I've been planning to write this morning. Planning and planning but not doing it. And maybe I won't. At least, not right now. Inside, outside, and inside again. Wanting to share, wanting to be very quiet. Most of all, wanting to be very gentle with myself. The fullness of self-indulgence and maybe self-pity. But no stiff lips or pulling myself up by the boot straps today.

A few calls. Messages from dear ones. At each entry into my solitude, tears spring to my eyes. So very expected.

Today started so hard, wave after wave of grief ready to snare me at every turn. There was nothing that was not a trigger for tears -- music, things, Julia, kind words from friends, emptiness. But determined to get through the day and do something with it, I packed up a bookcase while Julia had therapy and then she and I went with our friend, Robert, went to the Monona Festival. Julia rode kiddy rides, we ate brats, we browsed the craft fair, and Julia played on the play-structure (with another kid even!). It became okay somewhere during that time. The grief subsided -- Maybe I sweat it out! Gawd, it was hot!

Julia and I came home to watch a movie, eat junk food -- the bowl of rice was the most sensible thing Julia has eaten today, but I resolved not to worry about food today. Soon, we leave for fireworks and by the time we get home, we'll be exhausted and fall into bed. This will be such a good thing. Such a good end to this day.

I hate that David had a last day last year, but I do rejoice that there were many days of such love and care for us to have together. They were marvelous.

The day before

Last year on the Fourth of July, I put Julia in the yellow dress that I had bought for the bar-b-que at my sister's house after Chris and Sophie's wedding. We didn't make the wedding because of David's fall and hospitalization, but I had the dress. And so, she wore it on the Fourth of July. It was Sunday. Did we go to church? Or right to the hospital? In these few pictures, I catch glimpses of the garden. It has haunted me for days that I cannot remember what was in bloom. Not all my questions are answered in these pictures but I can see cone flowers. I can see coriopsis. They are in bloom today as well.

Forgive the extreme self-indulgence today. Of course, maybe I can say that every day.

The first good closeup of Julia that I had gotten in months! Even when I first saw it, I thought of using it on our holiday card.
We spent lots of time that day in the hospital with David. He was sitting in a chair so the girls took to the bed. I think he did some walking around the halls. We watched movies. We had a meal together and we were all a bit impatient and grumpy. Cheshire wanted David home before she left to go back to NYC. I felt like our summer was being derailed. Julia was having a hard time being "good" all day. We were grumpy about missing the Jersey wedding and worrying about not making the London wedding scheduled a few weeks away. David was determined he was going to travel.

And along with the pictures of the girls, I took one and only one of David. Still connected to tubes and machines, groggy and weak, in some pain, but still ours. He ate some during our meal together. Lunch, I think. And I remember asking Cheshire later on if he ate any dinner. Food was hard for him during those last days. Just no interest -- how unlike David. We smuggled in ice cream, if not that day then the day before. It wasn't hard, just not on his menu because of the diabetes.
I almost forgot about this picture. This very last picture. Until a few days later. And then, I was so grateful for it. We were in no way armed for the reality of the end but our attentions to the details of our lives and our family, to the every day of our time together, ultimately provided the best ending that could be mustered. Who knew? Who knew? I can still remember. I remember so little. I don't know if I bent down and have David a kiss and two as I left that evening, but I probably did. It was what I did. Physically, I can recall what that felt like. I don't remember what I said -- and because the next morning, David was napping and then only half awake before his heart stopped, those words that I said were really my last words. The words he said, were his last to me. I don't remember what they were. It is hard not to remember.

Cheshire stayed that evening with David and I took Julia home and put her to bed. I was up when she came home. We talked a bit and went to bed to late. I must ask Cheshire what she remembers.

This yearning for memory is separate from the yearning for the time or the time before. The making of memory seems triggered by special markers. Be those markers large or small -- weddings, births, adoptions, holidays, good meals, special discussions, new behaviors -- they make some mark on the mind, on the soul. But what of those days before? Days before the days of special memories. How many of those do we have? They are what is the warp and woof of our lives. Even for a journal writer, like myself, who scribbles and taps away at the everyday, there are too many holes to satisfy my hunger for complete memories of moments and days. That day. Last year at this time.

