In just a few hours this house will be filled with family and friends, gathering to establish a new tradition, celebrating your birthday. We’re following in your footsteps, continuing your tradition of remembering loved ones on their birthdays, not their dying days. So, my love, happy 92nd!
I’m up early, feeling cozy in our new bed set. It’s comfortable for me. No more ghosts of your last days of painful efforts to sleep. I know you would be fine with the changes just as long as it was good for me. Right?
I’m starting to get the hang of this grieving, Tuv. It’s hard, really hard, harder than I could have imagined and strange. It seems that your waves hit me hardest when I’m in my car, driving without a call from you or a call to you. Those short calls back and forth to check in are missing for me and the silence is throwing me off. Sure I still listen to NPR but I miss your interruptions.
Of course the waves hit outside of my car, but they feel most devastating when I am just driving to the gym, to the store, anywhere, everywhere.
Outside, there are more distractions- people, shops, TV, friends… but in the car you take over. I don’t mind, actually. Stay with me.
It rained most of the day yesterday. I was in and out of the house. I shopped for your celebration, I bought a few more pillows for the bed, I finally got to the gym. Back home I read, caught up with James, checked in with Ami and Adi and Jane, dined with Tara as Clever arrived to take care of a problem with the hot water heater. Don’t worry, it’s all fixed now. Thanks Ami!
It was another of those rich days of sadness and support and a search for understanding. I’m trying to use this time to prepare for the next chapter of my life. You are with me but I move now on my own energy without your active voice, without the warmth of your presence.
I couldn’t miss you more, T and I selected a frozen moment of us today qthat celebrates every reason I have to tear up regularly, because we won’t be creating any new ones.