It's The Little Things

Dear Pepsi,

Your memory trails me like a secret shadow. I go about my daily life, yet it feels half hearted no matter how much I apply myself to the tasks at hand. Welcome to my three quarter existence. Yesterday I stripped the bed after Aunt Diane left for Austin, stuffed the dirty sheets in the washer and and pulled out fresh ones from the linen closet. There were two flat sheets and one fitted. I knew one of the flat sheets was the one I covered the duvet cover with so guests wouldn't lay on a bed of dog hair. After all, it was really your room and bed, which you grudgingly (unwillingly) shared when guests visited. The flat sheet is the same color as the duvet and sheet set, with a line of pulled threads and holes from you pulling the covers back and unmaking the bed. I unfolded the flat sheets to figure out which one went inside and which one to spread over the duvet since occasionally Pearl or Pandy lay on the bed and stare out at the backyard. I made the bed and then stood in the room and sobbed. I never have to make the bed several times a day anymore as I did with you. I called your dad, mumbling through my tears as he silently listened on the other end three thousand miles away. 

The two sisters

On the outside I look my normal self. Inside is quite another story. My perspective has changed, and while that is not necessarily a bad thing, I can get derailed into grief and longing on the turn of a dime. It's the little things Pepsi, not seeing you at the foot of the stairs intently looking out the front door, you not being underfoot while I eat breakfast, or being woken up each night when you climb in my bed. The accumulation of memories stack into multiple piles. Pearl and I bump into them and though it happens several times a day, we lock eyes as if we are still baffled by the fact you are not here.  Neither she or Pandy pick up the toys scattered on the floor - the rope toy, blue ball and knotted white sock just lay there unless I can entice them to play. No tug of war, interactive play or fetch. Pandy might be a taker but Pearl isn't having it. There doesn't seem to be much fun left in her without you. I bought them new squeaky toys the other day and they were interested for about 30 minutes. They joined the toy collection that collects dust on the floor unless a visitor comes and Pearl does her retrieving thing.  You would have been all over that squeaking dog and cow, that's for sure. 

When Aunt Diane was here last week we spoke of you often, laughing about your one of a kind ways.  It was her first time coming to Portland without you here to greet her. The past year has been a litany of loss - Diane's dad, my mom, Frank and you. No one lives forever she said. My head knows that but my heart is still reeling. For ten years I whispered over and over, begging you not to leave and stay with me forever. It was our inside joke but not really funny. I sit at the tea house typing these words as tears roll down my cheeks. I have no shame when it comes to my grief for you. They didn't know you and they sure don't know me. Last week a student I hadn't seen in a while expressed his condolences and before I could say thank you the waterworks began. The surface of my emotional life is a thin, translucent powder, barely concealing the depth of my sadness. When you got sick I kept going, maintained my responsibilities as best I could, and while I eliminated what I called the unessential, I didn't stop. In retrospect I was dazed, confused, angry, and exhausted. I wish I had stopped Peps, and not let one thing compete with the time I had with you, not even a little bit. Lesson learned baby girl, lesson learned. 

The days are getting longer. Spring teased us with warmer temperatures and then dumped a foot of snow reminding us how unpredictable life is. Pearl and I tread lightly in our three quarter life, exchanging knowing glances as we make the most of what we have, which is a lot. Pandy was rescued from such a tenuous life she is always waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway. I walk them around the neighborhood, chatting as we traverse the streets. I let them off leash in the various parks to run and discover smells. I open the door and let them loose to play out front on our dead end street. I chuckle and think how I could never do that with you, my runner and explorer of every backyard in the street who thought call back was not in your repertoire. It is the little things, in a myriad of ways, that map the territory of loss and grief. The space in between you being here and then gone is where I linger. I am not sure it is an actual space but for now it is where I reside, bumping into the ever mounting stacks of memories. Time marches on, dragging me kicking and screaming; however, I remain in lockstep with you baby girl. And here is what I know for sure Peps, the forever I asked of you is and will always exist for us. However deep loss is, love is deeper.

