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

Curbing the urge to bolt: How grief can send you packing

Dear Pepsi,

We are approaching the new year, which means I am nearly though my first holiday season without you in ten years. Not that I am a big fan of the holidays anyway, it was always enough for us to be together while the mad frenzy passed us by. Nor do I need a holiday to miss you, that is a daily occurrence.  Shakila had a hardcover book made of all your pictures and I look through it several times a day. I watch videos of you. When I speak of you, I tear up. I still see you everywhere. I stay home mostly and when I venture out, I tire easily of people. I come home and give myself a hard look in the mirror and imagine what it would take to grab your sisters and bolt because it feels too damn hard to be here without you. I find no good reason to suffer fools. Or pretend. Either I have a tendency to be too candid or withdraw. Hard to find middle ground when grief is tilting my vision. You are running through my veins.

Pepsi, Pearl and mom in the early days of our trio

Pearl is my big concern at the moment. She misses you so much and seems lost without you. She came into our life with you to look up to, teach her, be her constant companion and playmate. Pandy is here but it will never be the same. Pandy came to us abused and terrified. She never had toys or the luxury of play, therefore she is not able to step in for you or distract her. Pearl often starts barking for no apparent reason and cannot be calmed. I can tell she wants to play with you and is asking where you are and when you will be back. I worry her heartsickness will manifest in a physical illness and I will loose her too. Remember Peps, she chose you. She is not used to being at the top of the heap, rather, she has always been more content to defer to you. I am going to California next week and am thinking of taking her with me because I worry she will think I am gone as well. There are so many vacant spaces. We were all used to orbiting around you and now our center is gone. 

Girls at play

Pepsi, while I knew I would most likely survive you, I was unprepared for the depth of sadness and loss. The cancer seemed to come out of no where and strike with precision and speed. I focused on caring for you six weeks straight, chasing away thoughts of your death. When I looked at you those last two days, and the weariness in your eyes, I knew what was expected of me despite not wanting to let you go. I relieved your suffering; however, the absence of you has rendered me dazed and confused. I have to ask myself if the grief feels so endless because of the death of my mom and Frank, or is it purely you Peps? Whatever it is, I have an urge to bolt, leave everything behind and take your sisters on the road. I want to blend into a maze of vehicles rolling along for an infinite number of reasons. I want to be quiet and gaze at the scenery, majestic or not, thinking thoughts and letting time and space heal me. If I look hard enough with no intention or purpose, perhaps the folds will smooth around me. I want to listen to the stories of others, try to understand lives outside of me, become a passing figure with two dogs heading in and out of town. Why does this fantasy persist? What is it about grief and loss that creates the urge to bolt? Shed the shit and move on? No reminders is too easy an explanation for I see and feel you everywhere. Is it a feeling of enough is enough? Why bother? Mind you, I know how fortunate I am, and every day I whisper the words on the fortune I tucked in the corner of my bathroom mirror frame - Treasure what you have. And I am sincerely grateful. But here's the deal Peps, I just want you back. 

I am still trying to figure what this the urge to bolt is and resist it. I fear I might succumb against my better judgement one of these days if the scale of bullshit tips in a certain direction. I told myself I would take it one day at a time when you got sick and I will try to keep to it for now while I process this blistering grief and loss. Life without you takes some getting used to. When Maddie died I tried to lessen the grief by getting Pearl four days later. While I am glad I brought Pearl into our lives, I am older and wise enough to know there is no easy fix, neither by replacing or bolting. I used to say Move you feet and your heart will follow. I can only hope.

Love you and miss you darling Pepsi,

Mom

Monologue of Grief

Monologue of Grief #1

Dear Pepsi,

Your death has propelled, reduced and amplified me all at the same time. When we received your cancer diagnosis I knew my only salvation was to write through the unfolding of loosing you. Writing and painting are my way of understanding and clarifying the world. For years you laid at my feet while I wrote, or curled up on a chair my studio as I painted. I took intermient breaks to hug and kiss you, stroking your fur with oil bar and pastel covered fingers. I was never really talking to myself as long as you were with me. These days I still turn my head slightly to the left expecting you to be in your chair. Your absent presence haunts me. I miss you achingly. I barely hold tears back, even in public. Yesterday the cashier at Trader Joe's asked how I was and I replied truthfully - not very good and told her about you. As I prepared to pay I pointed to a bouquet of flowers in my cart and said those aren't mine. She looked at me and said yes they are and I hope it helps you to feel better. It did help momentarily; however, I continue to be that person with swollen red eyes who cries at the drop a hat, anywhere and anytime. 

