15 July 2010

Are we there yet?

Julia put the familiar kid question together yesterday as we headed for Traci’s house in Ohio. Are we there yet? It was a new question for her and it was an exciting one for me. Are we there yet? There is a future, there is more than the present, the now. Yes, it is an immediate future but future none the less. Are we there yet? The question sounded so like a neuro-typical kid.

We stayed in Ohio last night at the Smiths’ house. They are one of our China families who have become such family to us. I still marvel that we went to China with strangers and came back with much more family than a new daughter. We are spread out rather far and wide, and usually only get together once a year. This year the reunion is the weekend after Julia and I return from vacation and so we are not making the reunion because I don’t think I can make another long drive and miss more therapy. I question the decision because I enjoy our families so much, but after the last two days of driving, well, it makes some sense.

Julia played with Jaden who is 5 and ever so smart. Julia manages to keep up with a 5 year old, but unless Julia’s maturity excellerates in a year or two Jaden will leave her in the dust. Jaden taught Julia a video game that we don’t have and they played legos that brother Kevin collected. Julia wanted to stay and keep on playing, which was very sweet. I can pray that she develops and matures, she wants friends so much.

Julia loved the pool after a long day's ride.
Julia and Jaden -- China sisters forever! Jaden came home to the Smith family the same time that Julia came to us. We all travelled together and it is amazing that it is almost 5 years since we met these girls!
Video games. Yes, she is interested. Should I be really happy or not?

Almost all the Smith kids plus Julia.

I was good for me to talk to Traci and Scott -- trading some ideas. They let me go on and on about a few things, and I woke up this morning with some more refined ideas. How thankful I am for these friends.

We drove all day today. Long, hard driving on highways that eventually turned into city and town streets, all taking way too long. The first hundred and fifty miles were torture and knowing that it was only a third of the days journey added to my dismay, but just before 7 this evening we turned into the long gravel drive that mark Barbara’s and Steve’s log anything-but-a-cabin. Their house sits on top of a hill with magnificent views in all directions, horses to watch from lovely windows and comfortable nooks to curl up with books or coloring. The cell phone reception is awful and their is very little internet. I have not been cut off from my communication addictions in years, not even in developing nations, but the idea of a real break from my everyday is charming. Maybe necessary.

Two days away from the regular every day and there are stirrings.

I know how far Julia has come, but sometimes I gulp and realize how far from typical this child is. And she has no understanding or knowledge that she is different from her age peers. At 10, I cannot ask her to go upstairs and retrieve something and expect that she will come down with it. Many times I cannot even expect that she will come downstairs without much prompting, pleading, scolding, or going up to get her myself. All of that makes the idea of asking her for help moot. I cannot ask her to take any responsibility for any of her possessions. Sooner or later, I can expect that she will open what she was told to leave alone not matter how tightly it is secured and close what I asked her to leave open. She does not seem to know the meaning of many words or understand much of what I ask of her. This may be a deficit in auditory processing. Tell her to go out the back door and she is following the arm raised pointing in the direction, not the words.

I know she will mature some. I know she will change and grow, but I wonder how tightly I will have to control and monitor her adult world. She is 10 and will change, but she was 5.5 once and there has been no miracle, just hard work and hard won, slow and often tedious advancement. Yes, she is reading but the effort put out by parents, teachers, and therapists has been tremendous. We all work on numbers now, methodically, slowly, carefully and with much patience. But she cannot tell you what comes before 7 or whether 3 or 4 is greater. Concepts like last, all, some, before, after, adding and subtracting are mysteries.

Her friends are her therapists and other grownups who are understanding and kind. She wants to play with children but she does not understand what to do. Her instincts are distinctly wrong.

I wonder about 15. I wonder about 20.

There are days when I am optimistic. Possibly foolishly so. And there are days when I wonder whether the opposite of optimism is realism.

Home stretch for packing. Julia can now go through a bunch of play choices that have been packed away. Just a bit more of office, clothes, toys and books, and then the tv (including the wii) and my tough one -- my internet connection. And then . . . vacation!

Last month, I didn't think I was really earning this one but boy, packing up the house has been a chore. Now, I think I've really earned the vacation. And earned the new house I will come back to.