Love you darling girl,

Mom

The Big Reveal

Pepsi makes an appearance in San Juan

Dear Pepsi,

I finally took a holiday after canceling two trips and went south for sun, sea and laughter with Shakila and Rockelle. They had the trip to San Juan planned for a while, and let me crash the party. I thought I could use some beach time and swimming in the sea. I flew out right after a storm and on the heels of an even bigger one expected to drop a few feet of snow. My flight out of Newark was canceled, therefore I ended up on that horrible 3:15am bus from Portland to Logan Airport. I was recovering from the flu and not in the best shape with congestion and nausea. Of course my flight to Ft. Lauderdale was delayed and a certain misconnect to San Juan. There was a flight to Tampa with an open seat. The connecting flight was coming from San Juan so I would not have to worry about misconnection or getting stuck. I stepped out of the line to give it thought. I was tempted to get back on a Concord Coach to Portland and climb into bed with Pearl and Pandy. Then I thought about Shakila and Rockelle, the sun, sea, and how much I need a break. Okay, I said, I'll take the Tampa option. I took my boarding pass and passed through security, exhausted and queasy, though determined to make it to San Juan. At 5:30pm I touched down in San Juan, 14 hours since leaving Portland.

Full moon rising on San Juan

As soon as I walked out of the airport and felt the warmth, I knew it was the right decision. The flat was a 15 minute taxi ride from the airport, steps from the beach. Shakila and Rock would not arrive until 5am so I was on my own the first night. I dropped my bags, changed into my bathing suit, grabbed a towel and headed to the beach for my first swim. The full moon was beginning to rise, choppy waves rolling onto the shore, and the air temperature balmy. A group of young people speaking English were gathered on the beach, laughing and talking. I asked if they would watch my stuff while I went for a swim and they politely agreed. I dipped my toe in the water and appraised the undertow before taking the plunge. I felt light and happy. As I prepared to dive into the first wave I called out This is for you Peps! If you saw me from a distance, you might have mistaken me for a gleeful child and not a 60 year old woman. I jumped in the waves, letting them crash against me as I thought about how much you would have loved being there - barking to throw you the ball and running into the surf. Everywhere I go I see you, imagine you beside me. Particularly at the sea.

First swim

I fell into a deep sleep at 9pm that night. It was dark and quiet. At 5am Shakila and Rockelle arrived. Shakila had been sick on the plane so they went right to bed and I drifted back to sleep. I felt like I was traveling further and further away from a known reality, floating in an in-between space propelled my subconscious. Thoughts of you reside in every layer. Can you feel me like I feel you? I close my eyes and bring you forth, whispering your name over and over, thinking I will never get used to life without you. The truth is Peps, when you got sick my life was altered and there was no going back. I recalibrated every aspect of my existence, including removing the non essential and even some people. You learn a lot in crisis; who you can count on and as for those you can't depend on, they can be eliminated. Not overtly, but in a subtle easement. Given the gravity of your loss, those who didn't show up are not missed. Space is sometimes best left vacant. I soak up solitude anyway as you well know. You and your sisters have always been satisfying and steady companions. However, this trip to San Juan was not about solitude, it was to invite levity and light into my life with two people I love and who love me in return. Shakila was with me when you were diagnosed and I cannot imagine how I would have managed without her for those first days when it felt like a bomb had exploded. I will always be grateful for her going to the appointments, driving us back from Tufts, and literally holding me up when I fell apart. 

