temporary apartment. When I am with him, he has to bunk on the fold-out couch which is a never ending source of complaint (as is almost everything else about our living situation). So I am not too worried about leaving him on his own for a few days.

I don't know if you have been paying any attention to what's been going on back here on this little mud ball. If you have, I am sure you are appalled and what has happened to the financial markets, the housing market, and the national political cartoon that is masquerading as an electoral campaign. You might also be appalled at what I have set off to undertake, though when I originally set this particular ball rolling, the future did not look quite so catastrophic. I can't imagine a worse time to try and sell one house while embarking on an unexpectedly massive remaking of another.

There have been so many nights where I have lain awake wishing you were here to help me through this morass. Perhaps you would just box my ears instead and I have to admit that it would be understandable. I would gladly endure the most extreme punishment if only you could be here to administer it.

Well, enough of that kind of thinking. It's your birthday and I plan on spending it out in the woods with my brother doing a little bird hunting. The weather sucks for that activity, but it is a chance to catch up with that side of the family. We will probably stay overnight with my cousin at his place up the Shore. You son will blissfully sleep on a regular mattress tonight.

Tomorrow, I will spend some time investing sweat equity in the remodeling project as I undertake the cleaning of the apartment kitchen prior to the re-installation of the appliances. The boy and I hope to move into that space in about a week where he will be able to have his own room and a real bed for the rest of the remodeling duration. It's still a small space, but an improvement over our current situation.

I hope that this finds you on you travels. We miss you and send you all of our best birthday wishes.

Your love,

D.

Two Years

2008-06-01T11:41:00.002-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It was two years ago today that you left. Seems like forever. Seems like yesterday. You have a particularly beautiful day here for your two-year deathday. I would like to think you had something to do with the arrangement.

The amphibians are singing for you. The red-winged blackbirds are pouring liquid metal music out of their beaks. There are distant sounds of lawn-mowers and voices heard as folks go about their mid-day sunday duties.

Your daughter is done with high school. You would be very proud of what she has accomplished. She won a four-year scholarship from a local community group. She has been honored by her school in recognition of her spirit and leadership. She now has to prepare for a 10-day trip to the east coast to participate in a national conference on current affairs.

Your son is growing like a weed and is becoming ever more handsome. Both he and I are eagerly awaiting his final grades to see if he will be able to drive over the summer. I am keeping my fingers crossed.

Life is a bit more exciting than I would like with all of these transitions. I am particularly anxious about the move north and all that entails. There are many times each day where I wonder if you would approve. You, of course, have other things to deal with, so I muddle along as best I can.

I have seen a bit of your sisters lately. I continue to hope that time will help heal the division that exists now. I don't have any bad wishes toward them. Trust is still something that is weak or missing, but we will see what the future holds.

I hope that all is well with you where ever you are. Down here, there are those who will visit your tree, sit on the old bench there, perhaps leave some red carnations for the enjoyment of the birds and beasts who call that place home.

With all of my love.

Your husband.

Traces of You

2008-05-21T12:17:00.002-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Almost two years after you left on your journey, I am still coming across little bits of you. Today I was cleaning out the closet in the guest room in preparation for a pickup by the Lupus Society. As I was pulling coats and jackets out of the closet, laying them out on the bed for photography, and folding them away in plastic bags ready to be picked up, I came across a little treasure trove of you.

I know that I must check all of the pockets of your clothes to collect the pieces of tissue paper you hoarded away there. I was not disappointed in my quest either, but in addition to the wadded up kleenix in one of your jackets, I found two of your inimitable lists that you could not live without.

They were shopping lists for the mundane necessities of our lives - milk, bread, eggs, TP, and so on. There are no dates on the lists, nothing to tell me where we were living or what store you were intending to buy the goods at. It might have been B.C. because on one of the lists, in the lower right hand corner, there were some menu items that never would have flown with the larvae. Things like "lentil burgers," and "pheasant soup."

There was another clue in the same pocket as the lists. It was a deposit slip from a bank and it WAS dated - August 31, 1987. We had been married one year and two weeks and were living in the slums in that lower duplex with the cockroaches and the crazy neighbors. Either that or we had just moved across the river to the quieter town and lived in that shotgun apartment with the crazy neighbors. I can't remember anymore when we made that shift.

I am always surprised at how emotional I get when things like this happen. Two years now and finding something like these little scraps of paper takes me back twenty years when our lives were so very different. I will have more of these moments as this summer progresses, as I slowly pack up the house in the woods and move things bit by bit up north to the place where I grew up on the shores of the great inland sea.

I will touch everything that you and I and our two children have made a part of our lives. Things squirreled away from our last move and never unpacked. All of the things put in the kids "save" boxes such as drawings from their earliest days of school. Just now, I came across two boxes up on the shelf in the guest bedroom closet, tucked away far over in the corner where they were hard to reach. The first one I wiggled down was still taped from our move to this house seven years ago. It said "baby things" on the outside.

When I slit the sealing tape and took off the lid, there was the little knit hat that our son wore home from the hospital. There was one hand knit bootie. There were several hand knit baby blankets. I stood there feeling quite helpless. How was I supposed to deal with this? This was so outside of my experience and comfort zone. I stood, staring at this box of baby memories for several minutes trying to decide whether they should go in the give away pile or not. I know there are many babies out there who need lovingly made blankets, but somehow, I could not make that separation. Without trying to go deeper into my self analysis, I put the treasures back into the box and carefully placed them back up on the shelf where they will be when I move them next to go with us in our next life.

This is the first time I have moved without you since we met all those lifetimes ago. I miss you.

Stages

2008-05-03T14:13:00.002-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It has been twenty-three months since you left on your mysterious voyage. We miss your presence greatly - me especially as I am embarking on a path in life that calls out for your wisdom and expertise. I am learning in my halting way, but I will never be as adept as you in these areas.

Sometimes I think you sit above me watching and yelling at me and throwing ghost fruit when I do something particularly bone-headed. Since I can't hear you, I wear an imaginary bracelet that says "WWCD" just like those cheesy ones you see everywhere announcing someone's pledge to support a cause or declare a religious stance. But mine is invisible so it is only I who know that I ask myself what would you do.

I asked myself that late last night. I was in one of those parental hot spots where a mistake could have unforeseen consequences that would ripple forward in time. I needed you last night.

Two days ago, our daughter injured herself when she made a bad landing on a practice vault. She came home on crutches, unable to put weight on her right knee. Yesterday, she stayed home from school after fainting in the shower. Fortunately, no further damage was done in that incident, but later I took her to the doctor who then sent us on for an MRI. The results were as bleak as the weather - gray, sodden, and forlorn.

She tore her ACL completely apart. She partially tore her meniscus. She also seriously strained her medial collateral ligament. She will require surgery and a long recovery time that will cap her senior year in high school. When I gave her the news outside the MRI place she just crumpled and cried while I held her in the rain. She hurt in every way possible. Her track season is over.

Yesterday afternoon was pretty sad. I did what I could to raise her spirits, but visions of being wheeled across the stage for graduation and sitting on the sidelines in her prom dress while every one else marches in the Grand Parade just drained the spirit out of her. She spent most of that time in bed, alone in her misery.

I made her get up for dinner which turned out pretty well. She announced that her boyfriend, her prom date, was coming over after dinner. Because of the events of the last few days (me needing to drive her car on Thursday due to the incontinence of the White Whale and then the pole vaulting injury) he was thwarted in all of his intricate plans to deliver his prom invitation to K. Therefore, he was coming over and doing the old fashioned way - face to face.

He came bearing gifts. There were the balloons, flowers, and a rubber chicken that shot an egg out of its bottom when you squeezed it. That was a little obscene if you ask me.

I graciously retired to my bedroom so that they could talk in private. And talk they did. About the time I was ready to lock up the house and go to bed, I found them in her room on the lower level. They were both lying down on her bed. I suggested that it was time to go now and left. Kate hobbled out after me to plead for an extension.

She said that he didn't have to get back home until 1 AM on weekend nights and couldn't he please just stay a while. I told her that I didn't feel comfortable with both of them laying in bed together. She looked at me with one of those "what? you don't trust me?" expressions and then told me that even if they wanted to do something, she was incapable due to her injury.

It had been a bad day for sure and I didn't want to add to it, so I turned away and went back to my room. About midnight I made another foray downstairs. Our son was asleep with his door closed. I turned toward K's room. It was dark, but they were not asleep. I stood there listening to the unmistakable sound of a young woman on her way to an orgasm.

Shit. Now what?

I stood there with all kinds of crazy thoughts running through my head. In the end, I decided to quietly go back up to my bedroom and do my thinking there. Listening in was just too damn weird.

In my room, I tried to logically sort through my options and come to some kind of plan. As I lay there in the dark, I ran through a lot of scenarios - many of them totally insane. At 1 AM, I heard K clomping through the upper level on her crutches, turning out lights as she went. I was still struggling with my conundrum and listening to the rain when sleep over took me.

This morning, I resumed my pondering. I decided that number one, K is now of legal age and needs to make her own decisions. Number two, she has a prescription for birth control pills with my approval. Number three, if she is going to take a lover, I would rather have them here, safe, than sneaking away for a quicky in the back seat of a car or a slimy motel. Number four, it is me who is uncomfortable with this. K, when she rose this morning was happy and chipper. I have to deal with this discomfort because it is mine.

And on that "happy" note, K informed me that the swelling in her knee had gone down significantly overnight and she had a greater range of motion in her limb and could even put weight on it without pain. This change gave her hope and let her think that it may be possible to walk on her own steam on graduation night and to walk in the prom's Grand March even if she could not dance.

So today, we have a brand new girl (or should I say woman?). As for me, I am still wondering if I made the right decisions last night. I wished you were there to help. Oh well, it's done now. Maybe you were there all along.

Peeps

2008-03-23T11:01:00.005-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I have been thinking of you a lot lately. Today, of course, is Easter - one of your favorite holidays, though not always because of the traditional family gathering. I don't go anymore because of the rift, but K and J go to see their cousins mostly. So, today it is just me and the Wonder Dawg lazing around the house.

The Dawg is acting a little hesitant since she has been home here less than 24 hours after spending more that a week with her foster family in the old neighborhood while the kids and I were in Mexico for K's senior spring break trip. More on that in a sec, but first some sad news.

Kay was diagnosed with severe acute leukemia about two months ago and just got home from a six-week stay in the hospital. She and Dick and I visited for about an hour yesterday when I went over to pick up Sophie. She looks very thin and was wearing one of those baldness bonnets that we saw so many of down at the U transplant clinic. Our conversation was a good one with no false optimism found in so many interactions between a person with cancer and a well meaning, but healthily ignorant friend. All three of us were victims and survivors of one form of cancer or another. They were the second family I have known where both parents were hit (after ourselves).

As we were wrapping our visit up, Dick gave me a heads up. He had gotten a call from Winky (remember our old neighbor?) who told him that her son had been diagnosed with lymphoma. He gave her my name and phone number. He didn't know what kind of lymphoma, but he wanted to let me know that he had done that. Too many people are getting sick.

Did I tell you that Lee had prostate cancer? Last summer he went through a radical robotic resection of his entire prostate. His recovery was prolonged and very painful. Thankfully, he is now much better and living much in his old style. Sex is no longer and option, but with Lee that never seemed like one of his higher priorities anyway. I went out to visit him this winter for Ski Camp for the first time in about three years. He was as energetic as ever. I myself however, seemed to fatigue easily and found myself retiring early most days.

Now, to Mexico. This trip was organized by the mother of one of K's friends. K's close posse of nine girls, their parents, and assorted siblings, making up a party of about 30 people flew into Cancun, Mexico, hopped on a coach for an hour's drive south and spent a week at a huge all-inclusive resort complex. This was a much different trip than the one you and I did fourteen years ago on the Pacific coast. The place we stayed at must have had over four thousand rooms and suites spread across four different hotel complexes. Each hotel had its own atmosphere and set of amenities. The wristband you received at check in bestowed upon you a caste system of accessibility. Since we were staying in the swankiest hotel, we had access to all other hotels, bars, restaurants, etc. There was only one level higher and that cost an additional $35 US per night.

Not like the little casa we shared in the landscaped gardens off of the playa to the west. Here we could walk up to any bar and come away with whatever we wanted. When hungry, go to any beach front grill and select from a bountiful buffet or order something custom from the grill. Feel like hitting a few golf balls - no problem. Kayaking, snorkeling, shuffleboard - the same. Just give them your room number and a quick glance at the color of your wristband and you were set. Of course, having unlimited access to booze without having to cough up cash for each drink had predictable effects upon the hoards of high school seniors and college types that made up a significant percentage of the guests at this particular resort. I saw more than one young person being led from the carnage by a couple of slightly less impaired friends.

I am happy to report that I had no actual eye witness experiences of that kind of thing with our two teenagers, though I was led to understand that they both crossed the sobriety line a couple of times. Apparently the older fed the younger a shot of tequila a time or two.

My days were spent by and large in a prone position, wrapped in the comfortable embrace of a beach hammock under a protective awning. I had no desire to repeat the el rojo experience I went through with you on our last visit to Mexico. So, I staked my ground early and defended it over the week, attended by my trusty books and lubricated by the occasional Bacardi pina colada whipped up by my friend Angel at the Coco Bar which was mere steps to my rear (as was the bathrooms and the towel service).

In front of me spread the beach walk and then on the other side of a low stone wall, the beach itself, extending for about a mile to my right and perhaps a quarter mile to my left. The foot traffic was very entertaining and I missed your acerbic comments which fit so well with mine on the occasions where we were treated to a constant show of human flesh in all its various forms. From my stand point, the high percentage of youth clothed in practically nothing at all kept me from making constant progress in my readings, but even so, I went through two and a half novels while entertaining myself in other passive visual sports, laying in my gently swaying lounge hammock.

One of K's hopes about this trip was that I would get to know the parents of her friends better. I did that even though I found myself staying apart from the group most of the day. This was mostly because many of them, like their daughters, wanted to lay in the sun and there was not an abundance of shade on the beach. Another reason was that they were all couples who had known each other for some time so there was a lot of shared background between them that shaded their conversations with the kind of verbal shorthand that acquaintance permits. I simply felt like an outsider and preferred the company of my books and covetous lechery under my sun awning.

It's not like I was anti-social or anything and the other parents didn't seem to take offense. Whenever the group decided to go eat lunch, someone would come by and invite me along and I would happily go. We also met up for evening cocktails prior to dinner and we shared tables at all of the meals including breakfast if we happened to find each other. I did get to know the other parents better (some more so that others), but I still have trouble with names. Kate gets frustrated with my swiss-cheese memory, but I have long since stopped beating myself up for it. Kay and I had a nice little discussion yesterday about chemo-brain and what it can do for (or against) you.

Anyway, we had fun in Mexico. One thing struck me though. About on the fourth day, I asked K if she was having a good time because she looked a little somber. She surprized me by saying she missed being home. She said that this laying around in the sun all day was all very well and fine for her friends, but she was bored with it. So she was really pumped to leave our little beach heaven and fly home where we landed to heavy overcast and four inches of wet slushy snow. The southern suburbs got as much as ten or twelve inches out of the storm that passed through in the hours preceding our arrival. For the past 24 hours it has continued to snow on and off. Needless to say, our septic system did not thaw out while we were gone.

Now it is Sunday and I am lazing around putting off doing the things I know I should do. One of those things is to try to read through a bunch of legalize having to do with the money I have to borrow to renovate my mother's house up north. Having to do this without your council scares me to death. I question myself all the time about the rightness of this path. I miss your wisdom and guidance. I am afraid of all of the jargon and the small print. I don't want to be one of those people that I read about in all of the papers who sign a legal document and then get caught by some clause they didn't see or understand. I will muddle through this, but it is nerve wracking. If you get this, please stop by while I am sleeping and review all of these documents and let me know if it is OK to proceed. That would help a lot. If you can't do this, then no recriminations when we do get together later. I'm doing the best I can.

Enough of this now. I have to get out from under the covers, take a shower, walk the dog, and then write out a few bills. I love you still, every day.

This Band of Gold

2008-02-24T12:20:00.003-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Do you remember that song, the one by Greg Brown where he sings of "This Band of Gold?" I have thought about it a lot recently. Today especially.

When I was down at the Mayo earlier in the week for my biopsies, they were very concerned about the wedding rings. They make everyone who goes into surgery take them off. I explained that I had not been able to get mine off in over fifteen years because my fingers had grown fat ans sassy. We tried. Their secret ingredient was Windex as a lubricant. Try as I might though, I couldn't get mine to go. They said that I would have to go down "as is" and that the surgical team would decide whether to cut if off or not.

That was a sobering thought. So, since I have been home, I have decided to make another assault on the "everest" of rings. So this morning, I got out the Windex and started squirting and twisting. It took me several minutes and some not so polite words, but I finally forced the ring over a very complaining knuckle. It will not go back on that finger again.

I have placed it with your two rings in the secret puzzle box I brought home for you from one of my business trips. There they will remain, together until someone sets them free. That will be after I am gone.

With all my love,

D.

Mayogram

2008-02-20T14:06:00.002-06:00

My Dearest Love,

It has been a while since I last sent you one of these. You will be happy to know your children continue to grow and amaze all around them. Your son turned 15 last month and has grown several inches over the past nine moons. He has his learner's permit for driving, but I won't let him get behind the wheel until he gets his grades up. He is tall and lanky. All arms, legs, and hair that hangs down in his eyes and which he uses to great effectiveness when he wants to irritate me. He has the shadow of a mustache on his upper lip and a few scattered dark hairs growing out of his chin. I hardly know what to make of him these days.

Your daughter turns 18 this Saturday and has become quite the young woman. She is full of imponderable thoughts and worries about the future. She is looking forward to her last season of track which will be starting up soon. College looms out in the foggy future beyond that. She stands on the verge of adulthood and I can hardly stand it. Our relationship has grown closer over the past year or so and I will miss her terribly when she goes off on her own.

As for me, I am embarking on a number of ventures with unknown outcomes. As I write this, I am at the Mayo Clinic - a place that I am sure you would loath to visit again. I am looking at participating in some Phase II trials that are going on down here and need to get some baseline testing done to see which trial might be best for me. Today I got poked and bled, scanned and visualized. Later this afternoon I will meet with the oncologist associated with the studies and a surgeon who will extract some needed flesh for the pathology lab to drool over. My only concern is the drive home tomorrow. I am on my own this trip and may need an angel to watch over me. Just thought I would mention it in case you were free and looking for something to do.