It is muggy and gray outside. Julia did not want to go swimming. We worked on math and then she wrote a thank you card for her newest dinosaur. Our friend, Harriet and Anthony, sent it from England. The stuffed triceratops is now named Sally and living nicely with Lizzy, the purple T-Rex from Florida. I imagine them roaring at each other -- one with a southern Florida accent, one in British. Julia doesn't know this.

She did a very nice job composing the note:

Dear Uncle Anthony and Aunt Harriet,

I can't wait to see you. Thank you for sending Sally dinosaur. Sally is happy. Love, Julia

I did not think she could handle this kind of an assignment before this, but now that I know she can do it, more thank you notes will be on their way. Complete with picture and fairly neat printing. She needed lots of help with the spelling but she was able to compose her own sentences. And looked fairly competent when she was doing it.

My job this week is to pack up the house. It makes sense to begin with the large art but oh, without large picture, a room is bare. I took down art as Julia colored. Julia was immediately sad. I assured her that it will all be back on the walls after the walls are painted. Much like that clean out of the basement, this taking down of the art will give me a new lease, a change in the order. I need it. I hate it. The house will no longer look like it was when David was here. It is becoming more mine alone. This has to happen. I fight it; I want it.

The change is no big deal. How many times have I done this. Moving, painting, getting the floors on Washington Blvd. done. But there is an urge to preserve, as if this is a temple, as if to change is to forget. Is that it? Is some part of me sure that if I move possession around, if I get rid of things I haven't used in years, if I change the color of the walls that I will forget David? Even to write that is absurd.

The front gardens are looking the best that they've ever looked. Some of the plants were in place when we moved here, some were moved, some are new. the Hollyhocks that I imagined in the front of the front windows are finally thick enough to be a presence. The few evergreen that I planted two years ago are now looking healthy and happy.

The border of Japanese Iris, lavender, and _______ is finally coming into its own. And brushing against the lavender releases its perfume.

The hollyhocks must have been in bloom when David died. I have no memory of it at all. Friends hired someone to come in and clean up the garden just before David's memorial. I know it looked better cleaned up than after weeks of neglect, but that is all I have in my mind's eye.

Dappled sunshine and thousands of rolly-poly bugs under the rocks and an hour of garage sale before the morning therapist came. Quite the bliss for my girl.

Mom (pronounced Ma-ammm), just take one more picture, my girl pleads. Do I have to smile?

Yesterday was so hot and muggy all day and night. August-in-Hanoi hot. Sitting outside for the early part of the day from morning until about 2, and then putting away all of the stuff that didn't sell (because who is their right mind would come out shopping for anything yesterday??) was pretty miserable, but it did give me some idea of how better to set up for today. I also used the time by putting all of the furniture on Craigs List with pictures. And I made about $40 yesterday.

This morning is cool and breezy. I can hear the classical music my neighbor has on the radio. Somehow the same radio, the same station and same volume did not carry across her front yard as well yesterday. And we have very small yards. Was the air that thick?

So far today, I've tripled that, gotten rid of two furniture pieces and a few other significant items. I would not call it brisk business but some business and it is not yet noon. If I can get rid of two more furniture pieces, I would be very happy. There is something about getting the stuff out of the house. Even though I am looking at lots of it in the driveway, I have let it go. And once I started moving towards letting go, it was not hard at all. The basement is incredibly de-cluttered and there is space for boxes and some furniture during the renovation. To be sure, I have another round of sorting and filing boxed papers which I'll pick up in the fall, probably not before. It is cold weather work. I can almost imagine a basement with 25 plastic containers, all sorted, labeled, and orderly. Maybe Julia will be able to roller skate in the basement this winter. Smile.

I am looking forward to the next week of packing up the house. Taking art off the walls, boxing books, and cleaning out closets. What felt overwhelming last week, feels possible today.