I need to take pictures of the tv connections and the computer connections, so I can put them back together when we return.

The floor guy came in to do a sample to get my approval on color, as did the paint guy.

Vacation travel plans are, in brief: Madison to Tipp City, Ohio, to Chatham, Virginia, to Havre de Grace, Maryland, to Mt. Laurel, New Jersey, to Springfield, New Jersey, to Brooklyn, New York, to Woodstock, New York, to Chautauqua, New York, to Madison. A journey to see people. Have not checked out a single tourist attraction, but we can do that as the time arrises. We are not packing light. Julia scooter, lawn chairs, games and a puzzle, books and workbooks are traveling with us. We both have our library books and my books on tape. Plenty of music and plenty of Leapster cartridge games (Thank you, Lisa T. You made one little girl sooooo happy.)

I am still toying with the idea of finishing everything tonight and jumping in the car to drive for three or four hours, but I think that is just a fantasy. There is some stress to this day and hopefully by 6 or so, I will be so exhausted that a good night's sleep will be my most cherished desire.

Julia is with therapists almost all day today. Since lunch she has been showing some stress about leaving which, considering the packing up going on around her, is not bad at all.

At speech therapy today, Julia took parts of a phonetic awareness test. She did better than I expected -- she does understand rhyming of simple words, she was pretty accurate at identifying which pairs of words rhymed although she cannot usually come up with the second word by herself. She also was able to identify first sounds and some last sounds with easy words.

Another interesting challenge was to say a compound word, like railroad, and then take one of the root words. Julia was a bit slow at this, but she was thoughtful and methodical, and got most of them correct. She could not do it with two or three syllable words.

At OT today, Annie had Julia climbing a ladder made of rope with wood rungs to attach little dinosaurs to Velcro strips on the ceiling. God, I love OTs! Julia was afraid but the task was too tantalizing. Watching her was wonderful. She is really developing core strength. Finally!!! And she did it despite the fact that it was scary to climb on a ladder that moved around. Annie was right there by Julia, but Julia was afraid. It is wonderful to see that she is also trusting Annie enough to be afraid, ask for help and do something challenging.

Two, possibly three days and we are off on our travels! House is almost completely packed -- the play room/office gets packed on Wednesday. I am hoping for a nice day tomorrow to garden -- lots of beds need some care before we leave. But like everything else, no sweat about this one. I could leave and come back in a few weeks and the weeds will only be larger.

Clothes are laid out -- too many as of now. Julia work assembling. I found the portable DVD that David had put away and I couldn't find last year. It was in a box that I would have never looked in if I had not be cleaning out the basement.

The proposed work is set -- refinish wood floors through out the house (that is every room except for the bathroom), paint downstairs, install built in bookshelves in living room and dining room. I say again, that packing up feels like leaving David behind in many ways, but the changes will be good for me. And in truth, David is not here to be left behind.

I have not slept well in days and last night was the worst. Definitely over tired and the diet coke I drank during the day to keep me going, did not help at all. No caffeine at all today so dragging but hopefully, ready to snooze. Julia just got into bed and I am going to try to make this an early night.

Please, sleep, come!

Math update

For our morning parade (instructions plus learning about first, second, third, fourth, fifth, last, and in between), we are now using five stickers which enables me to do two "in between" instructions. I am so wanting to move ahead to before and after which had been my reason for starting this in the first place. But Julia is still hesitant with between and last, so we keep plugging along at those.

Using her number tiles, she can arrange numbers from 1-50 pretty well. The exercise also holds her attention. She is beginning to recognize counting by 1's and 10's. Counting by 2's and 5's is easier. We touch the tiles together and she can say the numbers alone; however, when she writes numbers she still writes some of the backwards. The backwards numbers are not consistent. I think she still does not have the shapes firmly in her head.

We are still working on easy addition with an abacus. She is getting better about remembering the procedure although I don't think she really understands what she is doing.

She can recognize all of our coins by name and she generally knows how much they are worth. We are working on counting money but we are far from understanding.

Julia is using numbers much more. I heard her say to someone that there were "a thousand" stars in the sky.