I went off in search of food after clearing the CT-scan process and checking into my hotel room. Do you remember the warren of tunnels that criss-cross under the Mayo? Well, I walked and walked, and zigged and zagged, trying to keep my sense of direction true. Then, like a prairie dog, I popped my head out and found myself right where I wanted to be. I was patting myself on the back so enthusiastically that I nearly dislocated a shoulder.

After lunch, I decided to try to find a bookstore, but to travel above ground this time. After meandering hither and yon for a good fifteen minutes, watching the lemming-like behavior of the skyway lunch crowd, I stumbled upon a Barnes and Nobels store and spend a happy half hour looking for something to entertain myself with later tonight. As I checked out and was paying for the book, the clerk asked for my telephone number to look up our membership. I gave it to her and as she punched it in, she got a strange and far away look in her eyes. She said your last name and as I was about to respond that I had tried to get that changed on the B&N account before, she turned and looked at me saying, "I used to work with your wife at the L____, S_____, & D______ firm." Small world we live in.

Now I am passing the time waiting for my afternoon appointment and writing to you. It's a clear, sunny, bitterly cold day outside the window - the last blast for the winter they are saying. I don't know if that is true, but I am ready for some warmer weather. Our septic system froze you know. Yep, the pipe from the tank to the drain field. I had to have the tanks pumped out last week to get the alarm to shut off. I am hoping that we can make it to spring thaw before we need to pump again. Even so, it was cheaper to pump a couple or three times than to get a crew in, thaw the ground, dig down to the pipe, cut it and try to thaw it from there with steam. Anyway, I am looking for warmer weather.

Well, I had better quit jamming up the ether with this chatter. I hope this finds you wherever you are. If you see my father floating around up there, say hi to him for me and tell him that the church was full to overflowing at his memorial service. A lot of old friends came to see him off and wish him the best.

As always, I send my love and that of our children. We all miss you (Sophie too).

Yours,

Me

Mini-You

2008-01-12T17:56:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Today I witnessed something that would have made you very proud. Our children are in the middle of their annual Youth In Government retreat and I was invited to drive down to the capitol to meet with them and take them to lunch.

It's been a while since I was inside that big pile of marble and I had forgotten how interesting it is - the stonework, the murals, the words of wisdom chiseled into the walls everywhere. Your daughter met me under the rotunda with my "visitor" ID badge and proceeded to show me around her turf, which this year is the Supreme Court.

She showed me the chamber where she heard her cases and it was, as you might imagine, the first time I was in that particular part of the capitol. High on the four walls were John LaFarge murals depicting the history of "law."

I was surprised by the intimacy of the room. It seemed too small to contain the enormacy of the ideas expressed there. The lectern that stood in front of the bench was half way between the visitor's gallery and the bench itself. I estimate that someone standing there would be only about ten feet from the center seat on the other side of the wooden desk that makes up the bench. A short distance when you are under the focused inspection of the presiding justice. Much like an ant must feel when some unseen celestial body holds a magnifying glass between it and the sun which blazes above and heats the spot where it is standing to a combustible temperature. This I witnessed today.

Your daughter is the chief presiding judge of the State Supreme Court this year and she knows her stuff.

Who would have thunk it?

When she met me to give me my visitor's badge, she came down the marble steps dressed in her usual fashion, in which the teenage brain makes the leap between their usual daily world and the world of "business" and "commerce" and "the law" and in which they believe that clothes that might as well have been spray painted on them were perfectly presentable and appropriate for a presiding chief justice.

This is a battle that I have fought, and lost, before. Today, I chose to ignore the choice in clothing and to concentrate on the spirit contained within.

We went to lunch, your son and daughter and I, at a forgettable spot just down from the capitol toward the river. How this town survives at all is a mystery to me. There was nobody downtown on this Saturday afternoon. Eventually, some others wandered into the restaurant, but I was forced to conclude that they make their living catering to the crowds that appear when the local hockey team takes the ice, and since the crowd is likely already "tuned" they don't have to concentrate too closely on the quality of their food.

Still, it was nice to spend the time with the larvae. They were full of chatter about the goings on and were clearly enjoying themselves. To witness times like this is a balm on my soul. One of the things that your son expressed to me was that your daughter was known as the "mean judge."

Now, to the quick.

We "finished" lunch with a lot of time to spare. We returned to the capitol where your daughter went off to hob-nob and politic with her contemporaries while your son, and his legal partner gave me a tour of where they did their thing. We toured the bowels of the capitol buildings and saw the appellate courts where they argued their cases (and lost their last one).

We eventually returned to the supreme court room where we waited for the first afternoon case in which your daughter would be the presiding chief justice.

The moment came when the balif (recruited out of the crowd) said "All rise" and then proceeded to mispronouce your daughter's name, provoking a smile as she proceeded to her chair in the center of the bench. That was the last smile that graced her face over that time.

From the opening moment, there was no doubt who was in control of the process. Your daughter pinned those poor attorneys in place with quick stabs of penetrating questions. Lord protect you if you appear before her unprepared. I saw one young man literally quaking in his shoes as he stood at the lectern before her.

And it was not a gratuitous grilling that she gave them. It was pertinent and clearly knowledgeable to the case in question. I was impressed, and proud. You would have been too.

With that, I will say farewell. There are some other things going on that I need to talk to you about, but that will wait until the next time.

with love,

D.

Christmas

2007-12-25T12:28:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Today is Christmas Day - the hardest holiday in the hardest season for me. Not because of what happens, for that is full of joy and family and togetherness. It is because I miss you the most right now. This was always your holiday, your favorite time of the year. I try to make it a good time for us as a family, but it is nothing like it was when you were with us. I know you are off doing important things, but let me just give you a glimpse of our Christmas this year.

First of all - and don't come back to haunt me like Marley's ghost over this - we don't have a tree. I know, I know, but I kind of left it up to the kids to set the schedule on this one. I asked them a month ago when they wanted to get the tree and then I dropped reminders as the time grew closer. K's scheduel was demanding of course. I barely saw her between school, work, YIG, managing the dance team (for the camaraderie and a hoody I am sure), and hanging with friends. Finding a time when she was home in the evening or a weekend afternoon was like hearing the honest truth come out of a politician's mouth.

J wasn't much better. He's turning into quite the social butterfly.

I had my own issues with time. My last chemo treatment kept me down for about a week, not the usual day. Something weird was going on with my knees and I have been feeling a lot of joint pain in my hands. Maybe there is no relationship with the chemo except the timing, but the long and short of it was that I didn't feel like doing much.

Then there are the trips up north. Between family gatherings and preparations to buy my mother's house (don't haunt me for that either, we need a fresh start) I have been on the road a lot.

So, I came into this particular holiday kind of unprepared. Not like you who finished their Christmas shopping in August. There are still a few presents that need to be purchased and delivered.

Your children appear to be happy campers this morning however. They received DVD's from their cousins, gift cards from Santa, books, jewelry (girl), matching water bottles (boy) from two different givers, and car parts (used taillight for girl to replace one cracked some time ago whilst attempting difficult backup maneuver).

Then we had french toast and talked about what was received and what was given. It was a good time.

Last night however, I had a long talk with K about how she was feeling. She seemed sad and had bags under her eyes from not getting much sleep the night before. She said that she was feeling depressed because Christmas had changed for her. She said that this year, she wasn't anticipating it like she used to. For her, Christmas is looking a little jaded and has lost its magic.

We talked about it for a long time. I told her that some of that was due to the transition she is in right now. It's the end of high school, the end of youth, the end of this house as a home. All of those things can be hard taken by themselves. Lump them all together and it can seem overwhelming. I don't know if it helped to talk about it or not. She seemed in better spirits afterward.

This morning I let them sleep as long as they wished. I rose early and did my Saint Nick stuff with the stockings and put a few more presents out around the Kiva fireplace. Then, since the newspaper had not yet come, I sat down and stuffed our holiday letter into the remaining envelopes. Aside from a few that need the address checked and those that go out to K's friend's families, it is all done.

I haven't told our neighbors yet that I am putting the house on the market. I meant to at the annual coffee party, but I wound up not going (still feeling funky from the chemo, I guess). I keep meaning to call the B's right across the street, but inertia appears to have the best of me. I do need to talk to them though before the sign goes up.

So, are we over the hump yet? Getting to this point has felt like a tough hike with the road getting steeper as I went. There were more than a few dark moments. Even so, I don't want to go back on the AD's. Not that I didn't enjoy the calm that they provided. It just seems too foreign in a way. I want to feel life, even when that feeling is not good.

I am hoping that with Christmas out of the way (more or less) for another year, things will start to look up. There is so much to do that I sometimes feel that beginning of "the weight" that came down on top of me when you first took off. I try to remember to take it one bite at a time when I catch myself feeling that way.

This will be the first major legal/financial transaction I have made without you here. That is one of the anxiety factors. You always knew the way in that particular forest. I miss your guidance. If you get this in time, and have a second, maybe you could drop in when I am sleeping and let me know what you think. I'll keep an ear open.

That's about all for now. Your children and I miss you, but we are keeping on with things. You would be proud of them.

With love,

D.

Fifty Three

2007-10-11T22:09:00.001-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Fifty-three years ago this day, you came into the world. Not quite a year and a half ago, you departed. Today, I spent much of my time remembering our time together, which, if tallied up, would have occupied almost half of your time on this plane. That is a lot of time to share, and to remember.

Your children are doing fine. Your daughter is in her last year of high school and can barely constrain her impatience to be done with it. Your son is not far behind with the same disdain for the daily chain gang activities called school.

Your dog and I grow more grizzled with the passing of time. We are mirrors of one another, still spry for our age, but slowing. Today, we went for a long walk in order to think of you and to enjoy the turning of the seasons. We walked through the woods on one of our most familiar paths, but at one junction, we took a newer trail that led down to the marsh at the south end of the lake that you and I used to paddle out on to conduct water testing.

There is a new boardwalk across the top of the marsh that allows one to walk clear to the other side without slogging through mud and water, though the dog seemed puzzled that anyone would want to do it that way. Once on the other side, we followed a newly graveled path up the east side of the lake and past new houses and the growl of monstrous machineries busy with the forming of new landscapes.

You would be proud of all of this having set it all in motion before you left. Your last and biggest project continues to move on and develop. The assisted living development is moving into it's next stages and single family homes are appearing to the south along the lake shore.

The path we walked upon sits lower down and out of sight of the majority of the construction activity. I walked along with my hands jammed down in my pockets for warmth as the dog ranged far and wide in her search of scent and possible tidbits to be found for a quick munch. I was lost in my thoughts as I strode along, thinking of you and of the things we did.

I remembered how it was when we first met and I used to see you in a mirror and how your face looked so different with your features reversed from side to side. I remembered making love in the back bedroom of your apartment with the windows open and the rain falling on the leaves of the trees in the spring of our first life.

I remembered being poor students, living in the urban jungle where the police cars and cockroaches were unwelcome parts of our days and nights. I remembered the moment I asked you to marry me and you said yes.

I remembered the shotgun apartment we had in the old part of St. Paul where we once had my family over for new year's and my mother had us all in stitches as she tried to act out the motions of a train locomotive to convey the image of "engine" as part of her charades draw of John Lennon's song "Imagine."

In that same apartment, I remembered an argument that we had that resulted in me stalking out to one of the other rooms and unfolding the futon couch to sleep and how we didn't talk for two days. For the life of me, I cannot remember what we disagreed about.

Then there was the giant rat that my mother thought was a squirrel, seen from the other end of the apartment. That was one of the last memories I have of that apartment before we moved to our first ever house, that wonderful old Queen Anne Victorian that we put so much love and labor into. It was that house that we brought our two children into. It was that house that saw our biggest marital divide. It was that house in which we learned I had cancer.

Do you remember the time I painted the picket fence around your garden with a paint sprayer? You were so pissed at me for getting speckles of white paint all over your vegetables. Then there was the time you had your reunion and your rich cousin flew in on his very own plane and I thought we were going to have blood shed over who was going to go to the airport to transport him and his retinue back to the house.

I remember the sadness I felt at leaving that house for a newer one in the northern suburbs because there were too many drive-bys in the neighborhood and we needed to be in a newer house closer to your sister who did our day care in case I got sick and you would have to take care of me.

I remembered how you were elected president of the home owners association in that newer house and how for the Fourth of July Celebration picnic that year, you organized a pie eating contest and we stayed up practically the whole night before making all of the fruit pies for the contest, and what a hilarious and successful contest it was with all of the major players in the neighborhood up to their ears in slushy, juicy, blueberry, raspberry, and strawberry pies. You always had a knack for getting the high and mighty to come down and hobnob with the rest of us.

I remembered all of the work we put into that house as well and how after seven or eight years, we had it just about how we wanted it, and how much we had grown to love our little community on the lake and how life was feeling pretty good when you came home one day and asked if I would consider moving.

It seems you had been offered the job of your dreams and could give up that ulcer-producing daily commute. You could finally do all of the things you had been dreaming of. All we had to do was to leave our little community for a short move east of a mile or two into a much different kind of community, a new and different life. I never considered saying no.

And that's how we came to where we are now - living a much different life than when we were poor students in the ghetto. We live in the woods, surrounded by trees and deer, fox and wild turkeys. It was here, just as you were settling into your dream job, getting your biggest and most ambitious plans established, nurturing them past the pitfalls that plague projects such as these, that you learned of your own disease. What irony we have known. What angst. What love.

So, today, I remembered you and our life together. Your children miss you as do I, but we are all getting on. Your daughter is beautiful and brilliant. Your son is growing wildly and I never know how tall he will be every morning when he comes up for breakfast.

I am slowly returning to the land of the living after a long sojourn in a time of darkness. I am lifting my head and thinking of the future. I am making plans for the next stage of our lives. I think of you always. I wonder at where you are and what you are seeing. I often look at pictures of the universe and all of the beauty that can be found in the stars and imagine you out there, sharing in the brilliance and majesty that can be found there.

Happy birthday, my love.

Fourth of July Meditations

2007-07-02T22:50:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Your son decided to stay up north a week or so ago. We had all gone up for a family visit and when it came time to go, he said that he wanted to stay. So, he did. He is camped out at my mother's for the most part, spending his days working (no less) for my brother as a laborer helping to take care of the grounds where my brother heads up the facility department. Who would have guessed?

When he is not working, he is visiting with cousins, aunts, and uncles (not to mention his grandmother). It sounds like he is having a grand time and will continue to do so until this weekend when I will drive half way up and meet the "Joe Shuttle" by the little road side attraction known for it's fat pills.

This will be the second year in a row where he has spent the Forth up north and you know what a stickler he is about tradition.

As for the rest of us, we lead a quieter life when he is away. Your daughter and I drift in and out of each other's company. It is mostly her drifting in and out while I rattle around the estate shadowed by a black hairy thing that silently dogs my footsteps.

We are in the depths of summer here. The weather has been deceptively beautiful, with warm days and lots of sun. The problem is, of course, that we need rainfall. The pond behind the house is drying up. Just this afternoon, I watched a beautiful white egret filling up on frogs and other wiggly things concentrated in the ever smaller quantity of water. Death and beauty often go hand in hand.

Speaking of death, we were visited a couple of days ago. I got a phone call from our old neighbors, the ones kitty corner from our back yard at our old place. Kay told me a chilling tale of boats, tubing, youngsters in trouble, frantic attempts by parents to rescue them only to sink beneath the waters themselves.

You remember our neighbor who had the three-season cabin just across the road from us? The one with the three adopted children? Do you remember the girl-child who married the nice, quiet young man? They proceeded to make babies and moved into the old house of her mother who in turn tore down the three-season cabin and built a proper little house on the shore of the lake.

It was he who drowned two days ago, leaving his young wife a widow with three children now and one more on the way. Tragic is too weak a word for this. The usual 4th of July celebration in the old neighborhood will be quiet this year. It hurts me to think of it.

Now, to balance this talk of death with something a bit brighter.

A much happier thing has happened to me. I have met someone from out of my past, a time long before I met you. We were friends back in the early seventies and dated for a bit (I think we did, tho neither of us can remember any details - it was right after the sixties after all). Anyway, we met again at the 50th anniversary of the college FM station where I used to do late night shows. She was the one that got me interested in being a DJ, and I, in turn, got her a job at a local TV station where she went on to a broadcast journalism career.

In the years since, we both married late and raised (mostly) family's that now have children that are roughly of the same age. She did her raising in Washington state until the last few years when she succumbed to homesickness for the northern inland sea and decided to split her time between here and there.

What will happen next is unknown, but the time I spend with her either here, or up north, has been particularly wonderful. I know that you talked to me about how this may happen before you left and how I expressed my skepticism, but as usual, you were wiser than me and correctly saw the possibility that I might heal up enough so that I might be able to love again. Whether that is now or not will become clearer with time. However it goes, I hope that you can extend your blessing.

Maybe you just did. As I write this, I hear the cry of loons outside the window - surely one of the most haunting and beautiful of sounds.

Fair thee well, my love. I miss you and think of you always.

D.

Father's Day

2007-06-17T16:57:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

What would this day be without you? Aside from the most basic role you played in this being a day I have some connection with, I must say that without your presence and organizational skill, it has certainly come down a peg or two as one of the social highlights of the year.

Your daughter went off attending grad parties and then to work. Your son spent the weekend in the presence of your sisters and actually gave me a father's day gift - a copy of Armistad Maupin's "Michael Tolliver Lives," the seventh in the "City" series. That was sweet, but so far, he has avoided completing the task I asked him to do for this day - clean the turtle tank.

I went to the Blind Lizard Rallye as is my tradition. It was a low-key and pleasant experience. I ran into our old friend, John O and his daughter, Emily. There were also some old colleagues from my ex-workplace who went on at length about the decline in the quality of work experience since I left (not necessarily attributable to me, LOL).

Now, the holiday is behind us and things go on at the relaxed summer pace. Relaxed that is for your children who sleep as long as they can, watch as much TV as they can, and attend as many social events as they can. I wish I could be a more effective hard ass, but I seem to have lost what technique I had. You were the master. Perhaps you could visit your children and give them a nightmare or two about the effects of sloth on one's character.

This morning, I awoke at 4 am as I seem to be doing of late. I lay in bed, drifting in and out of various levels of consciousness, but never attaining a restful state of sleep. When I finally got out of bed and started to pad to the kitchen, I noticed something outside the large window by the landing on the stairs.

It was a deer, a doe by the look of her. She was browsing the wild weeds we fondly call our natural back yard. I backtracked to the bedroom and got the camera for a few quick snaps. The resulting pictures will not win any pulitzer prizes for photography. I am becoming increasingly tired of futzing with the digital camera you gave me so many years ago. What was once a marvel of modern technology is now a fat, broken, clunky relic that results in frustration more than pleasure. Perhaps it is time to do something before we go to Europe.