Rockelle, Mom and Shakila

We hit the beach the first day, poured Mimosas into plastic cups, and began what the girls called the "turn up". We laughed, shed a few tears, had deep talks and chattered about nonsense. I baked in the sun, dove in the sea, walked along the beach. We went out for dinner and drinks, strolled along the beach and streets of San Juan. We spoke of you often, and the other doggies as well. I marveled at how I met Shakila as a 14 year old high school freshman, Rena's best friend at Berkeley High School, mentored her through undergrad, her masters and then her PhD. We talk daily and formed our own friendship. She is like my other daughter and she and Rena function like siblings. Despite our closeness, I wondered how we three would do on vacation together. Fortunately it exceeded my expectations and provided me with exactly what I needed. The thing is Peps, I didn't realize how much I needed the break until I actually experienced it. Shakila understood, having been there when you first got sick, how deep my grieving has been and how much I miss you. Tears streamed down our faces when we talked about you, yet in the next breath we were cracking up recounting your diva ways. You are so one of a kind, on that there is no dispute.

Joy

Body surfing 

Something amazing happened on our second day. In the morning I was swimming and as usual, calling your name when diving into waves. I looked up at the sky and asked you to reveal yourself to me. I said I would be patient but I really needed a sign. I miss you Pepsi, and wanted a sign that you hear me calling to you. I was exactly where you are happiest, in the sea jumping the waves. I may have looked like a crazy woman taking to myself, calling out your name but I stopped caring about that a while ago. After a swim I decided to walk along the shore, taking dips as I strolled. I met a Golden Retriever and stopped to chat with the pet parents. He was red like Pandy but built like you. The mom said their other one died of cancer. We shared a knowing look of sadness. The beach is very dog friendly so there were all kinds of dogs chasing balls and frisbees, running into the ocean like you loved to do. When I got back to our chairs, Rockelle and Shakila poured me a plastic cup of wine. All of a sudden Rockelle said, Look at that cloud, it looks just like a dog.  I was turned slightly away from the beach, facing the girls. I looked over my shoulder and after a few seconds, saw it. The cloud was unusual because it was as if it just appeared from behind the other clouds, which were horizontal and this formation was vertical. There was no doubt it was the head and upper part of a dog. I gasped, it was you Peps, telling me you heard me calling to you. Your head was pointed upward, popping out of the water you so love as if to say, I am here mom, look up at the sky, that's where I am now and I am always watching over you, Pearl and Pandy. I never left you in spirit and never will. Rockelle, Shakila and I were stunned. I told them I had been calling to you, asking you to reveal yourself. I said I was patient but you know me better Peps, I am not very patient. The cloud remained about 10 minutes and then ascended, as if to slip back to heaven. We sat there and watched, mezmorized. Pepsi came to visit I said, and they nodded in agreement. Of course she did, Aunt Diane later said when she saw the picture, She loves you. 

I'm here mom, just look up

We went to Old San Juan that evening for drinks and dinner. We couldn't stop taking about the cloud, about you Peps. It was a kind of turning point for me. I felt some of the heaviness lift and a degree of peace. Although the cloud was distant, I felt myself brush against you, hear your heartbeat next to mine. In a weird way, a part of me elevated with you so neither of us has to be without each other. It also bonded Shakila, Rockelle and I to witness your appearance together. It was Rockelle who saw the cloud. I was turned away and might have otherwise missed it. We all need each other, don't we Peps? I would have never gone to San Juan if not for Shakila and Rockelle, and I so needed to be there. It has been years since I laughed that much. I let myself do nothing, sit at the beach for hours lost in thought or sleeping, swimming and body surfing, and sipping drinks with the girls listening to music. I shed some of the sadness I had been carrying around since you and my mom died. I ran into the sea diving head first like I did as a child. I squealed with delight and laughed to myself. I called to you as the waves tossed me about, Pepsi you would love it here! You answered me back, Be happy mom, I need you to laugh again please. Pepsi, you showing up helped me to remember what joy felt like again, the kind I felt with you beside me everyday. 