 Bouquet of flowers from the Trader Joe's cashier

I have pretty much retreated to the house, writing and painting, walking Pearl and Pandy, with my outings limited to grocery shopping or an occasional trip to the beach.  Most days are full of solitude other than phone chats with Dad, Papa, Rena, and a few friends. Today is winter solstice, the shortest day of the year when darkness descends in the afternoon. It was actually quite mild, nearly 40 degrees, sunny and no wind. I walked Pearl and Pandy through the neighborhood to the your favorite little park. As they ran around the perimeter of the park off leash I saw flashes of you and it gripped my heart. When will this get easier? Your Papa said the grief will pass but I'm not sure this kind of longing will ever cease. He said my letters to you make him feel as if I am in the world but not of it, and through my grief I have elevated my writing to another level, connecting pieces of humanity to something beyond your death and physical absence. Because your spirit is still here, dragging me along whether I want to keep moving or not. I dive into writing because of my profound sadness. I start off with some sense of what I what I want to express, but truth be told it is in the process of writing that I discover and clarify. I started an abstract painting last night and left it after 20 minutes, certain I would abandon it. This morning I walked into the studio still in my nightgown and stared at it for a few minutes. I thought about ripping it up. How the hell do I paint grief? I printed out pictures of you last night thinking I would use them to create paintings. Something drew me to the abstract I almost discarded. Were you pushing me back in? Insisting there was something for me work with, to learn about myself? You are stubborn and always get your way. I picked up the oil bars and went to work. 

Pearl and Pepsi hanging out while Mom writes

The creative process is magical. It is emotive and unexplainable but let me try to articulate what you watched me do for the past 10 years. My fingers feel electric and float over the colors until they find the right one. I am required to surrender to a force inside me, and though terrifying and unknown, I have to trust it will lead me where I need to go. Writing is no different really, all the magic is in the process. I moved through the colors, staying in the abstract to express the grief and sadness I feel so submerged in. I am also thinking. Grief is chaotic, bursting, gnawing, bold, and fine-tuned. I thought about how one dimensional I am, consumed by loss and pain. And anger. You are everywhere in me and outside of me. I am a monologue of grief from one end to the other. I feel you, hear you saying Stay in the work, it's where you belong, don't give up before you are done - I didn't. Oh Pepsi, it's when I am writing and painting that I feel closest to you. In the world but not of the world. Papa is not the only person to tell me this - Rena has and many others over the years. I straddle two worlds, one part of me firmly planted in the practical while the other is immersed in the imaginative, exploring a vast and curious universe. It wasn't possible to forsake one for the other, not for me anyway. I had kids and responsibilities beyond my artistic yearnings. You weren't really around for the worst part of my divided life but take my word for it, you didn't miss much. You came along when I was realizing dreams and building new possibilities. We started new chapters together. You had the best of me. Or perhaps you helped me be my best.

Flying across country 

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine holding and kissing you. I watch videos of you everyday - at the beach, playing with Pearl, being two toy Peps with the rope toy and the blue rubber ball, barking for me to chase you. I am in a monologue of grief, therefore I will continue to paint and write my way through it. There is a cascade of loss between you, my mom, and Frank. Once you were diagnosed with cancer I knew you were going to die so I thought I was more prepared for what you being gone would feel like. Clearly I was wrong. Through the writing and painting I reach across a great divide of the physical and spiritual to connect with you. I came to accept the loneliness of being an artist long ago, the hours logged in solitude wresting with words, colors and form. The trade off for rapture is worth it. However, being lonely for you is another thing baby girl. There is no cushion for this grief, just a determination to move one foot in front of the other and hope your Papa is right, that at some point the grief will subside enough that I am not constantly tied in knots or on the verge of tears. Right now that is hard to imagine. But that is what art is for, right Peps? Move us into and beyond ourselves so our personal expands to mean more and touch others. 

Our hearts up there, floating

Love you Peps, now and always.

Mom

The Upside of Anger

Pepsi reaching for Mom

Dear Pepsi,

Losing you so suddenly has me expectedly crying, feeling sad and withdrawing for the most part; however, I am also angry and easily agitated. I have a very low threshold for bullshit. While I try to conserve my strength and carefully pick my battles, there are moments when I cannot hold back. Granted, the election of Donald Trump and a new world order is serious cause for concern, anger and speaking up. But what I am feeling is more intricate, complex, and personal. All my edges are rough and raw. You are most likely amused because I have not exactly been a shrinking violet. You have seen your Mom going off about politics or if I thought someone was tampering with the wellbeing of those I love, including you. This is different though, I feel like everyday without you is a punch to my gut. And I am furious about it.