But, I digress. I finally left the doe to browse and took the camera to the kitchen to fix my coffee and recharge the depleted camera battery. As the water was heating, I went out on the screen porch to watch the doe sans camera. It was then I saw she was not alone. There was a spotted fawn as well.

Over the next hour, I watched the two as they went to alert having heard and scented me and the dog once she was let out of her night-time quarters. After a bit, the fawn lay down outside your son's bedroom window while the mother continued to feed. This was the case as I went through two cups of coffee and most of the paper. Finally, I went downstairs to see if your children were up because they had "track camp" to go to and I thought your son would be particularly happy to photograph the fawn just feet outside his window.

Unfortunately for that, your daughter was already up and in the shower, which caused the boiler to come on to make up the hot water supply, which in turn shot the exhaust out the wall vent right over where the fawn was laying. Consequently, when I roused your son, the fawn was gone, as was the mother.

Still, it was a fun way for me to start the day.

Thinking of you,

d.

Extortion

2007-06-06T18:01:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

OK, it's time you came to me in a dream and explain exactly what you talked about with your sister, B.

She was here today to go over some business stuff and I could tell that she was wanting to ask about her previous request that I gift her boys with some money. I finally brought it up and said that you and I had talked extensively about what your wishes were and what I should do after you left for your long vacation. I recall many things that you talked about and one in particular. You wanted me to give your brother, the one who was the donor for your last two stem cell transplants, a gift of money. I promised that I would. And, I did. But I don't ever remember hearing you say that I should do the same for anyone else.

Not according to your sister. She says that you and she talked many times about how you were going to take care of her, about how much she gave up to do all the things she did for our family, how she raised our children (never mind that we paid her for the childcare), how she couldn't provide for her own family because she was so devoted to us. Is any of this ringing a bell? I need to know, because there is no ringing in my head (if you ignore the tinnitus).

I told her as much and then things got very teary and wailey. She just can't believe that I would treat her this way.

So you need to visit me and set me straight (if I'm crooked). Wish you were here.

Birthday Thoughts

2007-06-01T14:23:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

You were born into a new existence one year ago today. You have been much on my mind of late. Of course, not a day goes by where I don't think of you, memories tripped by something I see, or taste, or smell. But we are animals that think in cycles and ceremonies and so we make something of this day, this anniversary of transmission, your birth into a new form, however invisible to us here in this world of clay.

It is cool and overcast as I write this. Your best friend P came down last night from up north to share this day with us. Your children elected to go off to school, and after it is a track meet for your daughter (where she will receive an award for her performance of two days ago) and a dance for your son where he will no doubt receive a few rewards of his own.

Many of your friends and family have called or written to let us know that they are thinking of us and of you on this day. Some of those messages expressed concern for our well-being on this day and I have done my best to reassure them that we are in no danger - in fact, we are doing quite well. And, I believe that to be true. This last year has been a strange journey to be sure with some very dark places where the wild things were. But we have come through those places and the ground feels firm once again. You made some pretty good kids, you know.

I tried to think of something appropriate to do today that would honor you and, should you be watching, give you some pleasure. Therefore, P and I went shopping today for new sheets and blanket for the guest bedroom. I must confess however, that I did not look for sales before setting out. As is my nature, I went to one place, picked out something that looked servicable, and bought it. P was along to oversee and make sure I didn't make a hash of it.

So now the sheets are in the dryer and I will make up the bed with new linen and blanket (cotton for you, of course) as soon as is practical. Your son made P sleep out on the screen porch with him last night and may do the same again, so she might not get to test the sheets out until her next trip down.

She and I also went through your jewelery drawer and laid everything out on the dining room table. What a pack rat you were. For someone who was always criticizing my family for our inability to let go of things, you left a surprising amount of stuff behind yourself. I want your children to look these things over and take what they wish before I invite your sisters in.

So, my love, that's an update from here. Life goes on in it's up and down way. We miss you dearly and think of you often. Love to you wherever you are.

D.

Babel

2007-05-23T22:18:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I just watched "Babel," a movie that I think you would have liked even though there were many sad parts. In the end, one of the major threads was about how we love our children. I have to admit that I am a little drunk as I write this and a little leaky around the eyes. I had to hug both of our children good night. I wanted them to know how much I love them even though I don't know how to really tell them.

Tonight I miss you a bunch. Sometimes I feel adrift without you. I am doing OK overall, I think. I think I have the money thing figured out. I get the bills paid. I am taking the kids to Europe for three weeks this summer. I think that I am insane when I sit down and try to do some of the planning for that. This is what you were so good at. I wish you were here now to help. Although, you always got too wrapped up in it and worked yourself into a frenzy by the time we left so that you were always getting sick and on the verge of collapse upon leaving. What kind of way is that to start a vacation.

I have the passports. I have the plane tickets to Amsterdam and back (oh, get this. K said, when I told her we would have to spend a day in Amsterdam, "Great, we can hit a few coffee-shops."). I have a couple of tickets on some cheap airlines with addresses in Eastern Europe to Budapest and back. That will be an adventure. I have a hotel reserved in Szeged - who knows?

Then there are two weeks that aren't planned. Better make sure I have both credit cards. I hope that you are watching over us when we get to Paris. That was always more your city than mine. If I had my druthers, I'd just rent a canal boat for a week and float along doing sweet fuck all. Send the kids into the nearest village for wine and cheese whenever we ran out. But, that doesn't do it for the teenagers. They want big cities and clubbing. I'm going to be a wreck by the time we get home. Be our guardian angel won't you?

PS I finally took your toothbrush out of the holder and pitched it. With love.

Mother's Day

2007-05-12T23:47:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It will be Mother's Day in about 10 minutes. We are having a small thunderstorm as I write this. It is very nice.

There is so much to tell you. It's been too long. Your daughter is off at prom tonight. She looked beautiful, even though she thought that her dress was going to fall down any minute. It was a white strapless thing that made me think of Tinkerbell even though it was a long gown.

I went off for dinner with all of the abandoned parents. Our daughter has been giving me a very hard time, urging me to spend more time with the parents of her friends. I normally defer, as I was not all that eager to spend time with people whom I did not already know. I have had little energy to invest in new relationships. But this time, I told her I would do it.

And, surprisingly, I had a good time. After a bit of an awkward start, the conversation began to flow (perhaps induced by the three bottles of wine I ordered right off the bat). And by the end of the evening, we had all had a few laughs and I for one, sincerely enjoyed the company.

When I got home, I found the kitchen in a mess, your daughter's room a disaster, and all the lights in the house on as our son felt a bit insecure alone in an empty house after dark. I have turned the lights out, but the kitchen is still a mess. Tomorrow is another day.

I have to report that things are not any better with your sisters. Whatever thawing out there was disappeared when I sent word of my decisions regarding guardianship and related estate affairs. I am once again the devil incarnate. Be that as it may, I feel secure in the decisions and do not regret them for a moment. I do not spend much time thinking about this, but when I do, I regret all of the negative emotions that have been bandied about. Life is too short for that.

Yesterday, I went back and reread my journal entries from a year ago. It was about this time that we went back to the transplant team at the U and told them we wished to end treatment. I remember how hard that was. We were finally drawing a line in the sand having known for some time that it would come to this, but not ever really wanting to actually get there. You fought so hard and for so long. To have to admit that the end was now upon us was about the most difficult thing I could imagine.

I wonder about my own time now. I am once again bare headed as I dealt with my impending hair loss as I have done before - by shaving my head. I have done three rounds of the old odious chemo treatment compounded with a bit of the new - the mono-clonal antibody cocktail. It's icky, but bearable, and it seems to be working, though I must admit that I don't look forward to spending the rest of my life experiencing a chemically induced hangover every three weeks. Shit, I can do that any time I want and at least have a little fun getting there.

OK, enough whining. You would be proud to see how your children have grown over the last year. Your son is shooting up like a weed and your daughter is even more beautiful than when you last saw her. I guess those statements could be construed as presumptive given that I don't know whether you are watching us now from whatever viewpoint you might have. Whatever the case, I honestly do mean that you would be proud. They are good kids.

So, now I sign off. Your daughter is due back at any moment to pick up supplies for tonights overnight festivities. I will try to stay awake until she does. In the mean time, happy Mother's Day, love.

D.

Thinking of You

2007-04-22T14:58:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It has been too long since we have talked. It's not that I don't think of you. It's more that the little things that steal my time have been fairly mundane and I hate to distract you from your explorations out among the stars with such earthly chatter.

It is almost a year now that you have been gone. I think of that often because there are several things that will happen with that date as a trigger. I have been preparing for it for some time now and I think that all of the business items will be lined up and taken care of. Some of what might occur cannot be known and prepared against because they are things of the heart. I will be setting aside time for myself and will not plan on doing anything serious that day.

I heard from your best friend, P, who said you came to her in a dream. She said that you let her know that you were keeping an eye on us back here and that you had been following the soap opera that has played out over much of the past nine months. There haven't been any real fireworks in some time, mostly because I have kept to myself. Some time ago, I made the decision to move on and spend my energy on other things in front of me. I see your sister, B, on a pretty regular basis due to our mutual fiduciary responsibilities and we have kept things on a very business like manner for the most part. The exception being the little matter that I last wrote to you about.

I have not had much contact at all with your other sister, P. She still has weekly dates with our son and as long as that goes well, I will not interfere.

I have decided however to make changes in my estate planning that will no doubt displease them. After much thought and discussion with others who's opinions I value, I have decided to change the plans we once made as they relate to guardianship of our children should I follow you before they reach their majority. Associated legal declarations will also be changed so that I can rest a bit easier in the belief that should I die or become incapacitated, the power to make decisions will be placed with those whom I trust.

I am at peace with this. I believe that the decisions I have made are sound and in the best interest of myself and our family. Should you come to me in a dream, I look forward to hearing what you think.

Until then, I hope you are taking lots of snapshots so that when we are together again, you can show me what you have seen.

With all my love.

Theme from Twilight Zone

2007-04-03T20:25:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Just when you think that it is all behind you, shit falls from the sky and the world becomes an asylum. I can't make this stuff up. How did you live with me for twenty-one years and I never knew your family was certifiably insane? The ones that I thought were so grounded are turning out to be raving loonies.

I met with your middle sister this afternoon after work so we could go over the routine for the interview we are conducting tomorrow - pretty straight forward stuff - what are we going to ask, what are our requirements, what are out expectations? I had written down a number of questions and emailed her in advance. I explained what I thought our situation was and what we were looking for and asked if that jibed with her thinking. She indicated it did. In other words, it was a pretty straight forward business meeting focused on our management of our family resources. That is until the end.

Then she got a strange look on her face. Kind of like one gets with a bad attack of gas and she said that she had something she had to ask for. She then went on to explain that she had talked to you before you took off about "doing something" for her boys similar to what you asked me to do for your brother - the donor for your stem-cell transplant. Funny, I thought. You never mentioned that to me and we talked many times about what you wanted me to do after you left.

Your sister explained that you never "really" thought that you would die and therefore you never got around to actually carrying out your intention to gift her boys. I asked her exactly what she had in mind, but she couldn't quite spit it out. She did say that her boys had to do without so much because she (your sister) was taking care of you (where was I?) and therefore she couldn't go to work and couldn't earn money and therefore they would have to go without or earn it for themselves. Her last words were quite faint, as if she were talking to herself and she said, "It really is a lot of money."

Just when I thought that things were drifting back towards some kind of normalcy, the weird fairies fly by and sprinkle bozo dust all over everything. It's like wandering into a carnival funhouse after somebody at the bar slipped you a little acid when you weren't looking. Too fucking bizarre for me - and that takes some doing.

Clinging to a small floating piece of sanity,

D.

Turning of the Seasons

2007-04-01T10:10:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

As I write this, the geese are honking and sparing out in the pond, which is at a higher water level than in many of the last years due to a very wet, slow-moving low pressure system that has been parked over us for a week. This has kept the skies gray, the rain falling, and the temperatures cool. While I miss the sun, I am very happy to see the precipitation. We are still very short of moisture in the soil and we need as much rain as we can get.

The kids seem to be doing well. K has a boyfriend that she wants me to meet. This will be a first. So far, she has kept them all hidden from me, afraid, I am sure, that I will haul out the "dating application form" that so embarrassed her years ago. I promised that I would be on my best behavior, but when she brings her beaus home, her bedroom will be off limits. That discussion went on for some time and in the end, we agreed to disagree, but I held the veto card. She likes to argue with me and we have both enjoyed the discussions. We have learned to keep in on the level of a debate and not to get overly emotional. She is a passionate and intelligent advocate and I can easily see her pursuing a career in law which is her current plan.

J still has a way to go on the emotional front. He still wants things to happen "right now" and when they don't, or when I refuse to acquiesce to his latest electronic fetish, he pouts. Still, he is growing in body and mind. You would be shocked to hear his new "lower" voice and to see that his eyes have moved up by several inches.

I love looking at both of our children and searching their faces for signs of you. I confess that I don't easily see either of us there because they are two individuals to me. Others say the stamp is obvious, but to me, they are K and J. I love watching them none the less.

Today is the first time in over twenty years that I did not come back into the bedroom after making the morning coffee to find a card addressed to me leaning on my pillow. I ...... had to pause for a moment. Something got in my eye and I couldn't see straight. Just know that I am thinking of you on this, my birthday. You have been gone ten months today. I miss you.

D.

Closet Memories

2007-03-13T09:28:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I have returned to our closet to pack up more of your clothes. It is a large task that has seen me take many, many 30 gallon trash bags of your clothes to the Goodwill. Today, I am working on the long, lower rack where you kept your casual and dress slacks and many of your shirts. With each one, I lift memories off of the hanger and carefully fold bits and pieces of our past over and over in my hands before gently placing them in the black plastic bag at my feet. Sometimes it becomes overwhelming and I must stop for a while.

This is one of those times. I came to one of your striped, knit shirts with the thin strips running horizontally. I remember how I loved it when you wore that shirt because the strips highlighted the contours of your breasts. I never tired of watching you as we both grew older and changed with age and those memories are with me still. It is difficult to part with the physical links to those memories, but I know I must. Today will be the day I finish with most of the hanging clothes and make another trip to the Goodwill.

What do they think when they see me coming again and again? It is usually the same guy or guys on the drop off dock - Somali refugees, I think. What journey will these threads now embark upon? Will I be walking down the street some summer day, or be sitting at some sidewalk cafe and see you walk past in the crowd, mind confused, not quite knowing why until the conscious part of me catches up with the unconscious and recognizes a favorite pattern quickly becoming lost in the throng? Most likely not, but these thoughts and questions run through my mind as I touch and remember in the closet.

Forever yours,

D.

Deadlines

2007-03-09T19:38:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I have one week to drink all of our good wines. And, if that is not unfair enough, I now have a monster cold which means I can't taste for shit. Now, I have never been one to say to the great unknown in the sky "This ain't fuckin fair," but come on - this isn't fair.

I have one week because one week from today I once again start a poisonous chemo session with all of your old favorites - cytoxin (doesn't that name just warm the cockles of your heart), vincristine (another warm and fuzzy name), and prednisone (old gopher cheeks itself). In all likelihood, I will never taste things as well as I do now and to have a cold on top of it just sucks rocks (to quote an old friend).

Lest we think that things are getting too rosy, I had a conversation with one of your sisters yesterday that resulted in an email today that illustrated once again how easy it is to be misunderstood, and once that has happened, how easy it is to be taken to the emotional cleaners. The email is included below. My response to her follows.

***************

The email:

I was sorry to hear yesterday that spite and anger where the factors you mentioned first when I asked what you were basing your decision on for guardianship for K and J.

I am not sure that we will ever get our hurt issues settled. I was not sure that I would be able to continue a relationship with you knowing that “It” would always be there, lurking waiting to jump out. I will be the first person in line to defend and protect my kids, my family, K and J, even you, I guess. When it comes to doing the same for me, I have a hard time speaking up. Generally, I prefer to let it go and avoid the confrontation. That does not mean forget, but rise above is a more accurate description. That is what I have done with “It” for now. I was hoping that time would help us both come to some kind of an understanding and peace that we could be satisfied with.

Time has, however, ganged up with “It” and so here we are trying to figure out what to do.

There is nothing that I can tell you about why I want you to appoint P and I as guardians for K and J that you don’t already know. We have shown you the love, commitment and concern we have for your family in every way possible. I am sad that this is not as plain and clear to you as it is to me, but I am going to resign myself to the fact that it obviously is not. I will always love and try to provide everything I can for K and J regardless of who is their guardian.

I hope that you will allow me to continue working with you on the trust. That is one of the biggest promises C had me make to her so I don’t wait to feel I am letting her down. You can trust me to act in the best interest of you and your family.

In regards to your upcoming treatment and care, J2 and I will be available to help your family as we always have been. What you decide to do regarding your Health Care Representative, Personal Representative and Guardian for K and J will obviously affect the level of help you will request from us as well as what we will be able to provide. I appreciate your keeping me up to date, as you did yesterday. I am hoping that this treatment will provide you with a positive forecast for your future.

I am not willing to spend any energy being angry with you. The feelings I do have are a combination of many emotions that I am sure you are also affected by. I would like to have a nonconfrontational relationship with you and hope that we can reach some peaceful plateau.

As I expressed to you yesterday, I would appreciate being informed about the status of your work with S regarding your will and your decision about my involvement in all of those affairs. It is weighing very heavily on me, which I am sure you can understand.

B

******************

And my response:

Dear B,

Thank you for responding with your thoughts. This helps me in my decision making.

I would like to take a moment and address a couple of the items contained in your email, but first, let me tell you about something C taught to me once. As you know, neither of us was hesitant to express our opinions and sometimes we found ourselves on the opposite side of a debate. Early on in our marriage we had to learn how to have those discussions, work our way through the conflicts, and come out the other side with our relationship intact. One part of that process that was critical was the act of "listening" instead of "hearing."

When one "hears" another person, the words are heard and interpreted using the filters and mental constructs of the person doing the hearing. When one actively "listens," the listener tries to accept what is being said without filtering. This is a hard thing to do. It is very much in our nature to "hear" rather than "listen." C was a gifted listener, and over time, I believe she taught me to do some of the same.

When I read your email below (now above), I see what I believe is your reaction to what you heard. It is not necessarily what I said.

An example is your opening sentence. I did not say that I was basing my decision on guardianship using spite and anger as factors. What I said was that I was wrestling with inner demons, such as spite and anger, and that I did not want those to be factors in my decision making. I am still struggling with the hurt and anger that marked our relationship over the past six months. Part of my healing process is to accept that I have these feelings, understand why I have them, and then move on.