Julia has an old dress of Cheshire's. Ches wore it to the anniversary party that we planned for my parents when they were married for 48 years. I don't save many of the girls' clothes but this dress was so delightful that I hung on to it. My niece, Sheila, had a matching one and the two of them looked precious on the day of the party. And now, Julia with her sketcher sneakers and blue sweater -- her own style of course -- can enjoy it.

I love this sassy look. 'Sassy' is a new word that Julia is using. She likes describing herself as sassy. And she is.

Today, I walked around with what can only be described as a hang over. I woke up with a head ache, dragged myself through the day not wanting to do anything and feeling the full force of the stress of packing that I've imposed on myself. Oy! I thought it strange that I felt relatively okay yesterday but the effects of a few days of crying and feeling tearful all the time hit like bricks today. Strange to have that grace day. My thought right now is that my session with Ellen and then acupuncture on Tuesday afternoon eased me through Wednesday. Could that be?

I did get the car checked out and ready for the journey. I also finished up the packing up of two of the bedrooms and have all the books in boxes. There still feels like too much to do before the middle of next week. And I am acutely aware that I am doing the packing myself. Now, I did almost all of the packing for the move up to Madison and did the unpacking as well, so it is not the physical work that I complain of. But there was David to talk to, David to put Julia to bed or make us some supper or wash the dishes. There was David to tell me to stop working and that the work would all get done. I realize how much I depended on him to dissolve my self-imposed stress.

Julia and I had a good session with Marilyn today. I brought Julia's life book in anticipation of planning some way of getting at Julia's hurt and closed off mind. I had given her more time to be alone and play with her leapster after her therapist left this morning. I needed to pack, and she is always asking for more time to play alone. I bargained with her, asking her to spend more time working with Marilyn willingly in exchange for leapster time. Surprisingly, it worked. Julia was more willing and seemingly more aware of working. And of course, she didn't have to be. She had already had the leapster time.

She read through her life book and for the first time, she read many of the pages. Marilyn asked her questions about the pictures and Julia commented. She seemed to take in the idea of her birth (first) family. I have a picture of a Asian woman with a baby on the page that talks about what I know about her early life and what I surmise. She wanted to know more about that woman and wondered if the mother liked Julia. She also admitted to feeling sad, as well as scared, when we took her away. Marilyn and I talked about doing some sort of workbook type project with Julia -- the volcano book worked so wall. Something where she can reflect on information, draw and then reflect again. We will have more discussion when we get back from traveling before we really begin, but I am excited. It remains my belief that Julia must be willing to open up that part of herself that she closed up so tightly when she was little, and until she does, there will be learning and understanding and maturity that is impossible for her. A mother's theory to be sure, and an optimist's idea.

Yesterday, I wrote about what I remembered about last year and David's death. I was sitting by our Bay at the times indicated. There is one more part of that morning that I want to remember. Later.

__________

11:29 -- It was just about now, a year ago, that the heroic effort to re-start David’s heart began. Whenever I think of this moment, I am flooded with images and feelings, and also an after-fact that I learned from my sister. That once they bring in the paddles and injections, and army of personnel, the battle is almost assuredly over. Very few people whose hearts stop and do not almost immediately re-start are revived. I did not know that. When I think of it, it makes me both sad for the wasted energy and effort and cost of all the expensive means being used, and also grateful to those who rally and try. Try incredibly hard. How many times a day, a week, during a career, but very little success. And still they work at it.

I’m sitting on a bench by our little bay, two short blocks from my house. How fortunate to live near water. How spectacularly wonderful right now. I can sit on a city bench -- that old kind with concrete side and old planks of wood making the seat. David and I and Julia and a few times friends sat here. Evening walks. With the dog. We inhabited this space. And it is nice to be where we inhabited together. It feels right to be outdoors.

11:43 -- they had been working on David’s body for more than 10 minutes now. At first, I stayed in the room. Then the room filled with more and more people and machines. More vials of drugs pushed into syringes sat on the bed stand. I stepped out -- did someone ask me to? At first, a nurse or nurses, assured me. “Don’t worry” or some such thing. I didn’t. Scared. Very much so, but not ultimately worried. We had gotten through so much up to that point. This was another bump, another challenge to rise to and recover from.