Pearly chasing Pepsi

The truth is I am not faring well without you. Neither is Dad, and defiantly not Pearly. I worry about her the most. She doesn't want to play with Pandy. She seems to be mopping around a lot, has more grey in her face, and her gait less spry. I was supposed to go to Cuba this week but backed out. I didn't feel up to it; however, more importantly I didn't want to leave Pearl. What if she thought I was gone for good as well? You read about married people who when one partner dies, the other is not far behind. I stare Pearly down, like I once did with you and plead with her, Don't leave me Pearly, please stay with me. You were her other half, Pepsi, and now she is lost without you. Sometimes I ache for you so much I feel guilty that Pearl and Pandy cannot sooth me. And other times, when I am playing with them, laughing and hugging them, I still feel hollow. Either way I am shortchanging them.

How can we not long for this face?

In what might feel unrelated I received a phone call from my Rhode Island childhood friend Debbie today. We lived across the street from each other on Dedham Road and were best friends. Her older brother Paul was my brother's best friend. We had the usual spats and drama, threatening to never speak again and then back to being bussom buddies, the stuff of childhood friendships. We played outside all day and sat on the curb taking late into the night while our parents were fast asleep. We moved to Vermont when I was 13, and while that ended Debbie's and my relationship, Paul remained in our lives, moving in with us for periods of time after he graduated high school. He briefly attended college, and when he dropped out it was clear he was troubled. There was drug use; however, mental illness was the true culprit, which often has an onset at that age. My parents did their best to help but it was beyond their scope. Paul went back to Rhode Island and his mother's care. We heard little from him after that.

Some things just are

Fast forward to a few years ago when I joined a Facebook page for people from Warwick RI. Magically I reconnected with Debbie. We had a long phone chat and she told me Paul had a difficult life, never married; however, though her mom had passed she remained close to him, therefore he was far from alone. Debbie and I stayed in contact via Facebook and she was very sad and sympathetic while you were sick and when you passed. We scheduled a phone chat for yesterday; however, I never heard from her. She called this morning and asked how was doing, to which I replied Shitty. She was in tears, which I initially thought was because of you Peps; however, it was about Paul - his lungs are failing. As she told me about his physical decline her voice was a mixture of sadness and anger. Why are you angry I asked, What is this about? Barely below the surface was the anger and pain towards an absent father, now 90 who she had not spoken with in two years. She didn't want to call him yet felt pressure from others to do so. And certainly Paul had no desire to include him. She was also angry that she felt he had been cheated by his illness from having a wonderful life like she had been blessed with. I felt her anger and sadness, a potent combination I am only too familiar with. Listen, I told her, Paul has not been alone, he has always had you and your children. He has family. You have been a loving sister, you have done him a real solid all these years. You don't need to call your father. All he needs is to see you and you both will figure out what comes next. Tears streamed down my face. Were they for you Pepsi? For the wounds inflicted by my family that also resided barely below the surface? Or because my childhood friend, who I had not seen in over 50 years, felt as close to me as if we had seen each other regularly throughout the years? All of it and more.

That all knowing look

The truth is your loss has made me less inclined to hold my tongue, and at the same time caused me to recede from unnecessary engagement. Life is full of paradox. I told Debbie I have deep gratitude for my life. Despite the rejection and cruelty I endured from my family, I have had an amazing life filled with love, great kids, interesting people, travel, and the satisfaction of finding purpose in my work after years of searching for a good fit. I take none of it lightly; however, I am still at a loss without you Pepsi girl. I cry everyday and imagine you in my presence - on the pillow next to me, on the couch while I watch TV, and laying wherever the sun pours through the windows. I am furious that you are not here to soften me. I am not a person of blind faith, or who puts her fate in the hands of others. I fight hard and with tenacity. I couldn't beat cancer for you, it came swiftly and showed no mercy. It ripped us apart, devastated Dad and I, Rena and Jonathan, all who loved you, and now Pearl's spirit seems to diminish with each day you do not prance through the door. I wonder if loosing you, and such profound losses are meant to stir us up? Perhaps this is the upside of anger? Emboldening us to act, speak up, and not be timid when the stakes are high for those we love or humanity in general. Watching you take cancer like a champ until you couldn't take it anymore taught me to buck up, press pause on the non essential, and not hold back for fear of what people may think. We are all such complex and confounding creatures Pepsi, and you always seemed to get that in a mysterious and irresistible way just by the look on your face. I felt it today talking to Debbie, and in a strange way it was you all around me, carving space for compassion and reminding me that love is deep, gripping and perplexing, and in the end our best chance at salvation.

