Six Months Later

Ed died six months ago yesterday, so I thought I might provide some kind of update...not on him, obviously, but on me.  When I am out and about in Point Roberts, I frequently run into people I haven't seen for awhile, and they are likely to ask me, "How are you doing?"  My practiced response now is, "Oh, terrible, but I'm OK."  And that may capture it pretty accurately.  Day to day, I'm doing what needs to be done.  Way more house and yard maintenance that I am used to, but friends have helped and I'm learning to cope with hiring people to do things.  (Particularly difficult here where there aren't many businesses that you can just call to do things.)

But I am definitely and seriously alone.  A good friend got me a book written by a Buddhist teacher whose wife of many years had died. He says, "Her presence is with me always, and the shape it takes is here eternal absence."  Well, yes, that about covers it.  Ed's presence here in the house is everywhere: he designed it and built it, sometimes with help, with his own hands.  His phalanxes of computers and monitors are lined up in his rooms since I have no idea at all of what I am to do with them.  I was having trouble with a relatively new wireless printer working and I called the Apple help line and when they asked about the router, I explained that there were three different routers for the wifijuh (ed's design to get everything managed to all three of our structures), he said, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you."  (I eventually solved the problem by giving up on the wireless connection and just used a USB cord connection).

I'm through the bulk of the legal/financial stuff including changing titles, organizing the probate, executing the will, but have ahead of me yet the tax filings that will be needed.  I've procured a smart phone, so I'm not driving off the Point alone without any means of communication.  I've worked out something viable for how you eat alone pretty much always.  I have dealt with clothes (made two quilts using his cotton and linen shirts).  We had long ago dealt with books and CDs.

Now we are facing the cold, gray days of fall (that "we" is all of us up here), which are harder under any circumstances.  The number of books I haven't read, the number of quilts I haven't made are legion.  Our five children have made their way up there, some who could manage it, more than once.  I've been offered homes away from here, either permanent or part-time.  We will see.  The received wisdom is not to do anything dramatic for a year, and I certainly have no desire to do anything dramatic of any sort, including travel  (my mind is already about as broad as I can manage).  I am struck in re-watching old movies how few of them impress me as much as they did when I first saw them: context is everything?

So, we contemplate our context.  And we/I think affectionately of all of you who accompanied us both, from near or afar, on this journey.  What I do know is that this too shall change.