 Golden Retriever party at Higgins Beach

When I returned to Portland the weather turned mild, by that I mean 56 degrees on the weekend. I took your sisters to Higgins Beach for the first time in a while. We were greeted by a bunch of Goldens. Amazingly, Pearl perked up when she saw them, running and playing with them, even letting Pandy play with her. I haven't seen Pearl so happy since you passed. Pandy didn't get edgy being in a cluster of dogs. There was an 8 week old Golden Doddle puppy and Pearl played with her. It was so sweet, Pearly was kissing her. A hint of spring was tempting everyone, including the doggies who romped in the water. All the pet parents laughed as the dogs chased each other in circles and we lost track of who was who as they swirled around us. I was relieved to see Pearl so willing to participate with other dogs and chase around with Pandy after refusing to play for the past two months. Of course, it was clear she was buoyed by the familiarity of Goldens, one who resembled you. At one point, Pearl and Pandy ran into the water as I filmed them. Pearl paused and looked around. Clearly she was looking for you - it was as if she actually saw you. And perhaps she did. You have a way of making yourself known, and I am sure between the two of you it happens quite often. We are so full of love for you Peps. 

  Pepsi reaching for mom

The days are getting longer as we are nearly rounding the corner of winter. I cannot imagine summer without you at the beach, in the backyard rolling on and ruining my plants, and sitting outside eating dinner with you pawing me to share my food. There is always a space reserved just for you. My heart was broken the day I released your physical self, yet it was patched together just a bit on that beach in San Juan when you revealed yourself to me. I know you hear me baby girl, and in that we have never parted and never will. 

Love you forever and ever,

Mom

Confessions of a Bereaved Mom

The famous pink harness

Dear Pepsi,

I am on my way back from New Orleans. It was nearly a year ago when I last visited with Jonathan. It was his first time and we stayed with Amanda at her house in St. Roch. You remember Amanda? Heidi’s friend who visited us in Maine several times and has joined our “pack”. Jonathan and I explored the city together, as well as as spending time with Amanda, Heidi and David. I love New Orleans, it feels like the closest thing to being in West Africa; however, as with many other cities, the gentrification is changing neighborhood compositions and driving up prices. Still, there is a flavor to the city expressed in shotgun houses bursting with color, stately homes restored to perfection, and houses with peeling exteriors that refuse to give up, sometimes within blocks of each other. The food, music, art, and history are a unique aspect of the American narrative of race, class and how we are mixed and segmented at the same time. I met a really sweet Golden Retriever, his dad Brett takes him everywhere and he is adored by neighborhood folks and strangers alike. I smothered him with kisses and he licked my face. Oh Peps, I miss you so much, still.

Pandy and Pearl in one of your favorite spots 

I read this article about how hard it is to loose a pet - https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/out-the-ooze/201701/getting-over-rover-why-our-grief-over-dog-is-so-intense . It felt good to be validated. Your loss is more than I can describe and I continue to tear up at the mention of your name. When I saw David and Suzanne at the St Roch Market I started crying when they asked how I was doing. The thing is most times I appear fine. I function, talk, walk, and work, even laugh and have some good times but my heart is shattered. I am always on the verge of tears, swallowing my words rather than release them. Does it sound like I don't love Pearl and Pandy? Because I do, with all my heart, it’s just an incomplete circle without you. And I have never met anyone like you Peps. The truth is I have never cried for anyone as much as I have for you. I am devastated and the article helped me understand why, and that I am not alone.

Always at the top pf the pillows

Peps, lately I have been flooded with memories of places I lived, before you and with you. I was a skinny 19-year old wandering the narrow streets of Jerusalem, sketching and writing in small notebooks and scraps of paper. A few years later I was back, this time near Tel Aviv, riding buses to help me think, painting in old bomb shelter and slamming down my can of spray adhesive to make mice scatter. I sat at the shore of the Red Sea in Sinai, where the desert and the aqua blue water meet, painting watercolors on rice paper. Colors of the mountains changed by the hour. I read paperbacks and wrote in a journal in small cursive. I was on the precipice of something great but unsure of myself. Truth is I was afraid if I realized my potential I would end up alone. That led me to populate my life with people and abandon my plans to attend Art Students League in NYC. Don’t get me wrong girl, it ended up okay, and my life has been a wonderful adventure despite the ups and downs. I had a great family, traveled the world with and without my kids, continued to paint and accomplished a fair amount for myself and others. And I got to be with you.

