Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Change is in the Air

Dear Dazzy,

Tonight I am waiting to hear about your Mum as she is in hospital. She has all that awful heart/artery stuff which sadly got passed along to you ( and your poor brother). I'm sure she will be OK, she's had a zillion of these type things before, but still. It's hard to be far away. I bet you are right there with her though, aren't you babe? You always were a great kid. :P

I really have the blues this week. Not debilitating but just sadness all the way through to the marrow in my half-century old bones. Christmas is staring me in the face everywhere I turn. Turkey recipes are popping up on the 'net just like those damn lil timers they now put in the birds so you can tell when they're really done. Damn. How is this going to work without you here?

I refuse to even think about New Years Eve.

I do think about the most insignificant yet detailed things throughout my day, however. What a weird thing mourning is. Today I thought about one of the first pictures you ever sent me in an email. Remember dial up honey? GOD it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to download a piccie.

Dinosaur days in the CPU world, :P

Anyway, the one that I am thinking of is the one where you hand is in your jeans pocket, you all casual at some bar, and I can see how sculptured you hands look. I took one look and knew you were a gifted artist-and I told you that.

You thought I was crazy.

I said, "No, really, I can tell a lot about you by your hands-the symmetry, the delicate strength, the long fingers...everything. Strength, compassion, artistry-I saw it all in that photo with your hand half in your pocket. I wasn't wrong now, was I?

I thought about that photo today. I also thought about you a zillion other times, about us, our life together, the kids, our plans, and how all of that is now changing, morphing into something I am totally unprepared for. I am such a leader type, like you honey, and such a control freak that all of this is like what my Dad used to call "flying through the fog."

You can't see, you have to rely on instruments and, according to Jackson, "guts." I knew he really mean one's gut, but we know my Dad, huh babe? Cellulose phones and all that jazz :P

Eventually, the fog lifts. The sun's rays evaporate the moisture out of it and one can see clearly again. Right now I am in a fog so thick it's like New England clam chowder with a side of pea soup. A scary movie type of fog-all spooky and wispy and going on forever in all directions.

This is the kind of fog that closes airports and makes tugboat horns work overtime.

The kind where it drowns out sound itself it's so thick.

I can't see where my road leads.

I an driving a car without fog lights, and I have never felt so alone.

Love you, Dazzy. Always.

Kisses, Wifey

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