11:46 -- They finished by this time. They asked me to come into the room and to tell them to stop the artificial means of keeping David’s body alive. For a moment I wondered whether I should tell them to keep going until Cheshire got there. She was on her way. But why? He was not alive. There were no words to say, even looks to exchange. Just a body, his to be sure, but a body that was being kept alive by others massaging his heart and pumping air into his lungs. And so, I said stop. And then, I let go. Then, I cried. I wailed. I did not know I was capable of such emotion in front of strangers, but these were the people who had tired so hard to make him live again. Were any of them strangers? I heard someone “call” the death for 11:45. My reference was tv doctor shows but there was no question what was said and what it meant. I don’t know if that is what the death certificate says.

I have never been one to cry much. I seem to have saved up years of tears for this death, for the remembrance. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever stop.

Cheshire came. It was very soon after the “call.” I think the room was rather empty by that time. She saw me from the door and she knew. I don’t know if anyone stopped her before she came to the room. We stood and either side of the bed and cried. We held hands some. I must have explained something. We cried.

Someone asked -- a nurse set to watch over us -- who she could call. My first impulse was no one. No one needed to knew this sadness, this complete loss. But she insisted and I handed her my phone and asked her to call Lisa. How awful it must be to make such calls. How hard is it to be a stranger who is calling probably the closest person to the grieving about the death. I have no idea what was said. She may have stepped out of the room. And then, she was telling me that Lisa would come. But who else, she wanted to know. And I asked for Mary. Mary, just a town away, not hundred of miles. And Mary was there before we left David’s hospital room, hugging us and soothing. I do not even know what I interrupted. I don’t know what she put down to be with us. And she stayed the day, the evening, and was back the next day. Lisa was with us by nightfall. And Linde, Cheshire’s dear friend, by the next.

After a long time, and no where near long enough -- I probably stopped crying for the moment, stopped touching David’s body, the nurse (and I guess she could have been a social worker. The nurse who stood by me in the hall after a time when, I am sure the end was guessed, might have been replaced by a social worker. I have no idea who that person was, what she looked like. And I feel badly that there is no way to look back and say thank you.) asked us to move into another room, a quiet office type room where bad news is delivered and families grieve. Just down the hall. And we would be allowed to see the body again. They would clean up the room. David’s room. Put the room and the body in order. Assurance. I did not want to leave. They let me stay. Who is the they I write? Maybe the nurse, maybe Mary, maybe Cheshire? I remember more than one voice urging me to leave, but assuring me that I could stay as long as I needed. The lessons of death, the needs of the grieving, the shocked, those who wander in a limbo land are probably well known by all on that floor. That acute care heart floor. David’s room was a step down from the heart ICU, but steps away.

When they were working on his stopped heart. At first, a nurse assured me that as soon as they got it started again, they would be transferring him back into the ICU. “We need to stabilize him first.” Or something like that. Much later, that day or another day, when I spoke with one of the doctors, he or she said made reference how they had managed to start the heart a few times before. And the knowledge, the full awareness, that David had never been out of the woods, and that for all of the progress he had made, his condition was much more fragile that he/I/we had understood, flooded in. His heart had stopped two nights after the transplant, when he tried to get out of bed and fell. I knew that. I cannot remember the words now, but that phone call in the middle of the night, included technical words that meant, he died but we managed to bring him back. I had conveniently, in the intervening time, filed that information very deep inside.

And the night of the rush to the ER the week before his death, they had “lost” him for a few moments during or after the move to the ICU. Again, words of science were used and I allowed myself to let the information go deep.

So, when the nurse told me of the transfer back to the ICU as soon as they could get David’s heart started, I was more comforted than I should have been. This was going to be like the other times. I thought that David was going to be very disappointed at the regression back to the ICU, but we would become more patient, work at our patience to recover.

