Wednesday, March 2, 2011

checklist

Thank you notes are like rabbits.  They multiply uncontrollably.  As soon as I think I've made a dent in them, the list mocks me. 

Got the ten copies of John's death certificate. 



Called my roofer to make an appointment for an estimate on getting the roof redone.  First time since the original.  Almost 60 years is a great record.  And I need them to patch the gunshot puncture in the flat roof they redid a couple of years ago.  Yea, a bullet was there when I went up to take pictures of the beautifully blooming tree tops.  A 308.  My favorite caliber.  Who knows.......................................Yes, it's been fired, probably into the air and happened to land on my roof.

A person's handwriting is so important, especially after they're gone.  It is the essence of them left behind.  Like a piece of clothing still holding their smell.  It makes it seem as though they're still around.  Like they haven't left.  Their mark on the world.  Proof of their existence.  

A couple of days ago, while getting the riding mower ready for another season, I remembered last summer.  John was working, slowly, but regularly.  When I would mow, even if I had my cell with me in my pocket, I couldn't feel it vibrating because of the mower's motion, nor could I hear it because of the noise.  To be able to get John's call should he need me, I taped a ziplok bag to the steering wheel and put my cell in it to be able to see the face light up.   There was a little lurch of the heart when I realized I didn't need to do that anymore.

One night during the time John used the shower chair to bathe, I set it by the tub while I took a bubble bath.  He came in and sat on it, wiggled his fingers in the water looking for the wash cloth.  I handed it to him and he washed my back like I did his.  When he started to put the rag back in the water, I stuck my foot up for him to wash, too.  And the other one.  He got a kick out of it.  He didn't have a lot of words that night, but I knew he was "paying me back" for all the times I'd bathed him. 
It's little happenings such as this that I'm remembering lately.  Something I do or see in the house brings back memories of goofy things we did together while I've been off work, or as the seasons change now, I think of how it was a year ago.

Starting grief counseling with Hospice this Friday. 

Friends are still coming to visit. 
great friends
  


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