I would also like to comment on your reference to "IT." What we are dealing with here is not an impersonal entity. This is "us" - you and me, P and me, P and you. Making it impersonal allows abdication of responsibility for it. I am certainly responsible for my share of what happened, but I have never heard you say the same. It is as if you think I went off my rocker one day and did and said bad things. I did say some bad things. I said them in anger and hurt and grief. I said some of them after being verbally assaulted. I admit that and I take responsibility for what came of it. I have not heard either you or P claim any ownership of what happened. And as long as that is the case, this sore will never heal.

Lastly I would like to reiterate that I firmly believe that both you and P love K and J and will always do your best by them.

The roles of guardian and personal representative are not based solely upon love however. I must decide who I believe will best serve in those positions and while love for my children is a requirement, so is sound judgment, emotional maturity, and trust. As I prepare for death, I must ask myself, who will carry on for me? Who will make the decisions that I would have made had I been alive. I must have trust in whomever is named to those positions.

And so, I say again what I said to you on the phone. I am weighing these things. I am seeking counsel from wise persons. I am thinking about what you said to me on the phone and in your email. I have not made any final decisions.

D

So, you see, my love, that the struggle continues. I do not believe that either one of us could have believed this possible when we were making our plans for how our children would be taken care of after our passing.

What happens next is not known. I must make these decisions and rewrite all the important documents. I do not know how much time I have. I do not know what this upcoming treatment will do (aside from all the physical bullshit you are all too aware of). If it works out and buys me some time, I can always change the documents again. If not, well then, I won't be in a position to worry about it anymore.

With love,

D.

Hope?

2007-02-28T19:33:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Your sisters called me yesterday. Separately. It was nice.

The first was your youngest sister, the one that seemed to be the hardest case. She espressed concern and willingness to help in any way she could. Later that night, I had a similar conversation with your other sister.

To hear from them was nice. I am hesitant to embrace it without reservation though. All that has transpired has left me feeling wounded and suspicious. Still, it was something that they did not have to do, and yet they reached out. A good sign.

I had lunch with one of your best, and wisest friends last Monday. I had some weighty matters on my mind and I sought her counsel. As hoped, what she said was thoughful and beneficial. She cautioned me regarding my intentions having to do with my will, and other matters of a legal nature. After hearing what was on my mind and what I was considering, she told me that she was going to give me a little "push back" on some of it and said that she thought there might be a bit of "spite" involved in what I was thinking.

After thinking about that for a bit, I had to admit that she was probably right. I have been very hurt by the recent events and it has had an impact on my plans for my estate. She asked me if what I was doing was focusing on what was best for our children, or whether my personal feelings had taken the lead. She advised me to take some time and consider these things. She also asked me to think of what the worst case scenario might me and how that would affect our children. I promised her that I would.

It is for counsel like this that I turn repeatedly to some of your closest friends and advisers. Though you are no longer able to converse with me as we once did, your compatriots are, on occasion willing to give me their thoughts, for which I am very grateful.

Yours for ever,

D.

Stormy Weather

2007-02-24T15:10:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I have set a table up in the corner of our bedroom where the two windows are. It's the old table that we moved from your work that we set the printer on downstairs. It was the right height for my needs - something to put the laptop on while allowing the wooden shutter blinds that cover the windows to still open. I sit at the table on one of those old, rickety wooden folding chairs that is so uncomfortable, that there is no danger of becoming an internet addict. It just hurts too much.

I look out one window on the small wetland behind the house - the place of the frog chorus. On my right is the other window that overlooks what passes for a side yard and the road. From here, I can see the mail truck as it makes its stops at our neighbor's boxes.

Today, we are enjoying the first real snow storm of the winter. Perhaps it will be our last as well. Who knows? But right now, it is grand. The predictions vary, but we may see as much as a foot before it is all done.

It is quiet in the house right now. Your daughter has been sleeping much of the day after celebrating her seventeenth birthday with a sleepover last night. It was quite a crowd, and as usual, they decided to make a big pot of mashed potatoes about 11:30 last night. As I made my last trip out to the kitchen, they were also attempting to make ice cream out of skim milk. I asked if they had a recipe and they said "no, we are just making it up as we go." They were happy as clams and I guess they got something they were pleased with. I went to bed.

Tonight, your son and I are off to his school for the class musical. He is working backstage on it and is very proud of the fact that he "has people" that he is in charge of organizing. It will be a crazy night, what with the snow and the fact that they booked a basketball tournament into the school at the same time. As you know, the parking lot is not large enough to handle one of these events much less two stacked atop one another. We will go early and I will bring a book.

I hope you have a double bed wherever you are. I expect to be joining you on the tour before long. Like salmon, we achieved our purpose with the creation of the next generation and now it is time for us to go off and do something else. Remember when we talked about joining the Peace Corps after we retired? Maybe it's like that, only a little less corporal.

Enough about that. There will be more to say, no doubt, but not now.

With love,

D.

The Cheek

2007-02-20T20:20:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

They descend.

As we were wrapping up the closet cleaning last weekend, your youngest sister, P told me that she wanted the cedar chest that has been at the foot of our beds these last twenty years. She said that she had talked it over with your mother and they agreed that she should have it.

Am I missing something here? I remember telling her that I would talk to her later about it. What was I to say? Fuck off, bitch? She is now officially unhinged. You need to visit her in her dreams and urge professional help.

Really, I'm fine.

P.

My Valentine

2007-02-14T21:18:00.001-06:00

Will you be mine?

A Cold, Cold Winter

2007-02-10T10:22:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

It continues to be cold in these parts. The thermometer is apparently stuck in negative numbers. It has been this way since the beginning of the month. The emotional landscape has been in the freezing zone for a lot longer than that. Your sister's hearts are frozen in time, as if they were caught exposed by a sudden storm of unimaginable fury that froze them in place and covered them. If they do not break free soon, glaciation will set in.

I tried to thaw them with a fire of words. I wrote to each of them with a plea for healing, forgiveness, and a recognition of a greater need - that of family. One, B, melted just a bit. She called the therapist I am seeing and discussed her reservations and fears. She followed that conversation up with an email to me expressing hesitancy and declaring that she is afraid of me.

Your other sister, P, the one with whom I had the original argumentative phone call last October (can it be so long ago, how does this go on?) also sent me an email, but it was much less hopeful. She has decided that I have done something unforgivable apparently. She says that she is not sure if she wants to risk a part of her on someone with my character. Perhaps she sees me as one more male, the last in a long line predecessors, to have failed her. That would fit with her history.

They have both expressed an interest in coming over next weekend when your best friend and SIL, PM, will drive down from Duluth and we will begin to go through your clothes, making decisions on who gets what. I am pretty nervous about what that will be like. B said she would like to come, but can only do that if she figures out a way to "move forward" with our dysfunctional relationship. P, on the other hand, said that she would definitely be there and then sends me a very stony email telling me that she thinks I am a worm that she can't be bothered with. The therapist advises me to create a "nurturing" atmosphere. I would like a suit of armor myself.

This would be amusing if it were turned into a screenplay illustrating the banality of family dysfunction. Unfortunately, when one is caught up in the nightmare, it seems less funny.

I wish I had better things to write to you about.

P.

It's Cold

2007-02-01T08:39:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

You need to start haunting now. Your sisters won't move off the dime.

P.

The Reaction

2007-01-25T08:05:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

They have both responded. That is good.

They both have said they need time to formulate a response. That is also good.

What they actually do is the most important, and that is yet unknown.

P.

Hand Cramps

2007-01-21T15:12:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

How is the weather where you are? Here it is cold with fitful bursts of snow. Not really enough to make us all satisfied that we are once again exhibiting survival characteristics in the frozen north, but enough to make for slushy roads that instantly coat the car with a brown-grey scum of frozen dirt and salt.

I have spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours slowly copying letters to your sisters from the original word.doc printed format to laboriously written, long-hand versions on nice paper with colored ink. One was four pages long, the other five. My hand hurts in ways that it has not since the days of sitting in a crowded auditorium, furiously taking notes while some professor or TA with English as a mangled third language held forth until the bell rang.

Now that they are written, I am having a spell of pre-delivery rejection. I feel bleak and depressed. My heart is not in the game any longer. I do this because I believe our children deserve better, but not because I really want healing with your sisters. I have bad thoughts about them at the moment. It is as though I used up all of my good thoughts in the writing of the letters - remembering better times when we laughed together, touched each other with easy familiarity, hugged each other and really meant it. Was all of that so easy for them to give up?

Never the less, I will deliver these hand written pleas to them, asking for forgiveness for whatever sins it is that they believe I have committed. The detailing of insane behaviour committed under the influence of grief, put forward for their inspection will be consumed for it's face value no doubt, instead of for it's true meaning which is that of a mirror, hung before them showing a strange apparition that blends their image with mine in duplicitous hell. For that's where we are right now - in hell. Tormenting each other because we cannot heal our pain of loss. We rend our own flesh in the frenzied attempt to scratch an itch that cannot be reached. I despair.

If you receive these letters and have some godlike view the web we are caught in, see that our plight is but a moment in time made small by eternity, spy a path free from the entanglement we have devised for ourselves - come to me in a dream that I may see it too. For now, I truly am blind to it and fear that we do not have the wisdom to find our way free.

Yours,

P.

The Letters

2007-01-19T09:02:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I can't remember if I told you about seeing a therapist. I made the decision to do so last fall when things went so disastrously wrong with your sisters. Due to the holidays and one cancellation due to a sick child, I have only seen this person twice. My main goal is to see if she can help me resolve the family rift that festers like a canker in my everyday life. My secondary goals are to better understand the effect of grief on myself and to get some guidance and feedback relative to being a single parent.

I extended invitations to each of your sisters to talk to this therapist. The youngest said it "didn't feel right" and refused all contact. The other agreed to a phone call, which took place prior to my second meeting with the therapist.

Your sister, the one agreeing to the phone call, spent most of the conversation telling the therapist how I had abused her during the group meeting from hell that occurred last November. She didn't recall any activities on her part that might have been termed "incitement." The therapist had to question her on several levels before she remembered the "other issues" that had triggered the family feud in the first place. Those were waved off with dismissal when held up next to the mountain of verbal excrement that yours truly dumped on her in front of her sister and sister-in-law at the meeting.

Fortunately for me, there was a fifth person at there, a neutral facilitator who spoke with the therapist at length and basically said that yes, I had said some hurtful things, but only after being attacked by both of your sisters in tandem.

God, I can't believe I am sitting here writing this. This is so tawdry and sordid. I sound like some pimply-faced teenager in one of today's on-line chat rooms ranting away at perceived enemies, spewing spleen and vindictiveness with each bang on the keyboard. I feel dirty.

So be it, back to the therapist and a game plan. She suggested that I write to your sisters individually. Each letter should be personal and honest, expressing my gratitude for all of the things that they have done for our family. I should recall the ties that have bound us together, both in the past, and those that hold us still. I should express my desire for peace, reconciliation, and forgiveness. I should leave the ball in their court.

I spent much of yesterday working on the letter to your sister, B. It took me four clean starts and much editing and rewriting (how I miss your red pen, my dear), but I have a draft done now. I will give it a day or so before going back to see if it still feels right. Then I will copy it out long-hand for mailing. Today, I hope to draft a letter to your youngest sister, P.

To tell you the truth, I don't hold out much hope. They seem convinced that I am the anti-christ though they continue to love and spoil our children. Last night, they all gathered at your sister's house to lavish gifts on our son for his fourteenth birthday. I was not invited.

He came home lugging his loot. My solace is the knowledge that as much as he covets material things, he forgets them quite quickly. It is love he really wants and there is no shortage of that for him.

Perhaps I will post the letters I send for you to see. I am of two minds about that. Later then.

With love,

P.

Just Talk

2007-01-14T09:28:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Sometimes my strongest need is just to talk to you. You know, about the small stuff, the quirky, off beat stuff, the family stuff. I need to continue to weave that web that tied us together within the larger fabric of the universe around us.

Here is an example that I have been sitting on for a whole week. Last Sunday, I started the day in my usual way by sitting down and slowly reading the Sunday paper after taking care of the dog, making coffee, and on this day, getting the bread making process underway. And as I worked my way through the political bullshit, the war bullshit, the gossip bullshit, I finally reached the section that dealt with local society bullshit. There was an article on the nasty insides of the local restaurant scene. You would have so loved it.

I was thinking of you as I read the juicy insider stories of who was suing who about deals gone bad along with the scraps thrown in the compost. I was thinking of that movie we watched, "Dinner Rush" where plotting and intrigue both in, and out of the kitchen steamed along with the gorgeous and creative gastronomic art that was laid before the unsuspecting diners. Well, I was almost to the end of the article when a name caught my eye. It was your restaurant, my love, making news in the most unwelcome way.

It appears that the current GM of your restaurant is being sued by a former head chef of a restaurant that he owned, but that's not all. The paper went on to repeat scandalous rumors of gay torture chambers in the basement, male strippers stalking the kitchen, sex in the corners, whooo-hoo. I was stunned. What would you have done had you been in your old spot across the table from me. What kind of shock waves were going to ripple out through the food biz strata? What were D and M going to do when they heard about it all. Your restaurant tarnished in the most tawdry way. It was luscious in a seamy sort of way and I HAD NO ONE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH. I was so bummed.

It was almost a week until I could get up there and see for myself how the staff were responding. There were some grim faces and I can't imagine what all is happening. The timing of this was suspiciously terrible too. Your head chef had her last night there a day before the story broke. She is off to be a star in Hong Kong, a shining light in the gluttonous east. I haven't met her replacement, but the whole staffing situation must be in turmoil. If you were here, I would know the inside scoop and we could talk about it in all of its lovely, grimy, and smutty intricacy. How I miss you.

In other goings on, your son is about to turn fourteen. I fell into a panic last week when I realized the proximity of the event and the fact that I had done nothing really to prepare. Our family is still paralysed by this schism that was cleaved by your two sisters, so a family gathering is out, even though that is the one thing he wants most. Your sister is throwing a family party for him at her house, but seems to have lost my invitation.

Yesterday, I took him and his two long-time best buds to an indoor go kart race track and we inhaled poisonous fumes for a bit as we raced little low-slung rockets around a loopy track set up inside a large pole building way out in bum-fuck county, half way to St. Cloud. Your boy was brilliant. On our first race, the four of us were the only ones on the track and I proceeded to lap them all on my way to a victorious finish. It was exhilarating and surprisingly intense. These little carts could reach 30 or 40 miles per hour and had amazing grip. I felt pretty pleased with myself for arranging it on short notice.

After a break to breath slightly less toxic air in the lounge and to play some race games on video machines, we went back in for round two. I once again was last out of the starting gate (it was sequential) and had to corner aggressively to gain a leadership position when I became aware of someone hanging right on my tail and no matter how well I set my line in the hairpins, I couldn't shake him. Then, when forced to brake for a much slower driver ahead of me, I felt a punch as my follower rammed me into the boards and roared on by. Guess who. Yes, our son, and the chase was on.

I couldn't catch him. He is truly a gifted and skilled driver. He was laying down better, smoother lines through the corners and displayed a natural skill at dominating his position. It was not until several laps later when he had to slow for the same poky driver that I was able to return the favor he did me by edging him on the inside and forcing him out into the boards, allowing me to squirt ahead for the final lap. Little good it did me, for he turned in the fastest lap time of the four of us, beating his old man by a some thousandths of a second. He made me very proud.

From there, we were off to Sammy's Pizza for lunch and then home where the boys holed up in J's bedroom and played computer games until nightfall. He was a happy camper and celebrated by making cookies all by himself last night. They were good too. You would have been pleased at how he did it all without any assistance and left a sparkling clean kitchen when he was done. He is a good kid.

We would have talked about that too. Or maybe we are? I don't' know.

D.

Your Scent

2007-01-05T22:23:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Tonight, I tried to find you. I opened a drawer that held your swimsuits, and pantyhose, and lingerie. There were pieces of our past in there and I hopefully inhaled, seeking bits of you, hoping that there was some hint of pheromone, some reminder of you.

I moved from there to the closet and slowly touched one hanger after the other. Such memories. Each piece of cloth bearing ghostly presence as they moved in front of me. I gently pulled an item from time to time and drew my lungs full as I held the garment to my nose, but you were gone - truly.

All that remains of you now is in my head, and in the box on the closet shelf. Your organic parts have faded and I don't know if that is good or sad. I must let you go, but it is hard. It is at times like this that I hurt still. Mostly, I am good. We are good. But when the kids are gone and I am here alone, I pine for you. My solitude hangs heavy around my neck.

I hope that you see the stars and galaxies just as I do when I look at the NASA pics of the day. I think about such beauty as is portrayed there and how you must be out there somewhere. That is my peace - thinking that we go to some beautiful place when we die. Not heaven, as in a biblical sense, but among the stars themselves.

I miss you.

P.

Passing on Memories

2007-01-02T15:21:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Last week, I took our children west to share with them some of our favorite places. Do you remember when we were young (well, relatively anyway) and we first went to San Francisco? For the first, and last time, you rented the car and we wound up with a little shit box that had one and a half cylinders and a slushbox transmission. It took two hours to get up to cruising speed. Forget about passing.

It was our first "driving" vacation and I wanted to show you the bit of coast between San Francisco and my cousin's place a bit north. I didn't know that you were so susceptible to motion sickness. I love a twisty mountain road and drove that POS rental like it was the finest hot Italian, zillion cylinder stud rocket. You turned an evil shade of green before we hit the third curve out of Sausalito. By the time we got to my cousin's, you were unconscious in my lap, dosed to the gills on Dramamine. What a pair we were.

Well, this Christmas break, I didn't want to hang around this place, haunted by memories of happier times, so I forced the kids to go with me to California to impose on my cousin once more. The original plan was to gather in Lake Tahoe and ski the light fantastic, but torrential downpours put the skids on that idea and we had to go to Plan B. And that was to do a couple of days in SF followed by a punt and hope for the best.

We landed in previously mentioned torrential monsoon rainfall to be met by cousin B and transported in his hysterically powered RS-car through the coastal mountains to his home and hearth, were we were met with a bone-warming fire and great Mexican food. He and T proceeded to spoil us with all means of good things, starting with a trip down the coast to SF.

There, we hiked through Chinatown and found that little hole-in-the-wall dive place we ate at a couple of times before. You remember the one where the owner took the order and refused to give us menus, simply saying, "I take care of you?" Same place.

The look on our children's faces was extremely dubious. Due to previous conversations between the adults, they were anticipating mystery dishes that would include unidentifiable items, many with tentacles still wriggling around. We started with strange tea (see picture) that defeated all of our attempts to drink it without ingesting flowery bits. As it turned out, anyone leaving the table for a bathroom break came back to find "their" tea containing their neighbor's herbal flotation.

