I don't really have any words right now; life turns instantly, and I was reminded of that yesterday morning when my phone rang. It was my dad, and his voice sounded a million years old, and he told me that Uncle Mark was gone.
So what do you say after that?
I suppose you say that one of my earliest memories was of him - he took me for a train ride one day while my mom was in the hospital having [censored]. Random images are flashing through my head - his distinctive, spiky handwriting. His hat. The way he still gave money to local causes in my hometown even though he'd left it forty years earlier. The Schwinn bike [censored] unearthed over Christmas and sent back to him as a joke. Playing games with him - from watching him play with my parents when I was too young to understand, all the way up through many Christmases of Rail Baron and Scotland Yard and Encore and Balderdash and canasta and Cards Against Humanity. The week he and Aunt Kathy and Drewbaby came to SF, and we almost froze to death on a boat on the Fourth of July. Lazy weeks on a ranch in Texas, talking about the people who came before us. Attempting to watch a solar eclipse in the graveyard where my great-grandparents are buried. All the coins and two-dollar bills, the books and newspaper clippings and the endless records of ancestors and descendents.
He often called me Sara Jane. The number of people who call me that has gone down by one, and it's a loss that can't be replaced.
//
Needless to say, yesterday was consumed by that. But it's weird to be consumed by grief in the midst of a group trip - to let the knowledge bury itself for a few minutes or hours, until it comes back to life and knocks you over.
So I'm flying back to Colorado tomorrow instead of Monday, and flying to Iowa on Monday. I couldn't go straight home since I didn't have a winter coat or anything appropriate for a funeral, so I'll be in Colorado for approximately fourteen hours to unpack, repack, and sleep. And then I'll be with my family, and able, for better or for worse, to focus on the grief and the healing.
//
Meanwhile, if you ignore that, which my mind tried its best to do, I had some nice moments here. It was storming viciously today, to the point that the house was shaking and the ceiling was leaking and water was coming in around the french doors on all levels that face the sea. But that made it ideal for staying in and writing - other than two quick walks to grab coffee yesterday and today, a farewell walk with Veronica yesterday (she left for Vegas), and a quick drive with Anne to pick up some takeout tonight, I haven't left the house.
As I said, yesterday was a wash writing-wise, but today I did manage a couple of hours of Regency stuff, and I'm happy enough with my progress. I obviously am giving myself a pass on yesterday, and I'm leaving a day earlier than planned, but taking those things into account, I met my goals this week - and that's a good feeling after so many months of being blocked.
But now I should sleep - if I get up in decent time tomorrow, I can pack and grab some coffee and still do some writing before heading to the airport. Goodnight!
So what do you say after that?
I suppose you say that one of my earliest memories was of him - he took me for a train ride one day while my mom was in the hospital having [censored]. Random images are flashing through my head - his distinctive, spiky handwriting. His hat. The way he still gave money to local causes in my hometown even though he'd left it forty years earlier. The Schwinn bike [censored] unearthed over Christmas and sent back to him as a joke. Playing games with him - from watching him play with my parents when I was too young to understand, all the way up through many Christmases of Rail Baron and Scotland Yard and Encore and Balderdash and canasta and Cards Against Humanity. The week he and Aunt Kathy and Drewbaby came to SF, and we almost froze to death on a boat on the Fourth of July. Lazy weeks on a ranch in Texas, talking about the people who came before us. Attempting to watch a solar eclipse in the graveyard where my great-grandparents are buried. All the coins and two-dollar bills, the books and newspaper clippings and the endless records of ancestors and descendents.
He often called me Sara Jane. The number of people who call me that has gone down by one, and it's a loss that can't be replaced.
//
Needless to say, yesterday was consumed by that. But it's weird to be consumed by grief in the midst of a group trip - to let the knowledge bury itself for a few minutes or hours, until it comes back to life and knocks you over.
So I'm flying back to Colorado tomorrow instead of Monday, and flying to Iowa on Monday. I couldn't go straight home since I didn't have a winter coat or anything appropriate for a funeral, so I'll be in Colorado for approximately fourteen hours to unpack, repack, and sleep. And then I'll be with my family, and able, for better or for worse, to focus on the grief and the healing.
//
Meanwhile, if you ignore that, which my mind tried its best to do, I had some nice moments here. It was storming viciously today, to the point that the house was shaking and the ceiling was leaking and water was coming in around the french doors on all levels that face the sea. But that made it ideal for staying in and writing - other than two quick walks to grab coffee yesterday and today, a farewell walk with Veronica yesterday (she left for Vegas), and a quick drive with Anne to pick up some takeout tonight, I haven't left the house.
As I said, yesterday was a wash writing-wise, but today I did manage a couple of hours of Regency stuff, and I'm happy enough with my progress. I obviously am giving myself a pass on yesterday, and I'm leaving a day earlier than planned, but taking those things into account, I met my goals this week - and that's a good feeling after so many months of being blocked.
But now I should sleep - if I get up in decent time tomorrow, I can pack and grab some coffee and still do some writing before heading to the airport. Goodnight!
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