September 2, 2007 Tomorrow will mark the one month mark. People keep telling me "it will suck for a long time." True enough. I think I'm doing pretty well, though, considering. I've been working my way through the business, mostly successfully. I've been spending time with friends and family and activities I love. A highlight was the free Oregon Symphony concert at Waterfront Park, with Eileen, Annie and Paula, topped off by live canon blasts and fireworks. The evening was perfect, weather-wise, and we had a great girls' night out. Yesterday, I roamed through Art in the Pearl and visited with several of my sculptor friends. They invited me to take a couple of small pieces over there and enter the show late. (It helps to have friends in high places.)

This picture of John was taken on the Missouri River, presumably by Stan Grace. John and I had planned to take "the Big Trip" in October, making a long loop from here through Boise and Stanley, Idaho, then on to Montana, with time to float and fish the Missouri (hopefully with Stan) and then head back home via West Yellowstone and Jackson Hole. He was so looking forward to that trip and I was, too. I found the spread sheet where he recorded the days and miles he planned to cover between destinations, as well as time spent visiting many friends along the way. It would have taken almost the whole month. Really the only thing I still regret is that I couldn't talk him into making that trip last year, as soon as we found out about the cancer. Instead, we opted for tests and treatments which soaked up all the time we could have spent making his dream trip come true. I wonder if postponing the treatment would have really made any difference in the outcome in the long run.

September 3, 2007 It's been one month since John passed away There's nothing that doesn't remind me of him and so much I want to share with him. Sometimes, I just feel like a little kid: I want what I want when I want it and what I want is to have John come back home. Sometimes I feel terribly ripped off that I had such a short time with him; September 17th would have been the 4th anniversary of the date we met.

Still, committing to each other as we did and erecting no walls between us, we probably packed more love and fun into the short time we had than many people do in a lifetime. I agree with the line Jeffrey Tambor's character (Quincy) said in Meet Joe Black. To paraphrase: "When you love each other, you know the worst thing about each other and it's OK. You are free to just love, no holds barred!" If one thing was made clear to me in the last week of John's life it is that, when everything else boils away, the only thing left is love. All the accessories to life, possessions, activities, words, interests, even the body, all begin to dissolve away and life distills down to the only thing that matters: love for the people with whom you have shared history and deep connection. To the extent that you don't allow yourself to share that kind of depth, I guess what's left is a meager draught, rather than a deep wave of love, like the one John floated out on.

September 4, 2007 John used to always say (as many of us do) that he wanted to die suddenly, with no drawn out period in which the body was "dying." Like many people, he didn't want to "be a burden on anyone," nor did he want to be in pain or feel like he was suffocating. I admit, I've thought about the same things in terms of my own future demise, but being with John during his last days and hours, combined with the loss of two very close friends  in past years, makes me think  that, rather than being a burden of any kind, the person dying is actually in a position to control a lot of what is happening to them and, with the right attitude (as all three had), they can give invaluable gifts to the living they are leaving behind.

I wasn't actually present at the moment of death for my two women friends, but had very important final conversations with both of them because we both acknowledged that they were dying. I was with one of them just before she died and she chose the 15 minute period when I had to run out to leave lesson plans at school in which to pass away, with only Forrest, her partner, beside her. I sensed at the time that she had chosen to be alone with him and I felt glad she had been able to do so.

My other friend also chose the time of her passing. In early December, she said to her daughter that it was time for her to decide on the day she would leave and that she thought Winter Solstice would be a good day to go. She did, in fact, pass away on Winter Solstice Day (with a rose blooming outside her window . . . no small feat in Eugene, Oregon!).

The day John died dawned as a misty morning, the first day with a little taste of fall in it, and then transformed into a beautiful sunny summer's day. But the summer flowers had just passed their peak and were beginning to fade. I don't think it was a coincidence that my nature boy would have chosen that time to slip away and he clearly chose the short window of opportunity when everyone else had left the house and we could be alone.

Those last few minutes with him will always be precious to me and would have been impossible had he died in the hospital last February or had a sudden heart attack or something. Because of the miracle of modern chemistry, he didn't feel like he was suffocating and for some reason the pain stopped about three days or so before he died. Maybe that had something to do with his being partially out of the body already; I don't know. But it makes me feel grateful that he had time to say good-bye to everyone and to complete his time here so that those he loved can take that love with us as we go on into the rest of our lives.

September 6, 2007 I love this picture of John and Eddy at our beach house. Eddy has that look he gets right after he says something hilarious and succeeds in cracking John and the rest of us  up. I drove out there today. It was a quick trip out to meet with the appraiser and then back, with no stay-over, due to the health needs of our geriatric kitty, but a beautiful day, nonetheless. The new deck looks great and whoever stayed there last left everything ship shape. This trip was the tiniest bit easier than the very emotional last trip before Buoy-10 because I was prepared. Kind of.

Dry-eyed, I said "hi" to the cabin and John's mom, Polly, whose ashes are there awaiting John to join her. "Hi" to the beach and the waves. "Hi" to the Air Museum and the fishing hole by Walt Pollock's place. All was as it should be. But then I picked up our guest book and looked to see what had been written recently. Of course, I couldn't resist flipping back to times gone by: the first time John and I went there, our first Thanksgiving, Michael and Mo's wedding, the weekend we spent with Eddy, Julie and Jill after our wedding, making homemade Kahlua, clam chowder, razor clams, barbequed buffalo . . . all of the great times we had there . . . There were many and yet it seems like far too few! I guess this has been building for a couple of days, with little speed bumps along the way, like having to check the "widow" box on some form the other day, but the well of tears overflowed as I read John's funny entries (Note to self: Buffalo chuck roast is not meant for barbequing.) and cartoons. It was an all-out one-woman cry-fest for awhile. And then I drove home.

September 11, 2007 On this sad day, remembering those whose lives were lost and their families' lives changed forever six years ago, I feel again grateful that John and I had the chance to say good-bye and to be together in his final moments. I can't even begin to imagine how the families of the 9/11 victims have managed to go on with their lives after losing their loved ones like that. Since that day six years ago, I have carried a card in my wallet with the name of a fireman who perished in his attempt to save others in the Twin Towers, John Napolitano. Today, I dedicate part of my own grieving to this other John.

September 12, 2007 On NPR the other day, there was a little discussion about the philosophy of Epicurus, who lived between 341-270 BC. He has been reviled by those who mistakenly believe him to condone a hedonistic lifestyle. In reality, he counseled restraint, but did believe that people are essentially meant to be happy and should pursue the pleasures to which they are naturally drawn . . . like, say, fishing, enjoying fine meals, and especially (essentially, according to Epicurus) spending quality time with good friends. It made me think of John, the ultimate epicurian!

September 13, 2007 Did I mention that John always liked to be prepared for famine? I guess we got a little carried away when we planted the vegetable garden this year. With all the recent warm weather, it’s really taken off! This is what I harvested just this morning. Friends, be prepared! I could show up on your doorstep or you could come “shop in my garden!” John would be so proud!

September 19, 2007 I found this poem today. It's one I've always loved and which takes on an even more poignant meaning now. September 17th was the fourth anniversary of the day John and I met. We saw our first Sandhill Cranes when we visited Alaska together. The big picture at the top of this page is  John at Tustenema Lake, on that same trip in 2005.

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