There is a peace that comes from all this sorting and culling. I have not felt it before. I am riding the crest of this wave of peace. I know that I am the recipient of prayers and good thoughts and wishes this weekend. Yesterday, after the hot day of sweat pouring out of me and drinking more and more water, I went to the theater with my neighbor to see is silly gay murder mystery. It hit the perfect notes for me last night. We stopped for late supper and I had a hot dog and cold slaw -- not at all my typical desires for food. I slept hard last night and woke up this morning with the idea that I should go back to a dream and gratitude journals. In a very real sense, I know these feelings are fleeting, I know I have more to suffer, but just not today. And for that I am grateful.

July. July 2011.

Woke up just after 4, dozed some, and on my feet just after 5. Garage sale day and the thunder is rolling in. There is always tomorrow, and there are a few more boxes that I gave up on last night, but the adrenaline is high this morning and it is a shame to waste it on cleaning and sorting.

My thought immediately turn to why this isn't so bad -- another day to work, maybe I will sleep tonight (I had lots of trouble last night), and the stuff that I want to get rid of is in the garage, not the basement. Have I found my inner Pollyanna once again?

Some of this is that I have had a task and a goal. It is amazing how responsive I am. I have had a bit of a fear that if I allowed myself to lie fallow this year, that I would not do what needed to get done. Yes, the garage sale has been a short term and outside of myself goal, an occasion that I could rise to, but I could take it on and did without hesitation. How can I say this without sounding too trite -- Today and right now, I am feeling the strength that I first became aware of the morning after David re-entered the hospital. This is the foundation for the rest of life. I have had so many days of distress and fear, especially over the last few weeks as I've shed my busy work, the occupying forces in my mind. Fear about financial issues, work issues, mission issues, and family. Not all of it was rational, maybe, little of it was rational, but it came and comes in waves, too compelling to ignore. High tide in the ocean of my soul. I ride it out -- the fear -- ride the waves and swallow huge mouthfuls of salted fear. And I get scared.

Oh, the thunder is coming. Lots of noise and threats of storming and I am able to feel calm and strong.

I read over the blog for the first days of June last year. I read fear and hope and fitting in some normal life, but most dear are the comments. Many friends praying, hoping, sending encouragement and love. Last year I wrote: There is the belief that you can jump and the angels will catch you, I fell today from a great height and dear and caring people are catching. I am still so thankful for that. So amazed to have such support gathered around me.

Every part of me is aware of the completion of a cycle. Not exactly time to throw off widow's weeds (Is that the expression?), more like the clearing away of winter from a spring garden. Although sad and teary, sometimes scared and very lonely, I am finding my feet and insisting on moving towards instead of wanting to remain behind or move backwards. It is strange, this grief, like nothing else. Maybe like love, all encompassing, unexpected, devastating and known. I begin to feel it was always inside, a possibility ready to be explored. No, I have not made friends with it, nor do I wish it on another soul, but this deep sadness is a new wash on the portrait. New colors. Tones. It cannot, should not be thrown aside just for the sake of relief.

Nothing is sure but change and hopefully growth.

FaceBook Status:

Madison Friends. My neighbor and I are having a garage sale tomorrow (Friday) and Saturday from 8 until noon. Stop by if you want some stuff that I've decided that I really don't need. Some of it is even not bad at all. Message me if you need the address.

I am the worst sales person in the world! LOL! But it is out there. Facebook, Craigslist, and a few signs. Let the selling begin!

Oh, I hope I don't have to cart it ALL to good will.

I do hope that lots of my stuff sells, but if it doesn't it is out of the house and in the garage. Next step is un-ownership. The basement is beginning to look manageable, and the boxes I haven't gone through yet are no where near as overwhelming as they were a few months ago. I've settled, at least in my own mind, a very possible scenario for the floor and wall renovation which will be happening during our vacation. (I look at the paint patches every day, in each room, at different times, and I am still settled on those paints. They are not exciting.) On Saturday, after the yard sale, I will start packing up the house. There will be room in the basement for lots of stuff. I will come back to do the moving back in, but it will also be an incredibly clean slate. Art to be rehung, books to be put on new shelves. I forget how many changes one needs to make in feng shui, but I remember something about 21 or so changes to change the chi. I feel the chi shifting below my feet now.