When the food did come, it came in torrents and it was soooo delicious. Even K and J found bits and pieces that they liked.

We did the cable cars of course. J hung off the side like an old native, always at the front, as if he were captaining his own hilly vessel.

We went to Alcatraz prison for a tour which creeped the shit out of me. I don't know, but those walls saw such human degradation that they whispered to me the whole time I was inside the building. I followed J around as he listened to an audio presentation. I don't know what he heard. The unit they handed me was speaking in Croatian.

We had dinner at an old, family style Italian restaurant that was a few blocks off the beaten path down by the waterfront. K was secretly pleased when she received a wine glass from the waiter and was able to sip a little Montepulciano red along with the rest of us.

There was the fancy hotel, more of Fisherman's wharf, Irish coffee's at the Monte Crisco (remember those?). When we finally left to return to B and T's house, the kids were sated and satisfied.

The whole trip was like that. I had a wonderful moment in the kitchen while the family swirled around me as we slowly prepared the evening meal, drinking wine and beer, dancing in place to the music pumped up loud, and I felt the embrace of family. That feeling of being held and supported by presence of those loved ones close to you. I haven't felt that since you went away. I missed it and felt drunk on it that night.

Then we flew home to a wintry scene of snow and slush. Both kids bolted from my presence as soon as we got home, but I didn't mind. They had been in close contact with me for a week and they were not running away from me as much as they were running to another place that they lusted after. I spent my New Year's Eve alone and not minding that too much.

Midnight passed without my noticing it. So much for the much hyped celebration.

Well, I must go. We have a guest coming for dinner on his annual migration from up north to his winter home in Colorado. Dinner needs to be put together and I think I will dose him up on garlic shrimp and pasta. We will raise a glass in memory of you.

With love,

D.

Blade Runner

2006-12-23T22:05:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Today was your family's Christmas party. You weren't there. Neither was I. First time in over twenty years. Of course, we had different reasons for being absent.

You will be happy to know that our children went however. I saw Kate later, and she said it was a good time. That went down like bitter liquor. How could they have a good time without you? Me, I could understand. Both kids went to stay with your sister for an overnight. Strange that I should think of a "free" night as such a curse.

Your ghost hangs close right now. You are everywhere in my memories and memories are everywhere tonight.

I went to a party earlier. Do you remember the invitations I would get every year from my old fraternity brother? Every year, I would put it on the calendar and every year, something would come up. Suddenly, this year my dance card was empty, so I went.

He lives in a large apartment complex in the south metro area. I don't really know how to describe the place other than it reminded me of a TV set for a sitcom set in New York. You know - big apartment with lots of rooms. His "wife" has a thing for stuffed santa bears. There must have been three hundred of them staged around the place.

I couldn't get over the opulence of it. That, and the fact that the average age of the guests was about seventy-eight. Fuck me, what was I going to do. I made a pass through and spotted the host wearing a santa hat with flashing lights around the brim. He was talking to a bunch of younger attendees (bout fiftyish) and didn't seem to recognize me.

I collected a glass of red wine and looked for a safe harbor. There were none to be found. I kept telling myself that if I just walked the circle one more time, I would find someone who looked interesting to talk to. Half way through the third cycle, I put my jacket on and left, never having talked to my host. What a pitiful social animal I am now. I just wanted to go someplace safe and quiet.

So, here I am at home - watching a movie with the dog. I am such an emotional cripple. It is so hard to go out and relate to strangers. What is to become of me? I am alienated from your family. My family is spread across the country. I am not sure that I am walking the right path as a parent. Man, I am a wreck tonight.

The movie I picked to watch is "Blade Runner." Aside from the fact that I like it as a movie, I felt compelled to watch it because of the scene where Harrison Ford sits at the piano, drinking, and looking at the photographs that make up his past (as he remembers it). For some reason, that scene felt so poignant as I remembered it, but as I sit and watch it, I become overwhelmed with the force of my own memories and I have to stop the movie and come in here and try to talk to you.

So now, I sit at the keyboard and push bits and bytes out into the ether. Where are you tonight? Can you hear me? I kind of hope that you can't because if you can, then you will know what a hash I have made of things.

Shit. I am going to bed now. This is getting too maudlin. Tomorrow will be better. I will grill ribs, slowly, in the cold, and make the kids happy. I love you and wish you a happy christmas.

P.

Touchstone - Missing

2006-12-12T21:37:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

Today is one of those days where I sit at the close and wonder how it could have gone so wrong. I spent most of it on Christmas things - wrapping, organizing, making a run to the store for one more thing to balance things out between brother and sister.

Then there was dinner - a run to the store for some fresh chicken, rice in the cooker, stir-fry that looked christmasey with red peppers and green snow pea pods. Both kids said they liked it and all was going well. Till we started talking about family matters. Then it went all to shit.

One of the hardest parts about trying to do this alone is that there are no guideposts, no touchstones, no help. Tonight at the table, I wound up with two very emotional, and pissed off teenagers who tell me I have to lighten up, tell me that this family rift is because I am being unreasonable, and that I am too strict as a parent. When pressed for examples, none could be found, but there was no doubt that I was too strict, too uptight, too controlling.

I don't know. You were always my mirror and my counsel. Without you, I doubt myself. Particularly now when stress is running so high. I ask myself if I am being reasonable, and I believe I am, but when all around you start saying differently, and you know that perception of the world is so dependent upon the state of mind of the perceiver, and you also know that you are just so close to the edge, then it is easy to doubt oneself. How I miss your presence and guiding hand.

I told the kids that I made an appointment to see a family therapist with the aim of trying to learn better ways of dealing with all the stuff that is currently in front of me. To tell you the truth, I don't know what, if anything, that meant to them. In part, they sound like regular teenagers who think that their parent is totally screwed up and too restrictive. They sound just like I remember myself sounding, but I am so uncertain these days that I cannot be sure - I cannot trust my own perceptions. These certainly are not the circumstances that I had to deal with when I was thirteen or sixteen.

This is so hard. You know, I hate saying that. That is the same thing that our dear president said in that whiny voice and I can't ever say it again without hearing him in my head. But it is true nonetheless. I hope that this upcoming visit with the therapist can shed some light on things and provide some honest feedback. Right now, I am outnumbered.

The weather is shitty, wish you were here.

P.

Anniversaries

2006-12-03T11:14:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

You were always so much better about remembering anniversaries than I. Do you remember going on about the anniversary of the first time you saw me? And the anniversary of the first time we met? And our first date? I could never keep track of them all.

I remembered this one though. Friday was the day that marked the six-month anniversary since you left.

Seems like yesterday and a million years all at the same time.

We have covered a lot of ground in that time. I was certifiably crazy for the first three months. It was hard for us all. The kids make light of it when I ask them saying that nothing was really different, but I know better. I was a basket case and not very easy to live with. Things started to get better around the three month mark. I began to function again. It was a slow process and one that was hard to measure. I look back now and see a broken road, crooked and potholed. Not a journey I want to make again.

You would be proud of your children. They are hanging in there and doing a good job. They are doing well in school and keeping up with their chores at home. There are moments of course, like last night when your daughter came home from work with a little postcard that a co-worker left in her tip folder inviting me to a "christian" pot luck gathering that occurs on Friday nights. Apparently your daughter conveyed to her co-worker that her father was sitting around too much (along the lines of "Sleepless in Seattle" I am guessing and said co-worker let it slip that there was a gorgeous fifty-six year old widow that is part of this group.

So now, it is Kate's mission to "fix me up" with this group. Bless her little scheming heart, but no thank you very much. I'll get myself into trouble if it is all the same to you. I know that our daughter has only my best interests at heart, but I cannot conceive of what a situation would be like.

As for other matters that I have written about recently, all is quiet. No contact from your sisters. The upcoming holiday does present a bit of a conundrum however. What to do about the traditional family gathering and exchange of gifts. I did send our contribution for the annual "children's fund" but I am not sure what to do about the adults. This was always your bailiwick and I would happily pass it off to you once more.

To be truthful, I feel no compulsion to give gifts to your family members. The ones I once counted as true friends are out for my blood and the rest I would see only at gatherings that were quite frankly, quite boring and forgetful. I went only for you, you see. So, now what to do? Should I be the total bore your sisters picture me as and tell them all to take a flying fuck, or should I be "politic" and find some "meaningful" gift to give each branch of the family?

I don't know, but I am running out of time. You are free of it all now and I hope you are making the most of it. Where ever you are, have fun and send cards.

With all my love,

P.

The Debriefing

2006-11-28T19:36:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I got a call last week from the gentleman who facilitated the recent family debacle. He asked me if I would like to come in for a "debriefing," saying that sometimes it helped to go over a session and review it. I said, "sure" and this morning I went in.

It was raining pitchforks on the way down and the traffic was horrendous. I had given myself enough time and made it too the office facility with one minute to spare. My contact was not so lucky, having gotten caught up in traffic himself. So, I sat on the bench and did my own review while I was waiting.

It doesn't make sense. That's it in a nutshell. Your youngest sister, the more intelligent and rational of the two, is off her rocker. Your other sister, the martyr, is just along for the ride. What I can't figure out is what is eating the younger one. She went through her litany during the family meeting, just as she had with me on the phone when all of this was kicked off, like an avalanche that is initiated with one quiet step. The problem with her "issues" list though, is that none of them alone, or in combination, justify the emotional energy that is being expended, or worse, support the very real possibility of a family rift. Something else is driving her, but I cannot understand what.

Some of this was talked about when my contact finally arrived amid profuse appologies. He was very supportive of me and my positions under the circumstances. He said that he thought that your two sisters were unable to hear what was being said during the meeting in the way of explainations of behavior and my sincere statements of appreciation for all they have done for our family.

I reiterated my earlier statements of culpability, saying that I too lost my control and said things that were both undiplomatic and unhelpful. He responded saying that he thought that I reacted upon being attacked by both sisters simultaneously and one-on-one. He indicated that he believed that I was open to trying to work through the problems facing us, but that they were not.

I asked him if he had any recommendations because, as nice as it was to hear someone tell me that I was not completely crazy and was not acting unreasonably, those words would not help to resolve the problems before us.

He said that his recommendation would be for the three of us to see a family therapist individually rather than as a group. He thought that if that occurred, perhaps the therapist would be able to help each of us understand what our central needs were, and perhaps devise a plan to take care of those needs in a positive way. I told him that I thought that was a good idea and that I would set up an individual appointment regardless of what your sisters decided to do as I feel that I could use some outside, professional advice on how to do a better job as a parent under these trying circumstances.

We also talked about our son and the needs he has. It seems clear that your departure has left a large hole in him and that he is filling that hole to the best of his ability by maximizing his relationship with your youngest sister. While I think that is reasonable, and understandable, his disire to bring your sister closer at this time, makes the job of finding a new balance for the three of us more difficult, especially now that your sisters wish me dead.

It is all so very tiring. I want to tell you though, that other than the little relative problem, things are going pretty well. I feel good about the relationships between myself and our children. They are doing well in school and seem to be handling the stress of all of this very well. Your son even ate the chili I made tonight and said that it was good. I just about fell off my chair. What's more, he is now taller than our daughter. Life is insisting on moving along, no matter what some of the "adults" seem to think is proper.

Just wanted to say "hi" and give you the latest. Don't forget to take pictures and drop a line now and again.

With love,

P.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

2006-11-19T17:53:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I sincerely hope that you are far, far away and no longer paying any attention to affairs down here on this mud ball. Had you been watching with your cable channel tuned to "Stupid Reality Shows", you would have seen an exhibit of mudslinging, name calling, veiled and not so veiled innuendos, diva drama, tears, and bare-naked anger yesterday as the Sisters-in-Law met with me and a neutral facilitator for an attempt at dealing with this major family feud. At that, we failed.

The "good" was that we met and shared our feelings. The "bad" was that we resolved almost nothing and perhaps took a step or two backwards. The "ugly" was everything in that room. Had you seen it, you would have been appalled by the behavior of your husband and your two sisters.

What has happened to us? What critical thing caused us to spin so out of control, going from hugging, loving relationships to hurtful accusations and feelings of such utter hatefulness? It is as though we were all on a balmy cruise that suddenly was enveloped by a raging storm, capsizing the boat and casting us into cold and hostile waters, beset by unseen dangers.

Was it your passing? The loss of you? The absence of your guidance and presence? I do not know. All I do know is that I am saddened, perplexed, and pissed all at the same time. We all claim to be doing this “for the children,” like bitter divorcing couples cat fighting and clawing at each other’s eyes while looking for the chance for a fatal blow. We are so sanctimonious, that I am sickened by it. Only in this case, it is me against your two, strong willed and “used to obedience” sisters.

That poor man who agreed to give up his Saturday morning to help a bunch of aggrieved family members, what he must think. There were times when I looked up and he had the look of someone about to be hit by a semi-truck going seventy miles an hour – you know, that look of panic tinged with the knowledge that you are trapped and cannot escape the fate that is hurtling toward you, except that he had to sit there for an hour an a half. Just writing this to you makes me feel unclean.

Going in, I was not sure what to expect. What transpired was much more emotional and wicked than I ever anticipated. I thought that the past six weeks would give us time for reflection and a chance to gain perspective on the issues that were involved in the original disagreement. But instead, events went from zero to insane in a matter of minutes. Your youngest sister, the one who always seemed the most rational and reasonable of your siblings, led the attack. Whatever time had passed, it had done nothing to lessen the animosity that she feels for me. And this, this feeling she displays, is a complete cipher to me. I do not understand what it was that I did that sparked this in her.

Your other sister announced about ten minutes into the round-table, that she had to leave because she “may be sick”, at which time she left the building and got locked out. It was high drama that never ratcheted down from the start. She alone went through an entire box of Kleenex. She really poured on the coals once someone had let her back into the conference room, wailing that she could not believe how I could be so cruel, saying the things I did? How could I repute all of those times when she had given up her own life to attend to our every beck and call? How many times had she left her husband and children to tend to us? How could I fail to see what she had given, at which time I told her to stop being such a martyr. I might as well have stepped up and slapped her right in the chops. It wasn’t one of my most diplomatic moves, but it was so true.

Your other sister reacted as if I had flung a pile of dog shit in her face. Things went down hill from there.

What a mess. I am ready to bid your family adieu. I don’t need this. Things are hard enough already. The ironic part is that if I removed your two sisters from the equation, life is generally getting better. The kids and I are getting along quite well. They are both doing great in school. I went to our son’s conferences last Thursday and his teachers could not say enough good things about him. We are making it. We are working out new, and more effective ways of communication. We are getting the feel of this new configuration. Perhaps I am counting my chickens too early, but it feels like we are doing OK – if it were not for the “adults” involved.

I don’t know what will happen. The adults will either work it out, or we won’t. I will not accept the current state of affairs. I wish I had better things to say to you. I am ashamed to report these things. We are supposed to set an example for the children and I shudder to think what we are showing them.

The Knot

2006-11-12T14:50:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I need your wisdom and guidance. I need to find a way through this unfamiliar, and treacherous terrain. I never, ever anticipated that the hardest parts of living without you would come from your own family. What was once seen and felt by me to be our greatest support is now disintegrating into my greatest nightmare.

I have spoken of the rift that has occurred between myself and your two sisters. I still hope that we can repair that, at least to where we can carry on and speak to one another. We meet as a group next Saturday with a professional facilitator to begin that process.

In the meantime however, another issue has come up. As you know, our son has a wonderful relationship with your youngest sister and her beau. He enjoys spending time with them and they extend frequent invitations for him to come to their house for dinner and overnights.

When you were still with us, this never seemed to be a problem, but now, I am growing increasingly uneasy. Trying to put a finger on exactly why is difficult. One reason is that for our son, going to visit with them is like a vacation. They have no children and delight in taking him to movies, dinners, special outings like driving go-carts. For him, it is like going on mini-vacations. He loves it. The problem arises when they drop him back off at home and he has to face homework, weekend chores, a bed room that needs to be picked up and a father that has to be the bad guy in getting him to do all of this.

I have seen him arrive home laughing and carrying on in their car only to go through a Jekyll and Hyde transformation when he walks through the door into the house. Now, I will be the first to admit that this house has not been a place of joy and light over the past months (try years), but I am trying to do the best possible job as a father and trying to figure out how we can survive and thrive going forward. Having our son see our house as a dark place made all the darker by being spoiled by his aunt makes this task even more difficult.

Today, while I was out doing the grocery shopping, I got a call from him. He had just returned from an overnight at his aunt’s house and he wanted to remind me that since tomorrow was Monday, he would be going to do something with your sister as part of an ongoing and regular weekly date. I just sat there dumbfounded. He said that we had talked about this but I don’t remember doing so. All I could think of was that your sister was trying to steal my son – turn him into her son because she had no children and no hope of having any of her own.

I was appalled at myself for even thinking it, yet, it would not leave my head. I gave her a call and told her that I was having some problems over the frequency of her invitations and that the difference between the environment at her house and the environment at mine set up a stark contrast that made my current job even more difficult. I didn’t know what to say to her to clearly express my concern without sounding like a crazy paranoid. This is where I need you. Am I being crazy? Should I feel concern that our son wants to hang out in the land of Oz where he never has to do homework or housework or work of any kind?

Your sister listened respectfully, but said that she did not want to give up her relationship with out son. She said that he needed it, which I don’t challenge. He misses you terribly and I cannot provide all of those things to him. There is no doubt in my mind that the relationship between those two is good and strong. What I am struggling with is that my task is made more difficult because of it. It feels like he is slipping away.

I don’t know what to do. I needed to tell your sister how I felt. I don’t want a repeat of the emotional explosion that occurred a couple of weeks ago. Yet, I don’t know how to make this better.

Lest I sound like all things are going to hell, in the larger picture, things are getting better I think. I am feeling stronger and finally starting to look outward. The day-to-day items that need to be taken care of for us to survive are getting done. We have a couple of trips planned for the upcoming holidays. I think that we are doing OK except for your family. What an unexpected turn of events. Where ever you are, if you could just come down and whisper in my ear tonight the solution to this Gordian knot, I would really, really appreciate it.

Yours forever,

The Burning Cold - Part 5

2006-10-29T08:11:00.000-06:00

My Dearest Love,

I went out last night - to a Halloween party. It was painfully awkward as I realized just how socially stunted I have become. Most of the people there (if not all) were couples. Most were in our age range. Several knew me from a couple of lifetimes ago - back in the days when you and I met. One of them remembered you from your first marriage.

