February Eve

Orion. I love Orion. In the cold Minnesota winters he is right there, but he is here, too, in California. Between the storm clouds I saw him the other night. I always think of Peter when I see Orion. My prince.

This weekend was difficult. It was not for not trying. A friend who saw my "no plans" of last weekend invited me on a hike. We hiked for four hours in Eucalyptus groves, alongside bubbling creeks and alongside a lake. We enjoyed cheese and fruit overlooking a stream. It was lovely. I went to church on Saturday night and the speaker was one of my favorites, and he always speaks with great humor but also great honesty, and he has just endured great loss with the death of his two parents in the last year as well as other family members. He talked of moving on in the face of loss. Sunday, I was lackluster, to say the least. I didn't want to do anything. I made myself take the pups in the woods for a forty minute walk. It started to rain, and it didn't matter. Kirsten came in the evening so she could make a post-op appointment in the morning. That perked me up. We watched some British TV together last night until I was so tired I had to climb up the stairs into bed.

I was thinking I would be better at work. The structure and meaningful connections with parents and students create a positive "flow" within me. I still was grieving inside, though. I don't talk much about Peter at work. Today, though, it was different. He was on the top of my mind. I had a conversation with a colleague, and in reaction to something I said, she said, "I'm sorry, but I would rather be hit by a bus" (rather than endure a long and painful illness). I answered, "I would have rather died with Peter." Maybe I shouldn't have said that aloud, for that stuck with me. I stayed late at work, and was sad to go home and know that no one was there, Kirsten having left on the bus mid-day. As I ate leftover Chinese food, I was perusing a book about living your dreams. I started crying, thinking that I couldn't imagine a dreamed life without Peter. Crying harder and harder, (and thinking I hadn't cried for a while), I went to the cabinet above the washer to look for a soft cloth to cry into. I reached way in the back and pulled out a soft piece of fabric. A t-shirt of Peter's. I cried all the more, wishing that the shirt I was crying into was still on his living, breathing chest. Earlier in the cry I felt Peter was saying, "I'm OK, and I love you." Thanks, thanks, but I want you here. It's me I'm crying for. I called Roberta, and she let me cry. I do miss my family.

Yes, there will be days like this. Tomorrow is February. Used to be one of my favorite months. I'm not sure anymore. I need strength, again.

Kara