Apr
8
It seems like EONS of time have passed since I last wrote here and it’s impossible to dip into any sort of context or commentary so let’s just chat about how we’re doing, okay? How are you? God, I hope you’re okay. Things are rough. Things are terrible! Things are beautiful! A dear friend of mine wrote to me about how she felt weird going to Disneyland in the midst of some turmoil, but: it’s all just happening at the same time! and that feels like my mantra for All of This: it’s all happening at the same time.
I’m feeling my way into a new stage of life with one child out of the nest, and all the new revelations that has brought. I went to the coast with Riley and his girlfriend, we all stayed in an oceanfront hotel with separate rooms and I treated them to meals and we walked on the beach, the two of them and me by myself at different times, which felt right, and we all went shopping and thrifting and laughed at the loud smelly seals together and really had a grand time. It was so nice to get to know her better and to see the side of him that is a doting boyfriend, who could have ever imagined such a thing, I would/could never have done this with my own mom and wow, what a gift to experience something so different and cool and fun. I feel so grateful for that little getaway.
I had to say goodbye to my sweet Callie cat and it was so painful and such a loss and yet it was so peaceful and loving and such a good ending for her. I’m grateful for all the years we had, even as I miss her presence. I miss her so much and I miss how we would love her together as a family, you know what I mean if you have family pets. The love you shower onto the pets is also shared love, maybe a way to show love among each other that’s easier when you’re a teenager or even grumpy-feeling spouses. I love you Callie is also I love us.
When I was on the beach I took a lot of photos and that felt good to see with a photographer’s eye, to specifically look for beauty in the way impermanent moments can line up, and I suppose I have been trying to do that in life, too. There has been so much heaviness inside and outside of my own personal life but so much goodness.
The day after Callie died I had my first hospice patient since 2020 — I have rejoined the volunteer group and am an active participant again, today I meet with some folks to discuss joining a summer camp for kids dealing with loss — and that was sad but also peaceful and a bit … holy? Yes. She was a tiny slip of a woman, still beautiful in her diminished state, and we spent several quiet hours together not talking, the TV going, her mini Yorkie dog occasionally wandering in and out of the room, the windows letting in the glowing spring sunshine, birds calling and singing outside and her dying, me dying too but somewhere behind her, all of it unknown, unknowable. It felt holy. I was there to relieve her caretaking daughter but it felt like a gift to me rather than the reverse, a reminder of how every speck of time has meaning. We’re here until we’re not.
Later that very same day someone at the barn brought cows in to introduce to the horses and I was able to ride Little Joe like a real goddamned cowgirl, trotting behind a herd. Just in an arena, just with young easily-moved cows, but gosh. Holy shit. Me and some other ladies, riding like that. What an absolute thrill. Something I could never have pictured myself doing.
My future feels so wide open these days, uncertain and kind of scary at times, but full of promise, too. The promise that life keeps delivering change, over and over. Nothing stays, and that is the sweet hell of it. Nothing stays and the weather keeps changing. I feel ready for it all. The rain, the sun, the biting cold wind and the warm soft breeze. I feel like I’m finally in step with the movements of life, not at all sure where it will lead but no longer dragging against the flow.
It’s all happening, at the same time.
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This made me cry. Everything is terrible. My marriage is falling apart and I don’t know if it’ll ever be okay again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. Something about this makes me feel hopeful but also sad. I miss my dog and she’s right next to me. Idk. I hope you’re okay. I hope I’ll be okay someday too.
You WILL be okay. You are strong, beautiful, loving, and you have a glorious future waiting for you when this storm passes, however it passes. We are all here supporting you, rooting for you, and wishing you the best. You are someone to us.
This is beautiful. Thank you, as always, for sharing your words.
Perfectly said, as always
Well, now I’m crying. Love to you, Linda.
I love the constant that your blog is in my life. I love knowing there are other nameless, faceless readers who feel the same. It makes me feel less alone – like we’re still in this, all of it, together.
Glad to see a new post from you. You have a wonderful way of seeing things.
To whatever extent you feel comfortable, I would love to read more about those new revelations you’re having about having child out of the nest. My oldest is in grade 12 and will be heading off in August … your writing has often described phases of my own life so perfectly and reassuringly, and this next phase feels like a mysterious doozy.
Goddamn, but you’re a terrific writer.
This is very much where I am in my life right now too. Thank you for voicing it so well.
Oh wow, this part made me cry: “I miss her so much and I miss how we would love her together as a family, you know what I mean if you have family pets. The love you shower onto the pets is also shared love, maybe a way to show love among each other that’s easier when you’re a teenager or even grumpy-feeling spouses. I love you Callie is also I love us.”
I lost my guinea pig this week, and your words are helping me through that loss. Especially because it is tied to the twins and the fact that the guinea pig connected all of us, and they feel so far away at college.
Oh my goodness this resonates with me. I’m always glad when you do an update here. Your writing is lovely.