I paced outside his room. Craning my neck to see what was going on. I remember the paddles, the shocks, and no heart beat but no easing of the effort. Was it five minutes in or 10 that someone asked if I should call someone? It was forever and it was not soon enough. I called Cheshire. What did I say? To come right away. That something was happening. To ask Maria to come over. To call Cathy. And then, I worried about her. Doing what she had to do to leave Julia and driving to the hospital knowing that her father was dying or dead. Did she know that?

It could have been hours, standing there outside the room. The room that was busy with people shouting orders, trying what they could, pumping, clearing, shocking, looking at monitors. Hoping. Hoping. Hoping. The nurse put her arm around me. I was still so strong and sure that it was going to work. That I would see his eyes flutter open and a wan smile cross his lips. And I heard a woman say, “Is there anything else anyone can think of to do?” And murmuring. My mind raced; I did not breathe; I was numb; I was sure there was one more idea; I knew. I knew. I knew.

And then they called me in. And I stood at the foot of the bed. For an instant, I thought to move to the head, with them, the professionals. But I knew, when I stood for the merest of moments that it was too late to stand anywhere close. I was where I needed to be.

Stop. Yes, they could stop.

In the room that the nurse ushered us into -- Cheshire, Mary, and I -- I knew that I needed to make phone calls. There was a moment when I did not want to tell anyone. Again, I was aware that this awful thing that had happened might be contained between the three of us in this little room. No one else need know, need be sad. No one else need be concerned. For moments I wanted to spare the world. Our world. I wanted everyone else in the world to believe that David was still alive. And by some magic he would be for them for a little more time. At the same time, I was aware that there was a hospital full of people who knew -- at least those who cared for David -- there was my neighbor who knew that something critical was happening and my friend Cathy, who would replace Marie to take care of Julia. Lisa knew. Mary knew. I could not contain the news, the knowledge. My image was that of trying in vain to collect spilled milk.

At some point, the phone rang, and Mary took it from me and answered. I think it was Lisa to tell me she would be there that evening. Is that true? How did she arrange it so quickly? I called David’s father first. It was as soon as I could, as soon as I was in enough control to manage talking. It was the most horrible call that I have ever made in my life. The most awful of conversations. What are the words to tell a 92 year old man that his son was dead? Dad almost immediately started blaming the doctors, the choice of the heart transplant, our trust in our doctors. Looking at it now, I see a reaction to David’s mother’s death 30 years before. I believe that she suffered the same pretty rare heart condition from which David did, and although there was absolutely no way for her doctors to find or correct the condition, those doctors had made mistakes. Their mistakes may have been justified, may have been likely diagnoses, but they were wrong. I don’t remember his anger about that. I did not see it. I do not assume that it was completely unexpressed, but I do not know and probably will never ask. Maybe some of our situation was the same, maybe mistakes were made, but the mistakes, if there were some, were studied guesses and best efforts. I cannot fault those who made them.

But David’s father was angry, almost angry at me, certainly almost scolding, and wanting very much to blame. This was hard for me. Harder than I knew at the time.

I called my sister. I called home to tell Cathy who was with Julia. I called Marilyn, our attachment therapist, who was on vacation on the west coast. It was rather awful to call, but I needed her help and I could not stop myself. What should I say to Julia? What should I not say? I caught her off guard -- as if she was supposed to know -- and I could hear in her voice that she had been on vacation far from the worries of the children she heals. But she talked. She gave me herself and was willing to let me take her time as I needed it. I was the one who cut the call short when I realized that I knew what I needed to do and how to do it. I realized that my instincts were fine. I remember asking for or wanting from Marilyn magic words. I remember the absurdity of the idea.

And after a time, someone came in the room and explained that they had cleaned up David’s room and that we could go back in if we wanted and stay as long as we wanted before the body would be brought “downstairs.” Did that say that? Or do I just remember it as that? Mary and I went in and Cheshire stayed behind. She was finished with the body. I cried some more. I touched his hand, his face. I kissed his cold face. He was so much there. So much himself. And so dead. So far away. So not there at all.

Our stuff -- what he had at the hospital, my bag, and computer were in a neat pile to be picked up before we left. Which we did. Mary did it. It was when I saw the back of his neck begin to turn blue from a pooling of blood that I could move on. Move on. I hardly did. I moved as I was directed, only with some of my own efforts.

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.