It was hard to talk. I didn't know what to say. I stood in a corner in the kitchen for much of the time, just like I did that night in the bar with all of the Hell's Angels. I remember thinking how shocked these people of last night would be - the lawyers, the college administrators, the social workers - to be compared to Hell's Angels. I was a pathetic partyer.

I had a couple of glasses of wine and snuck out early without saying goodbye to the host. When I got home, I opened the second bottle of wine I bought for the party and had one more glass as I stared at the bedroom walls. The house was completely quiet. Our children were off pursuing their own lives. Just me and the old dog who was snoring on her blanket.

I didn't start this post to complain about my social life. In fact, last night was nothing to complain about. I went out to a party for the first time in my new role as a widower and I found out how "creaky" I had become. All of my social skills had atrophied over the long period of our quarantine. Last night was a small crack in the shell that I hope to widen as time goes on. I don't want to be a hermit, though I feel safe here in my shell.

What I really wanted to tell you about was that this rift with your sisters may have a solution, or a hope of a solution at any rate.

You see, I had lunch with one of your very best friends last week and I told her of my problem and asked for her counsel. She, like you, is wise in the ways of people and I had hoped that she might help me see this thing from a perspective that might have a little bit of you it it. It was a nice lunch and very helpful for me.

One of the conclusions I arrived at after the lunch was that my desire to meet with only one of your sisters, the one I had the original conflict with, was misguided and would ultimately, only result in further strife and division of the group. If your youngest sister and I were able to resolve our difficulties, where would that leave her vis-a-vis your other sister? No, I decided that we would all have to meet at once.

That left me with the problem of balance. How would I deal with your two sisters, who were definitely upset with me, and your best friend, who was neutral? What would be the play of social dynamics? The answer, I hope, is the addition of an outside, professional facilitator who's role will be to help this fractured group, process their problems and reach resolution in a way that will allow everyone to maintain dignity and be able to go forward and work together for the good of the family.

This idea was put forward as a suggestion to the other three people immediately involved. I am happy to say that all three were supportive and willing to proceed. The problem now is scheduling. Your youngest sister is out of town on business for the next two weeks, so it looks like it will be a while before we can actually come to grips with this. Perhaps that will work to our advantage in that some more of the "heat" may leak out of us with the passing of time.

We shall see, but I will say that I am tired of this. It is a lot of work to go this route alone.

With love,

D.

The Burning Cold - Part 4

2006-10-24T16:05:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I wonder what you make of all this. This is making the huge assumption that you have any cares about the trivialities of our lives. I hope that you are far beyond this now, that we are but ripples in the stream to you, or whispers of a breeze on a summer's day. To me however, this is all too real. And all too foolish.

If you were one of the Greek deities, an immortal who actually meddled in the affairs of humans, you would, by now, have sent a few lightening bolts down to a couple of vexing people, myself included I am ashamed to say.

We have made a sad hash of this. That it happened at all is a testament to our fall. That we have not resolved it reminds me daily of how sadly we have behaved.

I wish that I could say that we have fixed this rift, this tear in the family fabric, but we have not. An olive branch was extended to your youngest sister, a flag of parley waved. She was willing she said, but your other sister wanted to come too.

Well, sorry, but I can only take on one of your sisters at a time. Two on one would be a bad decision on my part. Your blood line produced strong women. Of all, you were the strongest and I fear that without your presence, the remaining drift rudderless on a sea of loss and longing.

So, we wait. For what, I am not sure. On my end, I hope for reason, for cool heads and reflection. What they hope for I do not know.

What I do know is that for all of the need I have to try to resolve this, I am very afraid of "pushing". This is dangerous country and I would rather sit and stew a little rather than make a mis-step that will put me in the quicksand.

I wish I had better things to say to you. This is not the letter I wish to write.

P.

The Burning Cold - Part 3

2006-10-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

Part 2 here

My Dearest Love,

As I set out in Parts 1 and 2, I had planned on leaving town to meet someone who has grown to be a significant part of this new life I am starting out on. Your sisters agreed to take over the family for the few days I would be gone, but they were not happy with the reason for my leaving. At the last minute, that trip was canceled and I went to see my parents instead.

Upon returning home, I immediately went head-to-head with both kids, which resulted in hurt feelings and strained relationships. I hoped for a better start on Monday.

One of the things that I did on Sunday before everything fell apart was to call your youngest sister. Every since our meeting with the lawyer the week before, she seemed unhappy and preoccupied. I was not able to reach her on Sunday, but left a voice-mail explaining that I could tell that something was bothering her and I wanted to talk to her about that.

She called back just before noon on Monday. What followed was totally unexpected. When I asked her if there was something troubling her, she said yes, and that it was more than just one thing. She then proceeded to tell me a long list of things I had done, or was doing that she found issue with. I won’t go into details here, but it included lying during the meeting with the attorney, lying to our children about money, whining on the CB website about the lack of money, and fostering a continuing level of anger in our household and refusing to do anything about it.

She also accused me of not appreciating her efforts on our traditional Monday night get-togethers. She said that I refused to help her prepare the meal, that with all of the free time I had during the day I should be able to do more.

Finally, she said that I showed no appreciation for the service she did us when she spent time with our children while I was gone. That I did not provide food for their use and that I had no right to get angry when I came home to find no milk in the refrigerator.

I have to admit that as this went on, my internal temperature started to rise and by the time she got to the milk thing, I was close to boiling. I wish with all my heart that I could have listened to all of this and responded with words of cool compassion, perhaps allowing us to address each other’s feelings in a rational and adult manner. I did not do that, however.

Instead, my inner child, hurt and angry, responded for me by telling her of a point of contention written down on my side of the ledger.

While I was gone, your two sisters went through our closet and picked out some of your clothes to take to NY for your birthday celebration. I was not unhappy that they wished to take some of you along for the party, but I was upset that they rummaged through our things without asking first and I said that to your sister.

By now, we were both so emotionally charged up that further discussion was impossible. I ended the phone call before I said anything more that I might regret.

I can’t recall the last time I felt so distressed. I was walking around the house talking to myself alternately railing at my own stupidity and then at the accusations that I felt to be so unfair. It is not that there were not seeds of truth at the heart of all of them, but the way they were presented to me took the form of embellishment and twisted perspective. As I was mentally defending myself on each count, I suddenly felt all of the muscles in my lower back tighten in a spasm that left me bent over and gasping.

The next several hours represented a new low for me. Not only was the relationship with your younger sister on the rocks, but two hours after our phone exchange, I received an email from your other sister who proceeded to tear me a “new one” in writing. The two sisters apparently went over my list of deficiencies and reached a unanimous verdict with the defendant absent from the proceedings.

That is how things stood as they left for New York, on your birthday, to celebrate your memory. They are still there and I have heard nothing, which is good, I think.

We all need some space in which to cool down, but how this will be patched up, I do not know. But we will need to find a way for the children’s sake. In many ways, I feel married to your two sisters. They are a legal part of our household now through the directives of your will. They have fiduciary roles to play. They will be participating in the decisions that will be made relative to the welfare of the family. And they are totally pissed at me. Not good. Not good at all.

The Burning Cold - Part 2

2006-10-12T09:57:00.000-05:00

Part 1 here

My Dearest Love,

As I write these words I feel a deep anxiety, a fear that the events of the past few days, perhaps months, have created a situation that jeopardizes the health and fabric of our family, and while I don’t think that all of the blame for this can be laid directly on my shoulders, I do believe that I share the lion’s portion of it. My actions (and inactions) over the period beginning with your death and culminating in the present time have been ragged, often non-functional, emotionally charged, and not always rational. Looking back, they appear to be those of a person who is shell-shocked and depressed. Not too strange I guess for what I have gone through.

Having said that, I still need to take responsibility for my part in the events leading up to, and including the past few days.

As I drove home after visiting with my parents, I did so in a calm and philosophical state, taken in by the empty, winding road (not the freeway), and the beautiful fall colors. I felt refreshed. Little did I know that would not last.

Upon entering the house, I found our daughter drawing in the kitchen while plugged into her iPod. I think that I expected her to show some enthusiasm at seeing her father, but it was as if I were a ghost, and an inconvenient one at that. She acknowledged my existence, but barely. My feelings were hurt. I took care of the dog, who actually did seem happy to see me, but then, she always did, and started to unpack.

There was a message from your sister saying that she would drop the boy off before dinner, which was fine, so I grabbed a beer and started going through the stack of mail that had come in while I was gone. About half way down was a letter from the high school with a progress report in it. The only grade showing was an “F” in chemistry. I stared at it for a while, trying to understand what I was seeing. I walked it over to the girl and slipped it in front of her on top of the drawing she was working on.

To say the following conversation went badly is an understatement. She kind of blew it off saying that she had missed a lab on one of the days she was excused from school, that the teacher had told her she did not miss anything, and that this just kind of popped up. She said that she would take care of it. I reminded her that she had said the same thing about a math homework grade that turned up as failing a couple of weeks before. She shrugged.

Now, I was irked. I went downstairs to the computer and logged into the school districts parent connect program. Her old math grade remained and F, plus she had a second math homework showing the same grade in addition to the new chemistry failure, three in total. I printed off the results and went back upstairs.

Once again, it felt like pulling teeth to get our daughter’s attention. She looked at the printout, pulled her earplugs out and said something to the effect that this was no big deal and that she would take care of it and that I should trust her. At some point she had raised her drawing pencil up between us and was using the point of it to site down into my eye. That’s when I lost my temper.

I slapped the pencil out of her hand and told her to treat me with respect. I told her this was a big deal, that she was starting to blow off her assignments and that she was grounded until the grades had been corrected or the work made up. Things kind of went downhill from there. We both postured and argued and behaved like juveniles. Only one of us had any justification for that.

Later, as I was stopping around in my foul mood, made fouler because I knew that I had made the situation worse that it had to be, I realized that there was no food in the house. Before going, I had talked to both aunts who would be taking turns with the kids and asked them what they would like me to lay-in in the form of supplies. They both said that I didn’t need to do anything in that regard, so I didn’t.

The result of course was an empty refrigerator and dinner time not too far off. I rummaged through the freezer and found some chicken chili from the week before. There was just enough for the three of us if I made something else. Hot dog buns that had been hanging out in the fridge for too long were turned into passable garlic breads and that was our quickie dinner.

Joe came through the door just before it was time to eat and of course, he was unhappy with the selection. He was also unhappy to return home to a scene that was obviously tense after being spoiled by his aunt and uncle for a couple of days. The discussion at the table quickly descended into hell. It was my fault that it did. I was not acting like a responsible adult and parent. I was reacting to things from some hurt space where I was so tired of trying to make dinners that the kids would like and eat. Whenever I would ask them to help with the meal planning they would both stare at me and say that they didn’t have any ideas or didn’t care, but when I then would pick a recipe or prepare a meal, I would get whining and complaining. I was sick of it. I blew up and wound up going to my room for some quiet time before I said any more things that I would be sorry for later.

Of course, our son immediately got on the phone and the IM lists and complained bitterly to his various counselors about the intolerable situation. Among those he talked to were the Troika planning to leave town on your birthday to fly to New York to celebrate that day with my brother in Manhattan.

Little did I know that this family drama would wash over me in a wave of accusations and recriminations the following day. More in Part 3.

The Burning Cold - Part 1

2006-10-10T08:10:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I am not sure how to relate the following story. It is so painful, so stupid, so unnecessary, so full of potential for disaster, that I am afraid to pick up the thread again. I don't want to revisit the events of yesterday. But, as you will see, I must.

First, I must set the stage and frame the players, for some of what was said and done was driven by emotions that lay deeper than the accusations that were actually made.

You will remember from my last letter that I had found a "pen pal" here on the Internet. We traded comments on each other's blogs over a period of months and in that time we felt that we had gotten to know a little bit about each other through our writings. What we saw there drew our mutual interest. When our trust level was high enough, we began to correspond via email, and finally, by phone.

At that point, our relationship was impossible to hide. Our children soon became curious and asked who this person was that I was talking to so often. Not wanting to lie, I told them. They in turn, told members of their respective support groups, which included your sisters and your best friend, P.

While all of this was going on, I often thought of how this might play out, the ramifications of it - those thoughts often traveled down dark paths. On the one hand, the relationship that had unexpectedly developed was a bright spot in a life that was otherwise very dark. I was struggling to find a new way to live, to parent, to manage our family's needs. I have never known so difficult a time. To have this new person come into my life at that point in time was a beautiful experience. It helped lift me up at a time when I needed that.

I also was aware of how it might appear to those closest to our family. I struggled with this and still do. But that tells you a little about what has gone on over the last month and leads to the next series of events.

In striking up a relationship with someone on line, I was faced with a number of conundrums. First, my children quickly pointed out that I had violated every rule I had given them about on-line etiquette. They were right to the extent that I had let some of my privacy slip in order to take an anonymous encounter to a higher level. My response was that I was an adult, an experienced one at that, and I was proceeding with my eyes open.

Another problem I faced was what to do next about this new relationship. Everything I had learned about this person made me want to go forward, but everything about my present situation bid me to slow down. My role as a parent had to take priority. My responsibilities in the processing of your estate are on-going and time consuming. My support group consisting of various family members would almost surely take this with a high degree of suspicion and resentment.

Plus, it would not be as easy as meeting for a cup of coffee to get to know one another a little better - she lives a thousand miles away. Still, my desire to know if there was something more to this relationship drove me to arrange a meeting.

To do this, to meet this woman, I would have to go away for a few days. This meant that I would need to ask for help from you sisters to look after our children. While they acquiesced, I could tell that they were not happy and I could understand that. Looking back, there are many things I might have done differently, but I was not thinking very clearly I am afraid. Nothing new for me over the past four months, but not something to be proud of either.

I arranged to be gone for three nights and was looking forward to knowing more about who this person was.

Then, it all changed. She fell ill and was ordered by her physician to undergo bed rest and a course of strong anti-inflammatories and under no circumstances was she to fly. While disappointed, I understood. What to do now?

Since your sisters had arranged their schedules to accommodate my absence, and because I had finally sold my father's old car which was going to be picked up the day I had planned to fly out, I decided to drive up to my parent's house and see them over the same three nights that I had originally planned to be gone.

So, last Thursday morning, after the kids had gone out the door to school, I threw my things in the back of the car and hit the road.

The visit was very nice. I got a chance to see my Dad's old car go off down the road on a trailer on its way to its new home. I was able to spend time with my parents and at this point in our lives we never know if it will be the last time we visit with one another. I spent a day in the woods with my brother scaring grouse. I visited with some of our old friends and got in a night of poker. Plus, I slept and did things on my own schedule. It was the first time I had been away from the house and the kids since you left. I needed that. But a price was to be paid...more in Part 2.

Pictures and Memories

2006-09-30T14:46:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Today I went for a walk in the woods with the dog. It is beautiful here right now. A clear, fall day with leaves raining down to carpet the woodland paths. Warm too, for the end of September. Your birthday is coming up and what am I going to be able to get you this year? You are beyond my forgetful ways.

Did you hear? Your boy has a girlfriend, for real. She is a cutie and someone you know from the old days, the old neighborhood. Remember the family that moved into the yellow house behind us? They played as kids, went to school together. Now they lie on the couch like two peas in a pod watching movies, and make cookies in the kitchen at night while I hide in our bedroom like a spy.

He is very cute in all of this. He blushes when I mention it (which I try not to do too much). He is growing too. Every day, he seems to stretch a millimeter or two. He is not the little boy of my memory any longer. So bittersweet this is. I miss you.

Today, I added the pictures I took while walking the dog, to a collection of photos I am building on line. While doing so, I came across the folder of pictures we compiled for your memorial. I ran through them all, all three hundred some. Seeing you again was wonderful, and sad, and torturous all at the same time. Whenever I see pictures of you, I am carried back to those times (at least for the ones that belong to "our" era) and I think of what we did, and said, and cried over, and fought about, and loved each other for, and how you helped me to define myself. It is so hard to see the effects the disease and the treatments had on you. But through it all, you kept your smile, and your love, and your spirit. I remember the night you finally left that tortured shell of a body - you spirit moving out until there was only the slimest of ties between your true self and the failing body next to me - then, with a sigh, you were gone.

You know that I have to move on, and I have to learn how to live without you, but still, you were such a part of my life, that it is difficult to completely let go of you. Yet, that is what I must do. I don't mean "forget" you, but "let go." I must let go for both you, and me. You need to be free of the tethers that hold you to this plane and I need to be free to live my life, as much of it as is left to me.

I don't know that others understand this part very well. Perhaps they do and it is I who is carrying the burden of the past. I don't know.

There is someone new in my life. She is a voice on the other end of a phone connection, or the writer of an email, or the author of a blog. I have not met her in person, yet. Soon. And, I have to tell you, I am so glad that she is there (wherever "that" is). The period of time right after your death was pretty bad. Very bleak. After a period of time where it was I who felt dead, I was touched by something that was very much alive. This touch lifted me up from that dark place. It is a beginning of something, but I don't yet know what.

I will let you know.

D.

Letting Go

2006-09-13T17:03:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

What has it been now? Three months since I listened to the small sigh that marked your last breath on this earth? Sometimes, everything feels timeless, as if I am suspended in time and touched on every surface by all the events I have known, especially your love.

We were together for the last third of my life. More than anyone else save my parents, and in this analysis, they are not participants. You shaped my life. You created the life that I now try to care for and nourish. Our children I speak of.

There were times during your illness that you spoke of the future - when you were no longer there. You asked me if I would love again, marry again, have another partner in life. I said, "No, I couldn't." And, it was true. My heart could not contain that concept. My heart was full and had no room for more. My heart was torn with the thought of losing you. I said, "No, never."

For the last three months, I have mourned you. I go to sleep sensing your absence. I awake knowing you are gone. I feel the ache as though a part of my physical body has been torn away.

I think, though, that you knew me better than I knew myself. Why should that surprise me? You were always ahead of me. You knew that I had only a finite capacity for sorrow, for pain, for longing, for grieving the loss. You knew that I would rise some day and find a bit of sun when I expected none. You were always wiser than I.

Not too surprising to you, I have found a ray of unexpected light. Also not so surprisingly, not all who learn of it are happy.

You see, in your power, you so deeply imprinted on those who loved you, that they cannot easily understand that I might turn to another someday to share the joy of life. This is what confronts me now. How to go forward, as you once wished me to do, despite my objections that never, never, would I be able to love again - to go forward - to love our children for you, and to be happy in my life.

My Love, I wish with all my heart that you were still with me, that you were still my guide and my sleeping angel when I would awake in the middle of the night and see your beautiful face in the moonlight. How I wish.

