Ostara and the Moon of Mourning
Tuesday gratefuls: Kate weeding. Kate coming home after work. Kate and I on the stern of the Veendam, dining, watching the wake as it churned. Yet another 5 inches of snow. Seoah. Joe. The Ancient Ones.
Sparks of Joy: Getting back to life. A bit at a time.
You gotta walk that lonesome highway, you gotta walk it by yourself. Woody Guthrie. Yes. The ancientrail called life. Including the moment of death.
Gotta start sorting out financial matters. Kate paid the bills, did the taxes, so there’s a learning curve for me. She insisted on mailing everything, writing checks. The way she’d always done it. I’m gonna shift as much as I can to online payment. Pay the credit card bill once a month. In my mind simpler. She liked having the entries in the checkbook.
Will lose a substantial part of our our social security when hers winks out. This month, I understand. I’ll get her amount, which was considerably bigger than mine, but mine goes away.
Shouldn’t be a problem for me. We met weekly to review our financial situation, talk about our lives together. Not a hugely complicated budget at this stage of our lives and especially not after Covid and Kate’s worsening condition made us virtual homebodies.
I’ll miss those meetings. We spoke often then of my life after Kate’s death, acknowledging that I might predecease her, but probably not. We both wanted me to stay here on Shadow Mountain. And, right now, that’s what I intend to do.
We also talked about her feelings, her coming to grips with imminent death. They might have been difficult, but Kate and I valued honesty and transparency, always. Meant these where not talks in hushed tones, with euphemisms and avoided topics.
Better rested, still tired, sad. But moving forward, one hour, one step, one day. Then the next. Will end up somewhere new, my ancientrail not finished, requiring new definition.
Talk to you on the next day, the next mourning morning.