A few friends have sent wishes by post or email or face book messages in the last few days. Each one is holy. The prayers and wishes and extra thoughts hold me is some safe place and I am sure that I can complete this cycle.

I have to make time for two beach days during our travels. I need the ocean and the waves, just like last year. I need to return to the sea in some way.

It feels like ages since I've written -- two days. Ummm. So much has been going through my head and heart but when I sit down, I really want to distance myself from the processing. I want rest. Curious my love of the task and my longing for rest. The dichotomies surface constantly these days. Task happy v. longing for rest. Homebody v. traveller. Pile of grieving jelly v. relatively together, independent person. Mother v. In great need of someone to take care of me. Teacher v. slug. There are others.

And then I feel like I am living parallel lives -- one part of me is desperately trying remember what it felt like to life these days last year, before David died -- it dawned on me when I woke up this morning that when David was taken to the hospital a week before he died that there was a night before which was the last night that we shared a bed. I did not plan this thought -- it sprung unbidden into my head. I did not think to make an anniversary of it, but . . . . I lean towards obsession. I don't remember much - if anything - about out last night in bed together. Who put Julia to bed that night? Did I go upstairs with David or did I stay up later, as was my custom? I don't remember. How was I to know that it was the last night? What did we have for dinner that night? Who did the dishes? Maybe if I had thought to reconstruct that evening, that day, last year. Maybe.

And then there is the other part -- morning meeting with the intensive therapy team, chatting with parents at the riding school, remembering to buy milk, cooking. This part of my heart and soul just moves about the world as if it is whole with very little trouble.

And as I sort through the basement -- sorting, pricing, trashing, and arranging -- I think of how I should have done this last year, two years ago. I couldn't get started, but I see now that I could have used the clean out then, as well as now. Now, I desperately need it. Need the order. Need such a clean out. The cellar, the closets, the sealed boxes and the drawers are such metaphors, such symbols. If I want a new life, if I want to re-create, if I want to let new things in, I have to let go of something. A lot of something.

I have been cutting myself off from people recently. Many reasons -- I have nothing interesting to say to anyone. I have no interests, no awareness of the world or literature or art or anything outside of the narrow world of an autistic child and my interminable sorting. I am bad company. I wait to see the rolling of the eyes, the yawn. I am not ready to be "over it" and I am not suggesting that anyone has told me to move along, but I am aware of how I am in no way ready to be moving along. And yet, I need friends and a social life -- last weekend, with Marcia and Matthew, was lovely. Nothing incredibly special -- walks, meals, movies, lots of talking. But Marcia and Matthew are easy and forgiving. I am scared that others may not be so.

Julia and I are finishing her math work for the day. We are working on the concept of "between" for Morning Parade. First, Second, third, and fourth are pretty solid. Last is in the works. Between is hard. But this is undoubtedly progress. She is arranging her number tiles up to 40, today, with only one mistake. She is counting 1's and 10's alone; 5's and 2's with support. We do 5 easy addition problems with the abacus. She still doesn't really understand addition, but we keep working at it.

Lost Cat

10 month old, neutered male Tabby. Declawed in the front. White and golden with golden tail. Very friendly and personable. Answers to Didi. Disappeared on Monday, June 21. Possibly on South Shore Drive.

Please write or call.

Thanks.

Suzanne

______________

Neighbors are alerted. Someone brought back his collar so he has no identity. I am holding out home that we will still find him. Called the humane society and put notices up on Craigslist.

Interesting confluence of events: I have to clear out both floors of my house by vacation time so that I can get the floors sanded, stained, and refinished and the first floor walls painted. I want to store some stuff in the basement and also have been trying to get rid of furniture and stuff I've been carrying around for years without using. My neighbor is having a garage sale next Saturday and asked if I wanted to put out a table. This evening during Julia's therapy, I went into the cellar and started pulling out boxes of stuff. I took a roll of masking tape and a sharpie and started pricing things -- soccer balls, souvenirs from Bolivia, computer programs that I can't use, toys that Julia never touches, material from years of saving just-in-case-I-want-to-sew, stuff from my mother's house, David's mother's house, David's grandmother's house, my grandmother's house.