Mom on the island 

Remember when I went on my annual sojourn to the Greek island of Folegandros and you went on a hunger strike? Rena told me you stopped eating for a few days. She was frantically trying to get you to eat, making boiled chicken (we weren’t doing raw then) and coaxing you as best she could with treats. You weren’t having it. Eventually hunger took over and you caved. Whenever I took out a suitcase you started to ignore me, showing your displeasure. When I got home you could not contain your joy; however, a few minutes later you would give me the cold shoulder for a while to ensure I felt sufficiently bad for leaving you. That was our routine for over ten years and I came to expect it. The other dogs never held it against me but not you Peps, you were going to punish me. Leaving the island was always hard; however, I knew I was coming home to you and that was a saving grace. Your many quirks were always accommodated. You often opted to sleep in the guest room but always came to my bed, frequently in the middle of the night. You pawed the edge of the bed to announce your arrival, I rolled over and smoothed the bed for you as if I was required to entice you to get in. We all catered to you and your diva ways.

 Mom and Peps

Since you have been gone it is like we are living a half-life. Half laughter. Vacant spaces. There is always a feeling of incompleteness. It is in Pearl’s eyes. Pandy used to follow you around and land wherever you decided to be. I have a few confessions Peps, and don’t laugh. When I get Pearl and Pandy’s harness and leash for a walk I pause to touch your pink harness and kiss it. I close my eyes sometimes and inhale your smell, pause to think of you before getting your sisters ready for their walk. I look through the picture book Shakila made of you and touch the photos. I bring the book to my face and kiss your picture. Pearl senses a change in mood whenever I whisper your name or hold the book close. She comes over to kiss me, check in and make sure I am okay. But of course we are not, none of us are. We are reeling still and that is that.

Last April I went to the Portland Museum to see a film by Laurie Anderson, Heart of A Dog.  The film is a meditative artistic expression on death and other forms of loss. It focuses on the death of her dog and mother. I was moved and inspired by the film. I decided to start Project60, sixty paintings in sixty months and a blog to chronicle the lead up to my 60th birthday. http://paulagerstenblattproject60.blogspot.com I wrote regularly in the blog, particularly when I was on the island for four weeks last summer. Then I returned to the States and my mother died. My work took a turn. I thought, wrote and painted about her death. Not long after you were diagnosed with cancer and I dropped Project60 to care for you and began the Pepsi Diaries blog. I could have never known on that April night as I sat silently in the theater contemplating Anderson’s film that I would be faced with the same losses before my 60^th birthday. I have since considered the powerful statement she makes in the film, “The connection between love and death… and the purpose of death is the release of love”.  Peps I am trying to find a softer spot to land on; to be bolder, kinder, and to love deeper as a result of your loss. To pay tribute to you and to my mom by being more generous, honest, and overall a better person. I feel as if I am falling short, eclipsed by my sadness. In these times, I know more is required of me and I am trying to show up. But the fact remains you are not here to cushion the daily blows or celebrate the magic. I know it is all still there, and I feel it when I glance in a direction to include you. It is then I encounter the hole in my heart. I hope you are not disappointed in me Peps, but who else can I confess to if not you? I guess it’s why I cannot conclude this blog yet, and why I keep writing to you. We are not done you and I, and every time I bury my face in your harness and kiss your picture I am releasing love, hoping it reaches you wherever you are.