Oh darling girl, how I miss you, now and forever.

Love,

Mom

What Do Dogs Know?

Pepsi's Paw Print

Dear Pepsi,

Life in the aftermath is so empty and awkward. We ache from top to bottom. We are lost without you as our center. Pearl seems ill at ease with all the attention she is getting, she is more comfortable fading in the background with you at forefront. She always deferred to you, happily taking second place. Pandy is her usual confused and terrified self, in response and reaction mode to everything around her. I feel irritated and profoundly sad. I still cannot sleep, waking up in the middle of the night with hours of you on my brain. Sometimes I succumb to uncontrollable sobbing, or I watch Netflix for several hours until I catch a few hours sleep. I am often dazed and confused, forgetting appointments and disengaged when I am in attendance. I ask myself if I will ever feel joy again, which to some may seem silly; however, for me it is a legitimate question. Life feels flat and it's hard to give a damn and stay in the world of the living. I just miss you so much baby girl. 

 Mom and Pepsi selfie

Pearl and Pandy missing Pepsi

Yesterday we picked up your ashes and paw print. Dad, Jonathan and I took Pearl and Pandy with us to Higgins Beach to scatter some ashes at your beloved beach. It was a brisk day with the sun peeking through the clouds, though luckily it was not very windy.  Pearl and Pandy took off to chase birds. I brought the tennis ball you played with last week and tossed it along the shore for them to fetch. Pearl frequently paused, looking around, either for birds to chase or you. I think she is looking for you. What do dogs know? We impose what we hope and want you to know and think, but really, what do dogs know? You always knew when I was traveling when you saw my suitcase and made your displeasure known. There were all sorts of indication you and your sisters had more than a good idea of what was going on, and how you felt. Did you know how much I loved you? How hard I tried to keep you here? Did you know how helpless I felt? You stared back at me from eyes that felt like deep pools, and I wondered if you knew that there was nothing I wouldn't do for you, even let you go if that was what you needed of me. 

  Your beloved Higgins Beach

The three of us huddled at the water's edge. Jonathan slipped his arm around me as I read the Rainbow Bridge poem choking back tears. We each took a small amount of your ashes. I wore my Muck boots and waded into the waves, releasing your ashes into the sea as I called your name, hoping you could hear me tell you how much I love and miss you. Pepsi girl I want you back - at Higgins, in the dead of night in my bed, and when I walk through the front door. We are all bumping into each other and against each other. The edges are jagged and painful. Your outline is everywhere. Pearl seems depressed. Or perhaps she is responding to our somber mood. What do dogs know? How does she process life without you? Does she think you will return or does she know you are not coming back? Does she see the box of ashes on the fireplace mantle with your name on it? Or is her sense of your absence on a whole other level? I know this; however, we want you back. Something fierce. 

Jonathan carrying the box of Pepsi's ashes 

Dad missing his Pepsi girl

Your sisters romping on your beloved Higgins Beach 

What would you say to me if you could send me a message? Stop crying and blubbering in public? Buck up Mom, you did your best and my sisters need you? Spread the love you have from to others in need? Or perhaps you might tell me you miss me too, unbearably so, but even that much love was no match for fast-moving cancer. You should know that everyday I try to treasure what I have and feel appreciative for the ten plus years we had together. I can't help that life without you seems less vivid,  humorous, warm, and worthwhile. I know it makes me seem ungrateful but you are one of a kind baby girl with your cheeky diva like ways. What other dog sits on a desk in front of computer and keyboard to let me know it is time to stop working and focus on you? What else could I do but pack you and your sisters in the car and go to Walnut  Creek Park? You were irresistible - even when you annoyed me, and I predictably gave in to your demands. So tell me girl, what do you want me to do now? Help me figure out how to go on without you, to see past you not being here and feel joy again. 

Pepsi on my desk

I want you back. I know cannot have that. So I will keep writing to you in whatever dimension you exist. If you are meandering happily as the Rainbow Bridge poem suggests, then perhaps I can take heart in knowing you are happy, at peace and one day we will be reunited. Pepsi, that is something to look forward to dear girl. In the meantime, I will do my best to honor you by living life and giving to others. It is the least I can do after all you have given me.

Loving you as always,

Mom

Where Are You?

Dear Pepsi,

Where are you?

