One year. You wandered away from this earth one year ago today. It’s been a weird, sad, joyous, stressful, and affirming spin around the sun-and my life, which was entwined with yours for the few years before you left, has taken unexpected turns that have brought me a newfound perspective and a small slice of peace. Are you buying that? Yeah, me neither. I’m still flying blind here and winging my way through life. You liked my independent, high-spirited nature, so I’m living it in your honor.
I still say hello to you and dad every morning; it’s difficult to avoid as I became the keeper of your urns after your departures. Sorry I moved you from the mantle to a side table, but I’m feeling like you get it. You know me; not a big fan of decorative ceramics. Besides, you also know I’m going to throw you off the Golden Gate Bridge in the near future, and will shortly thereafter need bail money, so thanks for the inheritance. It will definitely come in handy. I wonder if Ireland will be vigilant when I toss dad off the cliffs near Dingle? I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
You never came to visit me, well not that I could see. I should probably thank you for that, because, while I love you dearly, I think seeing your ghostly shortness would have freaked me the fuck out. Sometimes I think you might be here, but the dogs and the cat never stare at nothing so I’m assuming you are off in some other galaxy or maybe another dimension entirely. If so, I hope you met some aliens like in the movie Contact and not War of the Worlds.
Although I lived like a hermit for about 8 months after you left, I’ve made up for it as if my life depends on it. I’ve lost over 40 pounds since January. I was voted onto the Board of Directors at the Old Theater, worked as the stage manager for a production in September, and have recently been cast in a production opening in November. I presented a copy of a musical dad wrote decades ago that was never produced and it will now be on the schedule for next year. People remember you both and that makes my heart happy. You have a legacy and that’s a pretty cool thing in this world. I’m going to ride y’alls coattails a bit if you don’t mind.
I traveled to the Outer Banks in the RV, just me and the doggies. We are still alive so enough said there.
I’ve met a number of amazing women here who are artistic and musical and infinitely interesting. It’s made a huge difference in how I view this very country setting in which I find myself.
I survived a recent storm that made me less mad about how much I spent on insurance.
I’ve planted things all over the yard. The downside is all that shit needs to be weed-eated and pruned and whatnot. Not likely. But it looked good at first.
I have a truck and a boat. I’m not good at maneuvering either, but I have them just in case I ever get good at it.
I’m a Certified Cannabis Coach. I know you’d get a kick out of that. You and I experimented with some of my edible concoctions with very humorous results. You were always up for pretty much any craziness I threw your way and I thank you for accepting me for whatever and whomever I happened to be at any given moment.
I still don’t live in the main house. Yeah, I know it’s ridiculous. You have the mac daddy bed with the zero-G, vibrating, lighted bed frame that looks like a spaceship at night. Someday. Someday I will venture on down from my ADU and ensconce myself in the home I still call yours. But not anytime soon.
I miss you. I love you. I’ll be okay.
Really.
Right as rain here.
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