That is not to be. I must find my way without you by my side now. Others worry that should I take interest in someone else, it somehow signals abandonment for you. You, who can see my heart more clearly than even I, know that is not true. Give me wisdom as I go forward. Touch me when I sleep and help me to find the way. Let me not lose the love of those closest to me. Let me be the best father that I can be.

With all my love,

D

Upcoming Dilemma

2006-09-04T20:58:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

What am I going to do about Christmas? You were the angel, the tree, the presents, the wrapping, the bows. You were IT.

I don't think I can be here this Christmas. I can't make it be the same. This was always your holiday, your spirit filling the house, inspiring your children to do the decorations. You were always done with your shopping early, knew just what to get everyone.

You know my heart was never in it. It has no religious meaning for me and I hate the commercialism that has infested the whole pre-season period. To me, it is a cynical greedfest encouraged by merchants trying to make a buck.

I don't want to be here this year. I don't want to wake up and miss the glow in your eyes when you hear the children sneaking around and dumping out their stockings. I don't want to sit around a dead tree and take one fewer turns at opening our presents. I don't want any of it. But your son does.

Joe doesn't want to go anywhere over the holiday. He wants everything to be the same, which of course it can never be.

I am torn. I don't know what to do.

Your Love,

D.

Dreams

2006-08-29T18:41:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I dreamt of you last night for the first time since you left me. I was wondering when this would happen. I thought it strange that I would not dream of you - you, who were such a part of my existence.

In the dream, you did things, and suffered things that were both in keeping with your personality and completely opposed. Of course, it was not you directing things buy my own wet-ware firing its synapses in whatever progression that it does when my consciousness is not present to direct it.

I awoke this morning glad that you had come to me in the night, even though it was a strange dream. You fell while rollerblading, as you once did when we rented skates and went around the popular lake trail so many years ago. In my dream, after you fell, someone called a "medic" type and he (a large bruising chap) made you remove your pants and pull your knees up to your chest, and spent his time examining parts of you that were not obviously damaged. What's up with that I wondered.

Dreams are so strange. For the longest time after you left, I did not dream that I can remember. Perhaps it is the little pills I take at night. They used to make me feel so sleepy fairly quickly and knocked me out for six or seven hours. Now, it is like I don't take them at all. I don't feel the effect and I often wake about 4 AM, only to doze on and off after that. I don't remember any dreams during most of that time. Of course, the drugs do induce a chemical amnesia that would explain my lack of memory, but last night I took them as usual and you visited me anyway and I remembered in the morning. Changes.

Are you looking in on us? Do you know your son has a new squeeze? Remember the family that moved in behind us in the old neighborhood? One of their children is a classmate of our son. Lately, they have been an "item." For one weekend recently, they were inseparable. Last Sunday, our boy spent the afternoon and evening at the state fair with her, playing and working the Saint's booth. More changes.

Your daughter asked me today if it was OK to see a "shrink." She must finally be trying to process the emotions related to A) your passing, B) child-to-adult transitions, C) boys, D) who knows. Just that she asked about it is a good sign I think. Now to find someone she can talk to. Changes.

If you are looking in, you probably know more than me. If that is not the case, I will write as I can with updates. I miss you and love you. I am very horny however and will no doubt do something you would have found inappropriate were you still to be here. Hope you are OK with that.

With all my love,

D.

20th Wedding Anniversary

2006-08-16T09:24:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Today is our twentieth. I know that you were hoping to be here to help me celebrate, but that was not to be. I don't know how much celebrating I will do anyway. Maybe a glass of champaigne tonight, though it will be a hollow event without you.

Twenty years ago on a beach with Lake Superior as the backdrop. What a perfect day it was. The weather here looks nice today. Sunny and not too hot. My plan is to spend my time today doing things that I know would please you.

There is the front garden to weed and there are a bunch of volunteers poking up through the hedges. I figure maybe the kitchen will get a good clean as well.

There is an insurance inspector coming over to go over the house this afternoon. I was trying to keep the entire day free, but you know how schedules get. I also have some medical bill issues to try to sort out.

Today is going to be very emotional for me. I tend to get leaky without much provocation. Joe asked if I would like him to fix me an anniversary dinner like he did last year. I told him that I thought that would be "too much" for my poor heart to handle. I'll barbeque some chicken instead.

Your sisters and Pam keep voluteering to come over and help go through your things, but I am not ready for that. I am still clinging to the parts of you that are left and do not want them taken away just yet. I can't deal with the emptyness. That time will come, but not right now.

Will you sit down and talk to me at the dinner table like in "The Sixth Sense?" I have not felt your presence in any way so far, and to be truthful, don't believe in that stuff anyway. Where ever you are, please know that I miss you and love you. You will be especially in my thoughts today.

Yours,

D.

Sweats

2006-08-08T17:09:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Last night was a bad one. I awoke sometime in the early AM despite the pills I had taken at ten. My pillow and sheets were drenched in sweat. I had hoped that the current round of chemo would take the night sweats away, but if it will, it has not done so yet. When one is looking for positive signs, this is not what you want.

Plus, I had "busy brain" and I tossed and turned worrying about all of the current "problems" that are in front of me. There were "car issues" and "cash issues" and "insurance issues" and "parenting issues". I was visited by demon after demon until the sun finally started to lighten the sky. I finally fell into a fitful sleep and woke feeling like I had run a marathon. This is no way to walk the healing path.

One reason I felt so frantic last night was because we are scheduled to leave for the Blues Fest in two days and one more thing on my car broke just as I had fixed another. This problem was more immediate however - my driver's side window got stuck in the "down" position making it less than waterproof and certainly insecure. As you know, I am fairly handy mechanically, but give me an electrical problem and I start looking for the razor to slit my throat. I finally had to eat my pride and take it to the dealer, who actually treated me very well under the circumstances. The problem is diagnosed (not fixed because I am trying to contain costs) but the window is now "stuck" in the UP position, which prevents me from hanging my arm out in the wind, but provides weather and theft protection. All things considered, a good result.

Did I tell you Kate backed the Toyota into a tree? She was trying to back out of a skinny driveway at night and while trying to avoid other cars parked along the drive, she hit a tree on the other side. Understandable and forgivable, but she didn't tell me about it. I found it when I went out to use the car for water testing and noticed the bumper didn't look quite right. Then, the rear door didn't open quite right. Then I saw that the taillight lens was cracked and broken. If all of that were not enough, the gas tank was so empty, I was lucky to make it to the closest station before running out of vapor. Hmmm, not a happy daddy.

All of this seems like such a struggle when you are doing it alone. I didn't have a clue about this part. I thought I knew, but I really didn't. If I live long enough, we will figure it out. If I don't, then it won't be my problem. I must admit that the second alternative feels attractive on some days.

I miss you.

With all my love,

D.

Consequenses

2006-08-02T16:05:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It has been two months now since you left. I wonder what sights you have seen. It seems both longer and impossible at the same time. I live in a life of memories superimposed upon the world of now. My brain seamlessly segues between the two leaving me feeling not quite tethered to the "real" world.

I am three days into my five-day treatment. I feel the disease now - a rarity for me. I can feel crowding in my neck from the swollen lymph nodes. Nothing is visible, but I do feel it. Aside from having arms full of poke marks, I really haven't suffered much so far from the treatment itself. It is there, but it is in stealth mode. There is a little fatigue and the hint of nausea before arriving at the clinic. I think the latter is just anticipation of the needle and the poison. It is nothing like what you had to endure.

For the first time in a long time, I have had to punish Kate. She apparently smuggled some vodka out to the family reunion and shared it with all of her teenage cousins. Enough was consumed so that the activity was obvious to some. Not being there myself, I knew nothing of the event until your sister, Pat, and your SIL, Pam, confronted Kate here at the house a week after the crime. They then made her tell me.

Rather than act immediately on the news, I chose to wait. I had the canoe trip to plan for and there is only so much I can do at any one time these days. I told Kate there would be consequences, but I wanted to think upon the matter for a time first.

After we returned from the canoe trip, I rendered judgement. Because she wants to be a supreme court judge this year in YIG, I tried to structure the discipline as I thought a lawyer might (where did I get that from?). What follows is the contract I presented her with and asked her to sign.

Violation #1:	Willful underage drinking outside the family home and circle.
Consequence #1:	Loss of 1 hour from curfew deadline for the month of August.

Violation #2:	Sourcing, transporting across state lines via aircraft, and supplying of liquor to other underage minors.
Consequence #2:	Grounding for two weekends (August 4, 5, 6, and August 18, 19, 20) from the hours of 6 PM Friday to 6 AM Monday – no car, no TV, no phone, no computer for personal or pleasure use. Official commitments and obligations are permitted. Participation in family entertainment is permitted. Parental dispensation is permitted.

Violation #3:	Obtaining liquor illegally with the intent to supply said liquor to other underage minors.
Consequence #3:	Loss of car privileges for 1 week (6 AM, Monday, August 21 to 6 AM, Saturday, August 26), plus, effective immediately as of this date and time, loss of car privileges until the name and phone number of the liquor supplier are submitted to me, her father.

These terms are non-negotiable and binding. Failure to adhere to, or willful violation of will result in appropriate further consequences.

These decisions may be appealed to a higher court - your Aunts.

We will see how it goes. I miss you.

Love,

D.

With Every Touch

2006-07-22T11:00:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I finished "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion last night. In it she talks about her life, thoughts, feelings during the year that followed the sudden death of her husband. I see myself in her words in so many ways. She talks about trying to avoid anything that triggers memories of her life with her now dead and gone companion. Today, everything I touch forces me to relive our past, one segment after another. The emotional price is draining. On top of this, I took one of the evil green gout pills this morning and I am feeling faint, dizzy, and even more spaced out than usual. This is going to be a hard day.

The reason for the memory replays is the upcoming trip to the Boundary Waters. I have pulled all of our camping gear down from the shelves and spread it out over the garage floor. I have set the tent up where my car is usually parked and have been trying to mentally "pack" what I think we will need. Doing this without your help seems insurmountable at times. Plus, everything I touch carries your touch as well. When I handle something that you once held, I am carried away in time and space to times when we were young and full of love.

I sat this morning on the screen porch, in the early sunlight, mending one of the stuff sacks you made with your own two hands. It is the one that holds our camping silverware. I hand stitched a portion of the seam that had come undone, much as I feel my life has come undone, unraveling under the strain of your loss, awaiting a healing hand to stitch me back together, to make me whole again. Oh, were it that easy.

I had to duct tape the shoulder strap on your old back pack where the mice had chewed the stuffing out to make a winter nest. I found notes you jotted down in little crannies of our communal gear. There was one on the floor of the tent in your own private code. I think it referred to negatives of film that you wanted to do something with. It was numbers followed by one or two word descriptions. I held it for a moment and then set it down before my vision became soggy with wet memories.

I don't know if I can do this. I have to keep walking away from the collection of gear because I become overwhelmed.

On top of all this, I need to organize the family dinner/meeting tonight where I will tell the children that my cancer is back and that I must redo a chemo therapy that did once ten years ago that only worked for a short time. I must tell them that we, as a family, must reboard that uncertain and unsettling carnival ride called "Potential Death of a Parent." What will they think? What will they do? How will I cope?

I write this to you at eleven o'clock in the morning. This will be a long day.

I love you, where ever you are.

D.

Hope Chest

2006-07-18T13:15:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

The house is quiet once more.

Joe is off on his bicycle to meet David at the bagel joint. Kate went running. She's pissed at me because I took the car away for 24-hours for missing her curfew time last night. I also have been on her case about getting a job. There is work out there, but she is not interested in working at the places that have been suggested. I don't know where she gets the money to do what she does.

The weather finally broke yesterday. After a week of temps that flirted with the century mark and humidity's to match, a front moved through slowly yesterday that dropped both readings back into the comfortable range and we wound up watching Kate play her last "official" soccer game of the summer under clear, cool conditions last night.

I spent the morning today reading the paper, doing water testing, raking and spraying the dog run next to the garage, and clearing the ever growing weeds out of the path that goes around it. After taking a shower, I paused to cool off a bit while I surveyed our bedroom. I decided to move the heavy quilt off of the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and store it till needed later in the year. After I lifted it off the chest and put it aside, I open the lid of the chest and gazed at the little shelf that rises with the lid where you kept a bunch of your mementos.

I have never closely examined them before. I knew that you were sensitive about them and never encouraged me to be too curious. Today however, I wanted to look closer.

I found your student ID from the Sorbonne and a date book from when you must have been about Kate's age. There were lots of old photos from your junior and senior high days, included some of your old boyfriends. Was that why you never wanted me to look there?

I knelt on my knees by the side of the bed and slowly went through part of the treasure trove. I had to be careful not to drip sweat on the old pictures and clipped newspaper articles. I slowly unfolded notes that look like they were passed to you in secret down the rows of desks in school when the nuns had their backs turned to you. The paper was dry and brittle. The words young and juvenile. Just the sort of thing that I might have done for my sweetheart in my early teens. Some of what dripped onto the bedspread was not sweat, and I had to stop and carefully put the little treasures away and close the lid. I cannot take to much of you at any one time these days. These were your memories, not mine. I am only a voyeur for this period of your life - a girl, a thin young thing with long dark hair and a big smile. How different from the love I knew.

Yours Always,

D.

It Starts All Over Again

2006-07-15T09:57:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I went to see my oncologist on Thursday. The news was as expected, and not good. My lymphoma is on the move again. Of course you knew that. I told you shortly before you passed over that I would not be far behind. You pooh-poohed me, too busy preparing for your own trip I imagine.

I still have not told the kids. I wanted to be sure, have the CT scan again, meet with the onc. Now I have no more excuses. I asked my onc to look at a third alternative to the previously known treatment options (CHOP - which pushed my hair out, made everything taste like garbage, and only got me 10 months of relief; and Fludaribine - which was easier to tolerate but really nailed my immune system). I want to know if there is anything out there in the experimental world that might offer something. When he comes back to me with the answer, I will schedule a family meeting with Pat, Barb, the kids, and Pam if she is available. Doctor Steve even offered to be part of the meeting, which I thought was very touching. There, I will lay out the scheme of things, the disease, the treatment options, what all of that means, and then let the kids be a part of the selection process on what we will do.

I don't want to put them through another long, drawn out ordeal like we went through with you. They don't deserve that (and I don't either). My priority is quality of life, not length. If I have a limited amount of time, I want it to be good - for me and the kids.

Kate and I went out to dinner and a show last night. We went down to one of our old haunts for dinner. Remember the Red Dragon? Do you remember that snowy night that we ended up there with Mikey and Mona? It was either Christmas Eve or New Years Eve and there was a big storm going on. We had the place to ourselves. It was a spur of the moment decision to go and we called Mikey and Mona and asked if they would meet us because they could walk there from their house.

Well, it looks pretty much the same - kind of a dive. My meal was forgettable too. I ordered General Tso's Chicken and was served something that I would have sworn was pork, but the waiter assured me it was chicken - just the dark meat. Hmmmm. Kate liked her Sweet n Sour Chicken however and we walked the block to the theater afterward in the steamy heat of our current weather pattern. I was in long sleeves and long pants and was walking very slowly, trying not to drench myself in sweat before arriving at the theater.

The weather was fitting however because we were going to a performance of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I wanted to see this performance because it had received rave reviews for Maggie's interpretation and I secretly wanted to see how Brick was done, having played that part myself twenty-five years ago - just before I met you, my love.

Kate loved it. It was very well done. The characters were spicy and despicable. The heat rising throughout the performance (both on stage and in the seats for the air conditioning mysteriously stopped working when the curtain went up). Personally, I thought my Brick was better, but then it was hardly an unbiased and objective assessment.

We drove home through the dark and Kate was mostly silent. She was quite tired having spent the last two nights sleeping over at her scout troop master's house and getting up at the crack of dawn to prepare for, and run, a large rummage sale to raise money for the troupe. So, she actually went to bed before me last night and is still sleeping (no surprise there).

I got a call from Joe yesterday that caused my neck to shrivel and prick up as the ghostly shroud of death wafted over the very tips of the erect hairs; sending me into a primal place of fear and helpless dread. Joe's voice sounded strange over the long distance connection as he faded in and out, making me wonder if he was calling from another plane already.

The story was not delivered in a clear, linear fashion. He sent it to me in bits and pieces - his voice husky from the ingestion of salt water. He was laying in bed with Pat, he said, and his legs felt very heavy.

He had been playing with Georgia, Rachael, and the other one who's name I am always forgetting. They were on a sandbar just off the beach on F8 Island where he and Pat were vacationing. You remember the spot.

He said something to me just as the connection was getting shaky. Something about an under tow and feet being pulled out from under them, and seeing each other drifting apart and away from shore.

There, the story also broke up into incoherent bits. There was a struggle and repeated attempts to get back to the sand bar only to be pulled away again. Pat was involved in some fashion, but Joe had to find a way to swim back to the shore by himself and enlist other adults to come to the rescue. No one on the shore could hear the cries of the children.

It was a parent's worst nightmare: children in danger and no way to try to save them. I kept telling myself that my son was talking to me, that he was all right, that he said the other children were all right, but I sat there with cold sweat running down my sides thinking how can this be. Anyway, the conversation ended. Joe needed to rest. I will call him again as soon as I am done writing this to you. Maybe it was you who lifted his legs and whispered encouragement as he struggled to gain the safety of the shore. He told me that he finally figured out how to swim the distance (you know Joe, swimming was never his strong suit). He lay on his back and did a modified backstroke until he felt the sand under his neck. Was that you?

I feel sick just thinking about it. What would I do if I lost another of us?

Where ever you are, I love you.

D.

Empty on the Fourth

2006-07-04T13:25:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

It has been a little over a month now. I sometimes feel amazement that I can carry on at all. Sometimes there are even moments of happiness and joy.

This Fourth seems very strange without you. You were our glue and without you we have spun off due to the centrifugal forces of life. Kate flew off to Portland last Saturday to be with her cousins and other relatives at the family reunion. Joe left a day in advance of her to play with all of the water toys at Dave's cabin. He went on up to Duluth from there to commune with Pam, Mclean, and Morgan. I have been rattling around this empty house followed silently by a hairy black shadow who wonders where everyone has gone.

Where have you gone? Is there a place for a soul after the meat goes bad? I like to think that you are with the stars in all their glory. I look at the Astronomy Picture of the Day every morning and marvel at the beauty of the universe. We are so small and understand so little, but when I see these marvelous pictures of the galaxies and nebulae, I think of you, soaring amongst them.

Sometimes I sit very quietly and listen for you. You did say that you would try to let me know what was out there - remember? I have not heard you though. But then again, my hearing is not what it once was.