A match made in heaven. This week I will load up the garage for the sale. This will clear out the basement some and give me room for what I need to store for the home work. And what doesn't sell, gets junked or given to Good Will. Period.

Thank you, Maria! My neighbor, that is.

Waking much too early from a dream, another dream of David, albeit very short. In our living room, in front of our fireplace, very aware of the details of the room. I told him that I didn't want him to die. "I don't want you to die. I didn't want you to die."

As if that was in question?

Did I need to say it to him? Did I need him to hear that?

Very strange feeling -- no relief, no extra sadness. Just the presence of him lingering, like a fine mist.

Up until very recently, I had not dreamed of David at all. I was deliberately patient with this -- me who always dreamed although not necessarily about anyone or anything, especially dead friends or relatives. But I have had dreams of dear friends, my niece, and my paternal grandmother -- comforting or enlightening, but never asked for. It is different now that it is David. How, I am not able to articulate yet, but definitely different. Maybe, I accepted those other dreams for what they were -- visits from dear ones or conjurings of my own imagination. I did not really care which. Now, I care. I would really like to know. Right this moment, I imagine that I must be content that I have the visits and not ask for origin. Just be thankful for the gift.

I usually don't mind waking up in the early morning. Hearing the beginnings of bird song and calls. This morning, I told Julia she could sleep late. I suspect that Marcia and Matthew will take advantage of sleeping in. And so, I do mind some. I'd like to fall asleep once again this morning, blissfully in the arms of Morpheus, shaper of dreams.

My friends, Marcia and Matthew, came up yesterday to spend the weekend with Julia and I. We ate and cooked, walked in the farmers' markets and Olbrick Gardens. Took the dog for walks and caught lightning bugs. We, Marcia and I, shared some wine.

And I am feeling slightly more human. I am so thankful for dear friends.

Images from Father's Day

My pictures do not capture the sweetness of these moments. They are the markers for my memory. Julia, for all of her challenges, has an incredibly generous spirit and holds such a love for her Daddy.

Another rainy day and the business of the morning has gotten nothing at all done. Contractor, painters, floor guys and movers. It is so clear how much work I am giving myself if I want to get the floors redone. Maybe I understand why the last folks didn't do it. I have two days more than three weeks to get the house in moving condition. It would be great to come home to new floors and new paint on some of the walls.

Early this morning I had a dream of David that left me with a sense memory of myself before he died. I awoke to the feeling which was so ordinary, so normal -- as if I was whole again. It was the first morning after a bad fever breaks and I didn't want to move a muscle to hold on to the memory. I am sad that my only touch with this well being is a dream, but I am grateful for the dream, grateful for the visit.

We were ready to return home from a vacation. I had the feeling of a week spent at a beach -- the jersey shore, Fire Island. That rested, warm, awake feeling. There were pieces of my mother's house -- the carpeted hallway upstairs and a stroller in the bathroom, even though I can't ever remember a stroller in her bathroom -- where I was. I was in the bathroom and David was there too. We were in front of a mirror and one or the other of us was looking into it. I noticed that David had hair on top of his head. I said nothing about it, but wondered if I was dreaming about the 80's when he was still maintaining he last of the hair on top of his head, or if he had preferred this look as he was visiting me. (I knew this was a dream. I knew I was dreaming, but this time, not like last time, I did not say anything about it.) I threw my arm around his neck and said, very dramatically, "I want you to live, to live, to live." Very Tallulah Bankhead. And I felt such a wash of well-being. I was me before last year. I was happy. I was whole. I was aware of the glory of that feeling. It was very silly and romantic and very much like ourselves in most of our private lives. David asked if he still "had me," "Do I still have you?" And I answered, "Body and soul, body and soul." With such a smile. With such love.

And that was it. The respite that I asked for two days ago. For moments, I was painless. I remembered happy. Not for long but for real.