It snowed today. I thought about how you were not a fan of snow unless you were in the woods running free. When we went to the trail off Evergreen Cemetery you would leap through the snow as if it was the surf at Higgins Beach. You would bury your face in a drift and emerge with snow powder decorating your face. One time we walked on a trail where the ice was covered by newly fallen snow and I fell hard on my hand. You stopped and waited for me, and I grabbed on to you so I could get on my feet. As the snow began to fall this morning I chuckled and mumbled, Pepsi made sure she got out before the first snow. Pandy; however, loves the snow and bolted out the back door this morning to the tree in the corner of the yard. Pearl likes it well enough but she is off kilter since you left. We all are. I feel your presence in the house and have to remind myself you are not physically here. I look for you and then realize you are not on the chair upstairs, or in the bathroom, or propped up on pillows on my bed. I can't shake the feeling this is a bad dream, that life without you is not an option. So I wonder, where are you?

Pandy ready for the snow

As I was leaving the house today a florist delivery truck pulled up. Immediately I knew the flowers were sent by someone hoping to comfort me and ease my pain. Craig sent a lovely arrangement that smelled like spring. People can be so kind. This evening I got a text from Sara next door asking if I was home - the girls wanted to bring me something. Kathryn and Rachel walked up the front stairs and handed me a plate of chocolate chip brownies and an envelope containing a card from the family and note Kathryn wrote on grade school writing paper. Our love was no secret and neither is the sadness left behind by your loss.

Kathryn's note

Dad is coming tonight. His flight was delayed by five and a half hours. If you were on the other end of that cross country flight the delay would have made him crazy. Sure, he was irritated but knowing you were waiting for him would have made it unbearable. Jonathan is expected tomorrow. We have so much adjusting to do without you. The past few nights I woke at 3AM, reaching for you. I find it difficult to fall back to sleep and end up watching a show on Netflix until my eyes get heavy. I wake up a few hours later exhausted. I feel suspended in motion, neither here nor there, and not really fully committed to anything. Except writing to you.

Dad won't have you to greet him this time

Since my mom died I have been trying to wrap my head and heart around death. And grief. Then Frank died in August. I have a card on my desk I intended to write to Georgette but three months later it is still there. It is neglectful of me, and I feel badly that the loss of someone so dear was pushed to the background; however, once you were diagnosed, I let everything I possibly could go by the wayside. All I wanted was you. All I could feel was you. Everything I did was in response to your anticipated departure. I was not sure if knowing you would go and still having you was better than a sudden and unexpected loss. Last Friday there was a fire at a warehouse in Oakland California. Artists and musicians lived there. It was also a fire trap. During a music event a fire broke out, which spread rapidly, engulfing the space in flames with little opportunity for people to escape. At least 35 people are dead, including Rena's friend Jonathan Bernbaum, her arch enemy from age 13 to 17, and then good friend. Theirs was a story of transformation and growing up and second chances. He was an internationally known VJ (something to do with electronic music performance). He also ran across our Jonathan at the airport in San Francisco when departing and arriving as he traveled the world to do his music. I thought about his mom, Diane, and the sudden shock of loosing her child. Not on one of his many plane rides or in a foreign land, rather a few miles from his childhood home. Not because of a terminal illness with a determined outcome. Is it better or worse for death to be drawn out or sudden? Either way feels like a slap in the face, one slap after the other. Mom. Frank. You. Jonathan B. Still I reach out for you at 3AM and I wonder, where are you?

Frank and I at China Camp

I am going to Cuba this month. It's a place I have always wanted to go, my 60th birthday present to myself. You were sick when I booked it, therefore it was to be a short trip, only 4 days. Even as I bought the tickets I was not sure I would actually go, it depended on your health. I hoped you would still be here, and then I would happily pass. Now that you are gone, Rena and I will make the trip. It will be warm and I will swim in the sea. We will ride in classic American cars and walk narrow streets in Old Havana and sit at cafes. I will press my hands against the old textured buildings and close my eyes to to absorb the colors. We will undoubtedly speak of you, shed tears and laugh as we recount funny Pepsi stories, of which there are many to choose from. My grief will accompany me. I might wake up at 3AM, unsure of exactly where I am. Perhaps I will reach for you, feel the hollow pit in my stomach and not be able to go back to sleep. I may look up the ceiling as images of you run like a ticker tape across my brain. I might think about my mom, Frank, or even Diane Bernbaum and if she too is awake with thoughts of her son. There is a vacancy sculpted by grief that registers a sequence of spaces with no utility or purpose. They are placeholders. I feel them in the dead of night. When I stare blankly into the afternoon silence. And I wonder, where are you?

Missing you darling Pepsi girl and so much love,

Mom