I received a voicemail a few days ago which in addition to the multitude of other saved messages I have from you people I treasure deeply.  This one I transcribed; these words I needed to hear and to remember.  Thank you Anne Gillespie for saying:
“Stay in the manure as long as you fricken need to.  Anyone who thinks that grief looks pretty and can be tied up in a little box and is linear hasn’t been through it.  Grief is messy and unpredictable and non-linear.  It’s really good one day and like hell the next day.  There is nothing you need to do.”
As long as I fricken need to...  What I want to tell you today is that I just want to go home.  I really really do.  I just want to go to my home.  That home.  The one that is lost forever and now is being scraped away.  That’s what I want.  I want this experiment to be over and things to go back to “normal”.  I want my bed, my sheets, my creaky staircase, and my infestation of stinkbugs in the bedroom.  I want my leopard chairs, my silver spoons that are the perfect size for a serving of agave in my coffee.  I want my beautiful stove, my claw foot tub.  I want my windows.  I want my meditation loft and my purple office.  I want to sit in there and contemplate the world and my life and think about how lucky I am to live in such a place.  That’s what I want. 
09 May, 2012 /
I love my husband.  He was up before the sun, making coffee and writing his blog (www.northforkashes.com) – and these are not the only reasons I love him.  I love him because he is a very good man.  He is someone I am proud to go through this life with.  Besides our melee on Sunday, we really haven’t fought during this stressful time.  We have pulled together and are walking through this side by side. 
We have more space for each other than usual.  In the regular course of events, we get along well but often have little spats that sound like, “you stepped on my toe”, “no, you stepped on mine!” “Well, you did it first…” Or some equally ridiculous argument that most couples engage in.  We haven’t been doing that recently. 
I look into his tired eyes and see my own.  I read his thoughtful words and allow them to alter me.  I watch him cry as he thinks about how lucky I was to get out alive and the tragedy of the loss of our neighbors.  He pats my head when I am too tired to think and the world seems very very dark.  We crack up at each others jokes no matter how bad they are.  And we experience pure joy as we watch our dogs ongoing antics – the ultimate proof of goodness in life. 
03 May, 2012 /