Love and miss you,

Mom

Seeing Ghosts and the Addiction of Solitude

Sunset at Higgins Beach

Dear Pepsi,

Time continues to pass; however, not one day goes by without thoughts of you flooding my head and heart. The longing does not subside. I continue to tear up at the mention of your name. I am not the only one missing you though, Pearly has changed. She will not play with Pandy as she once did. I watched old videos from the beach and she would always play with Pandy; however, she brushes her off and refuses to engage. She starts barking for no apparent reason and I cannot sooth her when she gets agitated like this. Your Papa said dogs can see "haints", as ghosts are referred to in the South, and that got me thinking about Pearl seeing your ghost. Are you with us Peps? Is she barking to let me know you are here? I look up and see you in your usual spots. On the couch with your head propped up on the armrest, nestled beside me in bed, romping in the water, on the rug in the main bathroom. I often pause, stop dead in my tracks and inhale deeply with closed eyes to receive your energy. If only I could pull you back through the void so I could hold you close, watch you and Pearl play, and cater to your diva ways. 

Peps look alike at the Portland Women's March

I went to the Women's March in Portland last Saturday. Millions of people across the globe marched to protect women's rights and denounce Trump and his policies. We have much to fear over the damage he can cause over the next four years and it will require unyielding resistance. It was amazing how many people turned out, though on a lighter note there quite a few Golden Retrievers, including a sweet nine year old boy who reminded me of you. I spoke with the mom and told her about you as I caressed him and cradled his face close to mine. I showed her pictures of you on my phone and told stories about you that made me chuckle and cry at the same time. When I mentioned cancer her eyes widened - not HSA she asked?  She told me about her other Golden who died in one day when they discovered a large tumor on his spleen. I'm not sure what is worse she said, loosing him in one day or over six weeks knowing he is terminal. I don't know either I told her, but for sure the end result is heartbreaking regardless if it is one day or one month. I hugged him tight before saying goodbye. As I walked away his mom called out your name in a tribute to you. I raised my hand and waved back to her, whispering Pepsi girl I miss you so as I moved through the crowd.

Pandy and Pearl keeping your spot warm

Pepsi I want you to know we are hanging in there despite our grieving. I manage a smile, give your sisters lots of hugs and kisses, and tell them how much I love them. We cuddle, take long walks, play with toys, and spend large quantities of time together since I am fortunate to work at home. They lay at my feet as you did, dozing on and off, rousing to go outside or lure me to play. I don't want you to worry about us, and while I will not lie about how hard it is to slog though life without you, I hope you can find peace from fretting about us. I was a loner before and more of one now. Chuck once said that solitude is addictive and as I get older I crave more and more time alone. Having you girls fills the space once occupied by kids or friends. You all have been my emotional center for over a decade. The idea of going out seems appealing until the time to go approaches and I opt out. My energy is limited, and my tolerance for small talk has been greatly reduced, particularly with the current political situation. I worry I might fly off the handle so I tend to measure myself in relation to the world and be strategic about how I spend time outside of teaching and work obligations. I walk through the door to your sisters and that seems to be more than enough to buffer the potential for loneliness. I sit in the quiet watching children play on the street. I was once a mom dancing to the rhythm of my kids, in constant motion; however, now time feels dense as solitude blankets me. But I am never alone as long as I have my girls. And my memories of you Pepsi girl, my darling soul dog.

Pepsi, my soul dog

Twenty-five years ago I painted a series about dream doors, inspired by the thresholds we cross from place to place in a spiritual, physical, emotional, and relational way. The paintings were a metaphor for the doors that open and close, the heartbreak we experience and the courage it takes to move forward and turn those doorknobs into the great unknown. I made dream doors for my kids, my friends and even gave them to strangers if I felt they needed them. We are galvanized and bolstered by those who believe in us more than we do ourselves. Or perhaps by those who lay at out feet through thick and thin, waiting for us as we walk through the door day after day, as flawed and fantastic as we may be. We bend and break, rebound and hold ourself upright, but never alone, no matter how deeply we cherish our solitude. You kept me from falling off the face of the earth as I delved into the deep space of writing and painting, pulled me out when my reclusive tendencies were hard to resist. There was always a beach, a park, or a walk to be taken and your insistence was not to be ignored. You balanced my universe and helped me shoulder the weight of the world Pepsi girl, and now I find myself struggling for footing without you. 