I worry about how our little family with survive without you, its center. I try to do the right things, but so far, I don't seem to be able to keep the children here. I know that they need time to process what has gone on and what better place to do that than in the center of family. That is what they are doing I think. It's just not here, with me. I hope that when the hedonistic lure of summer is over and school once again imposes regularity and routine that we will find that connection that says "family."

In matters of a more mundane nature, you will be happy to know that I have been going out in the cool of the morning to do battle with the thistles up on the drain field. I pull for an hour or so before heading in to cool off. I am also trying to fix the seal on the kitchen sink. It has separated from the counter and was allowing moisture to seep in. I have tried to remove the old caulking in the areas where the separation has occurred (about two-thirds of the circumference) and will attempt to squeeze some silicone caulk in there tomorrow after it has had a chance to dry out.

I also have mechanical repairs to make. The brake servo on the Audi went out and I am preparing to replace that. Dave has sourced a new one for about 60 percent of what it would cost me to buy from the dealer, but it is still not cheap. Plus my motorcycle has been laid up for a month waiting for an adjustment screw that is part of the rocker arm set-up. Of course no one had such a thing in stock for a 30-plus year old BMW so it has been coming via yak train from Lower Slobovania. Good thing Kate is gone so I can use the Toyota without having to arm wrestle her for the keys.

Well, it is time for me to continue my chores. I am off to the garage to see how badly I can screw up the hydraulic brake system on the S6.

I love you and get juicy eyes every time I think of it. Nothing will ever replace you in my life and I simply have to remind myself that I am a much different, and better person for having shared it with you. One day, we will be together again.

D.

How I Miss You

2006-06-26T20:47:00.000-05:00

You should have been there. So many came to remember you. Friends, family; people from the past; people from far away; they all came. We planted a tree for you finally. It's a maple from Barb's nursery. I put some of your ashes down around the rootball and then all of the family members took turns placing a shovel full of dirt around it as well using your "golden shovel" from the groundbreaking of the Pres Homes project.

The weather was iffy up until the last moment then suddenly the clouds parted and the sun shown down. You didn't have anything to do with that did you?

If so, then all of the details of the party and the lunch will be old hat for you. In fact, you probably saw and know more than me about all of that. I was too busy hugging people and leaking tears to do much else. After all of Joan I's work, I didn't have any of the food other than one of those little cakes she invented for you. All I can say about that was that it was heavenly, but you know that already don't you?

Did you hear the piper as he played Amazing Grace? It was towards the end when they wanted everyone to leave the tent so they could start tearing it down to make way for paying customers come opening time. You would have approved. He played Amazing Grace as he slowly marched down to your tree, pulling the people behind him.

That's another thing that you would like - the tree site I mean. It is pretty now, but when they get done with the rest of the landscaping, it will truly be a place of peace, meditation and beauty. By the end of the day, your tree was festooned with fifty or more red carnations placed there by pilgrims who had walked down from the restaurant to see your memorial bench.

Probably the proudest moment came when your daughter got up and spoke at the microphone for about five minutes. She told the crowd of three hundred and fifty about how you influenced her. It was powerful stuff and left many a juicy eye.

Joe also did us proud. He helped design a beautiful menu with Joan I. He did the font design and wrote a full page memoir of what your favorite foods were and what they meant to you. It is his influence that promoted your saying of "Chocolate is Important" throughout Saturday's festivities. In addition to his design efforts, he created a slideshow with music that is really a wonderful thing to behold. It was so captivating that it caused quite a bottleneck during all of the proceedings.

Saturday was a truly beautiful day, but I fear that my sister was correct when she cruelly said that "today is the best you are going to feel for a long time." If today is any indication, she was right.

I miss you so.

Goodnight.

D.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

2006-06-21T20:36:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Today feels hard.

I went to the dermatologist today and had to explain that you were gone and that my cancer is on the move again. The doctor was very sympathetic, but it was hard to go over that ground again.

When I got home, I wrote thank you notes to folks that had made donations to Children's Home Society or Caring Bridge. I also paid bills. There is a lot of money flowing out right now but none coming in.

I went to the bank to deposit a couple of small checks and stopped at the F&N store for burger to make for tonight. Then I went to the postoffice to mail notes and bills and to get more stamps. The clerk didn't want to take my credit card because it was so used that the signature strip was wearing off the back. She was really snooty about it and I had to be careful not to say something bad back.

Then it was to the gas station for fuel and propane. Then on to the drugstore to pick up two prescriptions, one for Kate and one for me - had a flare up of gout yesterday. It was there that I was told that our health insurance had been canceled as of the day you died. I just about shit my pants.

I drove straight home and called the insurance company. They checked their records and said "Yup, it was canceled as of June 2, the day after she died." The phone-drone I was talking to said that wasn't supposed to happen; that we were supposed to be covered until July 1 instead. Then they said that if I wanted to extend the coverage, I would have to apply for "survivorship" coverage. They said they would fix the current problem, but that I would have to talk to a different case manager to do the survivorship bit.

I then got transferred into someone's voicemail and left a message.

You know, when you were alive, stuff like this was an annoyance, but I always found ways of making light of it. But now, it feels like heavy links of chain around my neck. I am paranoid that the insurance company will use this little lapse to cancel me down the line. I am having trouble staying rational. My strings are coming undone.

Then later in the afternoon, Joe and I went up to the NO office to meet with everyone about your memorial luncheon this Saturday. I am sure that you would spin in your grave if you had one. This deal will be one for the books. I am having a hard time believing all that will be going on and what DH is laying out for the deal. He has been so generous about everything that I cannot find words.

I have asked Tom to arrange for a time when I can sit down and talk to him about the Note. Sandra M. called today to say that they were ready to file probate papers except for the issue of the note. It needs to be rewritten if we are to go forward. I feel so unprepared for all of this. I never appreciated all that you did until now and now is too late for me to say thank you.

As I said at the beginning, this is a hard day. I feel like an onion with a very thin skin. Tears come unbidden at the slightest thing. I feel very fragile and incompetant as a parent. I worry that I will not be able to hold the family together. Kate is gone as often as she can be and Joe stays in his room so much.

Right now though, he is laying on the couch behind me with your work laptop on his lap as he works on putting together a photo slideshow for the memorial on Saturday. Joan I. says he is her new boyfriend.

I love you and miss you.

Yours,

D.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

2006-06-20T11:32:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

As I write this, the piano tuner is working over your old Everett. It was sadly out of tune. Kind of like me. I wish there was a soul tuner who could come and put my heart strings back in harmony.

Last night, Pat and Dave came over for dinner. We had Rocket Chicken, but made the mistake of using a shitty lager for the beer fuel and it imparted a cheap taste to the bird. It was still very good however. We grilled some broccolli to go with it and Pat and I made all three children (includeing Dave) eat some. We dined on the deck with the hummingbirds and tree frogs for company.

I am having a bit of a gout flareup and have taken two of the evil green pills this morning. Consequently, I am floating through the uncomfortable mental spaciness that these pills alwasy bring on. I know it is there and just have to be careful not to make any major decisions without careful consideration.

Speaking of major decisions, I called my prospective employer yesterday and told them I could not take the position that they had offered. I told them I needed more time to work through the issues related to your death and that I needed to wait until the children went back to school in the fall. I told them that I did not expect them to hold the job for me - that to do so would be unfair to them.

They were very gracious and understanding. I just hope that I have not permanently burned any bridges.

I bought Kate a plane ticket to the family reunion over the Fourth. The airline took my purchase, but did not show any available seats (didn't get to see that until after the transaction went through). The flights are the same as the ones my parents and brother will be on so she will have travel companions.

In closing, I wanted to share with you two blog entries from our son. Here they are:

Monday, June 5:

doot doot doot. lifes life.

Monday, June 19:

you know, life is like the mississippi river, at the beginning, its small and unimportant, but by the end, its huge and powerful, dont you think?

yeah

so i havent really done much....

So much hope and promise.

I miss you.

D.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

2006-06-15T16:09:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I wish you were here to help me celebrate. Today is my 12th Cancerversary. You were always the one to remember and do something special. I find it ironic beyond words that I am here, writing to you, and you are "in the next room" because of the disease I found out I had twelve years ago.

Remember? We were living on Dayton in the old Queen Anne. I waited until we were in bed to tell you and we lay there and cried and held each other all night long. Joe was only one and Kate was three then. I remember thinking that I would die before they had enough memories of me to remember me after I was gone. Now it is you they must struggle to remember.

Barb and Jon came over the other night and she and I went through all of the photo albums while Jon and Joe planted a new rose bush next to the lamp post in the driveway. Later they joined us as we cruised down memory lane. There were a lot of laughs at our old pictures, old bodies, and old fashions. We were all thinner, had more hair, and some of us wore really funny glasses.

I have something serious I want to talk to you about, but I am not going to do it now. I need to think about dinner and feeding the kids. I feel like I haven't been performing up to your standards in this respect, but tonight I am actually going to fix a vegetable - green beans, your favorite. I hope that you are watching wherever you are. I love you and miss you so much.

Yours,

D.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

2006-06-10T10:40:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

The days seem like they are flying by. I'm not sure it is supposed to be that way. I always thought that I was supposed to be depressed and suspended in syrupy time, but that is not so - at least not now.

Part of what is keeping me busy is the planning for your memorial lunch. When we talked about it earlier and you said that you just wanted a gathering at the restaurant, I privately thought that you mis-judged the number of people who might show up, not to mention what Doug H would do with it once he got involved.

Where ever you are, I am sure that you are alternately spinning around or laughing as you watch the planning drama unfold. So far, we have a huge tent for the parking lot, a harpist, a classical quartet, a bag piper, and a Celtic band. There will be a private tree planting with just "family" at a site overlooking the lake. There will be a memorial bench with a brass marker. Doug wanted to know what to put on the marker and I think it should read:

"Chocolate is important"
CMM, 1954-2006

What do you think? Speaking of chocolate, Joan created a special chocolate cake in your memory which will be among the things served at the gathering. Doug wanted something that people could take away with them so we are printing up 3x5 cards with your picture and dates on the front and the cake recipe on the back. You will be remembered over and over again as folks pull out your recipe card from their recipe boxes to make the cake. I thought you would be particularly pleased to be stored there, it your friend's kitchens. Perhaps I'll write the recipe down here once I get it from Joan.

In other matters, we went to a graduation party in the old neighborhood on Thursday night. I had to leave in the middle of it to attend the dedication of the new Press Homes facility. It was very touching as all of the speakers paid tribute to you and the role you played in the creation of the facility. When Doug got up to speak, he became so emotional that he could not get a coherent word out and he had to sit back down again. We all got very teary and Lynn stayed busy passing out little tissues with lady bug illustrations on them.

When I got back to the graduation party, I found your daughter there with some boy she picked up. Of course, I never got introduced. I mean, why break a tradition now. She assured me that he was "just a friend, Dad," but I was not very comforted.

When Joe and I were driving home, he asked me the following out of the blue. "Dad, are you ready for me to get a girlfriend?" I almost drove off the road. After careful consideration, I responded that this was a decision for him to make, not me. I asked him if he was ready. He said that Andrew thought that he should get a girlfriend because Andrew had one now. I asked if he had anybody particular in mind and he said yes. He then proceeded to make me drive by her house on the way home. More on this as it develops.

One last thing and I will let you go (for now). Mari is working on a beautiful portrait of you. It is from a shot she took a couple of years ago as you sat on the terrace at the restaurant. You look wonderful. You are smiling confidently into the camera and simply exude competence, style, and power. It is the best "professional" image of you I have ever seen. Mari is giving it to us once the memorial is over. It will be sitting on the large table in front of the central fireplace just inside the patio doors at the restaurant. It will be the first thing people see as they come in for the lunch. There will be a guestbook and a basket for cards there as well.

Well, this is enough for now. I have to go back upstairs and tackle more paperwork. It's endless.

With all my love,

D.

June 6, 2006

2006-06-06T21:43:00.000-05:00

Dearest Love,

Today was a beautiful day. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. The air was warm and fragrant with the scents of spring wildflowers. I thought of you and wondered if you knew.

I ran errands in the morning, dropping a form off at school that Kate forgot to take with her. Then on to the N.O. offices to drop off three large trays that originally came laden with food the day you died. We talked for a while about the upcoming lunch and how we will have to put a tent up in the parking lot to handle all of the people.

When you said that you wanted to have a memorial gathering at the restaurant I thought that it would be too small to contain all of the people who will come. Others agree.

The eastern metro paper did a very nice expanded obit article on you. They quoted some of your past partners in the two firms here in the cities. It was very nice and tasteful. You would have been pleased, but embarrassed I am sure, over all of the fuss.

Doug hit town tonight and wants to meet with Pat and myself on Thursday to go over plans. He already has a bag full of ideas and it will be hard to keep reined in.

I am able to get through the days pretty well without falling into emotional potholes as long as I don't have to talk to anyone about you. So, when I am by myself in the house, I can concentrate (kind of) on the tasks at hand and get things done.

Nights are harder. I miss you more then. I am having a hard time doing all the dinner planning that you were so good at. The kids don't like what I make and it leads to conflicts that we don't need right now. After dinner, they go to their rooms and entertain themselves and I read or watch a DVD. I miss talking to you, so I am doing it now. Sending my love to you in streams of electrons which is probably as good as any a way to reach you.

I know that I am really talking to myself and getting things out through these letters, but it feels good to tell you about the days and what we have been doing.

Today I started on the medical bills. I decided to try to capture it all in a spreadsheet so I can sort the data in different ways to try to make sense of it. I know that you did it mostly in your head, but you were always better than me at that sort of thing. I made it through the easy stuff today. Tomorrow I will get into the parts that you were contesting with the various parties and try to get my head around it.

Well, enough for tonight. I will go back upstairs to our bed and read for a while. Sleep is still a problem though. I miss you and love you.

D.

June 5, 2006

2006-06-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

Things have settled down a little since my last letter. Sunday night we actually had just a family dinner; just the three of us. Kate and I had spent all day at her teen driving clinic (more on that in a sec) and arrived home hot, tired, and dirty; aching for showers. So dinner was simple – thawed burger made into patties and grilled. There were some potato chips as well (I know, I know – not good nutrition, but it got us by). The evening was lovely as we sat on the screen porch and enjoyed each others company. It was the first time we tried out our new threesome. I was nervous.

Now, about the driving clinic. Things started kind of dicey. You know Kate when she has to give up a “sleep-in” day. She was pretty grouchy and was uncommonly rough driving my car as we made our way down to the far southern reaches of the east metro area. Guess who we saw as we drove in? Our neighbors from across the street. Kelly and Joe were there and engaged us in conversation right off the bat, thereby dispelling any sense of arriving at a strange place and having to “fit in.”

Kate and I were separated immediately as she went into the first classroom session and I went out to the track with the rest of the helpers to set up cones and learn our respective responsibilities for the day. The weather was partly cloudy and warm to start and getting fully sunny and hot as the day progressed. I slathered on the sun block a couple of times but still managed to miss an arc around the left side of my lower neck.

I was gratified to see that by the time the young drivers and their instructors were in the cars and moving that smiles started to replace the frowns on Kate’s face. She started pretty hesitantly, but it was not long before she was tossing that old white pig around like a veteran. She really had a good time before the day was done, but of course you probably know that, where ever you are.

Today, I made myself a long list of things to do. Among them was the task of picking you (or what is left of you) up from the funeral home. You were surprisingly heavy in your little cardboard box. The funeral home also laundered your T-shirt, which I thought was a nice touch, though they did not use a detergent that you would approve of.

Did you know that it cost as much to run your obituary notices in the three papers as it did to turn you into grit? We ran the obits in the two metro papers and one up north over the weekend. We used the one you drafted as well as the picture you picked out. I added a little in the middle as you requested. It was very tasteful and understated as you would have wished.

That may change tomorrow however. I received a call from a reporter working with the eastern metro paper who was putting together an extended obit on you. Seems that you made a bigger splash than you planned in the city of your choosing. I’ll save you a copy.

Oh – it finally arrived – the lasagna. You may not remember a week ago last Saturday, you were busy trying to die, but the neighbors across the street (not the nice ones, but the ones just up the road) started some kind of hideously loud machinery at 6:30 in the morning. I remember. I wanted to kill them – or worse.

Well, today, they arrived on our doorstep with a large basket containing a pan of lasagna, a plastic tube of industrial factory garlic bread, and a caeser salad. They even brought their son, a nice looking boy who looked as though he was having hot oil poured down the back of his pants as his parents stood there saying impossibly sincere bullshit about a person they never met.

Throughout it all, I remained pleasant. I did not bash them with the basket as I wished. I did not roll my eyes when they oozed their smarminess. I did not order them off our property for being the biggest assholes I have come across in some time. I was nice and said little. I took their basket inside and threw away everything but the salad. That I put in the refrigerator. Maybe I’ll throw it away tomorrow.

I will close now. I miss you, but I don’t miss the sick part.

With all my love,

2006-06-02T11:15:00.000-05:00

Dearest Love,

I miss you. I feel as though a huge and vital part of me has been taken out. The void leaves me gasping for air, clouding up around the eyes, and wondering how I can possibly live without you.

Your family has been over just about every night, helping the healing process, though "Little Steven" is far from soothing. Pam came down when she'd heard you passed and is staying for a few more days.

The carpet was cleaned today and you would be happy with the way it looks though I am worried about Kate's room because I told her she could finally have her sleepover and there will be nine girls in there tonight with much trapsing in and out of the patio door. Maybe I can lay down a plastic sheet or something.

So far, both kids seem to be doing OK. Kate has even talked to me a couple of times about it. Joe is happily manipulating every Aunt he can to get maximum favors and treats. He is the one I worry about.

Doug and Mari sent two huge beautiful flower arrangements that are now on the dining room table and the living room couch table. It's a good thing you are not here to smell the mix of scents.

I cleaned all of the pills off the bathroom counters and placed the vase of flowers that Mary brought over on the counter under the window. Another thing you would disapprove of.

I have not yet had the courage to tackle the medical bills and mailings. Perhaps tomorrow.

I made all the calls on the list you left me. It took me until this morning to finish up because I kept breaking down with every call. The obit got written just as you wanted and will run in both metro papers this weekend as well as in the Duluth paper. The memorial lunch is set for the 24th of this month at the restaurant as you wished. It will be very entertaining to watch Pat negotiate with Doug over the details.

It's funny how I can be going along just fine and suddenly I feel like I have a twenty pound boulder sitting inside my chest and my eyes start to leak. That just happened again.

This letter is the first of many, I hope. I need to talk to you and ask for your advise just as I did before you left.

I am going to go now. I love you and miss you. I will try to live as you would have liked.

Your love,

P.