Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon
Thursday gratefuls: Kep. Walking a bit taller. MVP. 10:30 bedtime last night. Mark and his work truck. His commentary on the Amazon warehouse. Honor. Beauty. Compassion. Tiferet. Ron. Susan. Jamie. Marilyn. Tara. A bright Mountain Morning. A Blue Colorado Sky. Vitalists and Mechanists. Thought. Word. Deed. The thought is the parent of the act. An old Dad saying.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kale and Potato and chorizo soup
Over to Lone Tree. 45 minutes to an hour from here. Co. 470. Envision Sally Jobe. Saw Patty and her catscan machine. Took off my vest, my help me I’ve fallen and I can’t get up pendant, lay down on the metal slide that moves me under the catscan apparatus. A triangular pillow under my knees. Hands in the I’m dead position over the upper chest. 5 minutes of moving up and down through the large doughnut shaped device. All done.
Were you working at Anova 4 years ago? Yes. I remember you. I think you wore your hair down back then? Probably. She looked older. Of course. A face more lined.
Then to Anova Cancer Care where the Cyberknife is. Carmela also looked older. Grayer. Still cheerful though. Like a class reunion.
Saw Dr. Simpson to go over yet again the risks and sign my acknowledgement of them. The risks include paralysis. Bowel obstruction. And other cheerful possibilities. When you’re using a serious tool, there are serious risks.
Dr. Simpson did say that there was a slight chance they could cure me. That would happen if we kill these two active sites and the androgen deprivation therapy had tamped down the other sites permanently. Not likely, but hey!
Forgot to finish this earlier. Another workout. Then a nap. Slipped my mind.
Thirty third anniversary tomorrow. But no Kate. At least not in a way that I can order Irises for our table. Eat prime rib. Talk about the kids. About our life together. And not long after April 21st her yahrzeit as determined by the Jewish calendar. 30 Nisan. Which was on April 12th in 2021. That’s a lot for a month or so of days.
Two years, almost. She still guides me, helps me think things through, but I’d much prefer her physical presence.
Our house. Our family. Our life at CBE continues. We are both present when I walk into a room. I realized the other day that I’m still married to her. Even death does not do us apart. Maybe if someone else came into my life. Maybe. But the death of a soulmate does not remove the imprint they left on your heart and soul and life. Not at all.
Yes, memory weakens. Grief recedes. Mourning ceases. Of course. New memories, memories without her, more recent memories. But that turtle clock. The quilts on the beds. The pillows. Her Pi Beta Phi paddle. This religion she loved. Her old friends. Her grandchildren. Our grandchildren. Our car.
All those days and nights. 30 years of them. Still embedded in the neurons and synapses of this brain. Not gone. Available and precious.
Her memory. A blessing.
-33-