  Jonathan's Dream Door

So if Papa is right and Pearl is seeing your haint then perhaps I am not crazy. I will take whatever I get of you. Watch over us and know that when I cross the threshold from this dream door to the one where you are we will be together again. Until that time, know how much you are loved and missed. 

Love you Pepsi girl,

Mom

No Past Tense

Dear Pepsi,

I know, it has been a while since I have written to you; however, not a day goes by without me talking to you or looking through your picture book. I still tear up at the mention of your name or when people express their sympathy for your passing. What a strange way to describe death - passing. You have not passed at all. There is no past tense when it comes to you. I touch your collar that drapes over the corner of my easel and run my fingers over your pink harness that hangs on the hook in the half bath. I talk to Pearl about you every day. I see you in the corner of every room, reach for you on the couch and in bed at night. Being with your sisters brings me joy and lifts my heart; however, your absence has created a permanent hole that will never be filled. Last week I was in California with your biological brother Aslan, which was some comfort since you two look so much alike; however, your personalities are so different. Aslan came to us 4 years ago as a surrender, his gratitude and chill are a sharp contrast to your diva-ness and sense of entitlement. I wrapped my arms around him several times day whispering I love you Peps' Bother.

Aslan and Mom

I turned 60 a week ago. It was a bittersweet occasion/celebration. I traveled to California since 60 is a milestone birthday and wanted to be with Rena and Jonathan. It rained almost non stop for the entire week save the last day. I felt off - tired, cold, sad, and a bit lost. I missed Pearl and Pandy. I thought about you a lot since your life with us began in that house. I wanted to write but the space wouldn't hold me. I had so may years in that house when I felt myself bursting at the seams. I was a young mom, dazed and confused, painting and writing my way down the hallway on a 30 ft scroll I tacked to the wall. My life was divided into several pieces and identities - mother, artist, social worker. By the time you arrived on the scene I thought I had sewed it up with my kids off to college and law school. I had a plan to buy a condo in Oakland and downsize, travel more and focus on my art. You unraveled all that when I fell in love with you at first sight. I continued to travel for my annual sojourns to Greece and Europe to paint; however, you were my reason to come home. Then came Pearl, and eventually Pandy when we lived in Austin. Would life have been simpler if I refused Jonathan's request for a dog? Of course, but how could it even be considered better without you my darling girl? Opening our hearts to love is always a risk, yet what you gave me all these years was well worth the freedom I gave up. I would do it all over again gladly given the chance. 

Pepsi the Diva

I have continued to paint the Monologue of Grief series. It is an abstract dialog unrestrained by form, words or concrete concepts. I dive in the colors led by emotion. It has to be abstract because I cannot get my arms around the fact that you were here and then gone, so quickly and unexpectedly. I can talk about the chronology of events or even how I feel, which typically ends with tears streaming down my face, even in the grocery store with strangers attempting to comfort me, but it still makes no sense. I talked to Chuck the other day and we floated the idea of how this really belongs in a another dimension, where the concept of death and grief might be able to be discussed with more clarity but in this part of the earth and consciousness we are at a loss for description or comprehension. I have been writing to you since the cancer diagnosis and still after your death. Pepsi you are here in some form or the other, I just don't know how it translates to where my body currently resides. I haven't touched you there yet but I want to. I write you letters on this blog, apply thick layers of paint to paper, talk out loud to you daily, and reach for you in empty spaces. When the world hurts me you are not there to cushion the blow. In fact your death has sharpened my edges. I measure everything against the gravity of your loss, so you can imagine how that has played out. I want less and see little point in enduring foolishness. Time is limited, people can leave in a flash and there is less reason to extend myself unless it really matters. If there is a past tense of Pepsi, then that is the extent of it, otherwise you are very much in my here and now in this dimension and any other.  So you will keep hearing from me.

Love and miss you baby girl,

Mom

Monologue of Grief Series