Finding the Good

I’ve been putting off the blog in hopes of having something positive, uplifting, or anything other than self-pity related verbiage to splatter across the page.  But it ain’t happenin’.  

I take that back…let me try to list some things that have been good in some way:

I've not resorted to trying out left over medications she's left me with.

I’ve kept the house relatively clean; thanks to my family that helped restore order to it.

I've not tried selling left over meds on the street for a Colorado condo down payment...yet.

I’ve got the downstairs cleaned up from being the staging area for the tree house build.

I’ve been eating pretty well, thanks to little food angels that appear.

I’ve traded in our motorcycles on a newer one that will last for a good while.

I’ve just about wrapped up the paperwork that goes with Miki’s absence.

I’ve been sleeping relatively well.

I’ve gone through Miki’s office and prepared it to become a bedroom again.

I’ve replaced grout around some of the kitchen tiles that were replaced a while back.

I’ve attached the “Miki’s Joy Hut” sign, by my brutha from anutha mutha, Chuck, from NYC.

I’ve bought ingredients to start cooking stuff I used to cook, before I met Miki.

I’ve made some grown up decisions on my own.

I keep thinking things will get better and according to this list, they must be.

"Miki's Joy Hut" finds a home.

I am not sure if this fits in the list, but I didn’t cry yesterday.  First day, in I’m not sure how many days.  The frequency has declined a bit, but the intensity has not.  I am so use to crying now that I’m a bit worried for the time that will come that it all dwindles.  I’m guessing that would be good in some respects.  I have it from several good authorities that I will never forget her, but even that "what-if" brings tears to my eyes.  It’s just so hard to think Miki was here, not that long ago.  I was visiting with one of my sisters today, trying to remember when we had our last conversation with her when she was “present,” with the least amount of medication from interfering with her being her. 

The last words Miki and I shared, I felt she was present for, was the night before she became unconscious.  Late Saturday evening we were doing the change of position dance from recliner, back to the bed.  Her right leg was extremely weak and her overall strength had diminished as well.  I would place my hands under her armpits, like lifting a child up onto a swing.  She would place her hands around the back of my neck and count to three.   As she summoned what strength she had to stand, I lifted her up to her feet.  She would briefly wrap her arms around my neck as to give me a hug, while trying to keep herself standing long enough for me to hug her back.  While in that embrace, she turned her mouth to my ear and quietly said, “I love you.  Thank you.”  I whispered back, “I love you.  You’re welcome.”  From that moment on, the conversation became one sided, as I talked to her, read to her, and reassured her we would all be okay if she needed to begin her adventure.  I cling to that moment like no other.  The next day began her unconscious state of being.  Those words we exchanged felt very special at the time, I just didn’t realize why.

I’m sure if she were here, she’d be telling me to get on with it.  No wallowing, second guessing, or time to waste…there’s living to be done.  She used to say this is a beautiful planet to explore and now I will.  Be grateful for what we had and I am.  And she would say that her journey was perfect and it was…doesn’t mean I have to like it.  But I will explore here while she does there.  I will never forget what we had.  And she was and is perfect, journey and all, just as we all are, and our journeys as well...doesn't mean we have to like it.

My Zen from Home:  As I continue to try and get the house and my life in order, I keep running across things that slow me down.  A card in a drawer from Valentine’s Day I gave her that she kept.  A journal she’s written that I stop to read.  A drawing she did I’d never seen.  I am learning when I find moments she left behind there is no clock.  If I didn’t share them with her then, I get to share them with her now.