Today is a week after my mother died. I woke up realizing that the storm is over, no guests are in my home.
Jogging on the beach at 8:15 am, I remembered getting that phone call on April 9: "She is having labored breathing."
Fog shrouded the Santa Monica mountains, partially blocked the rising sun.
One dark dorsal fin, then another appeared above the sea 20 yards beyond the Venice breakwater: a pod of seven to ten dolphins. I jogged north on the wet sand to keep up with them.
Ah, to be a dolphin slipping in slow arches through the blue water!
Then, in the grocery store buying milk and tofu, I passed aisle 12 where the Depends are and realized: I will never buy Depends again. Strange to feel sad about that. On the fruit juice aisle: no more buying of eight small cans of V-8.
Tonight at the Al-Anon meeting I shared about making an amends to Mom a few days before she died: "Mom, I'm sorry I pushed you so hard to eat, drink, and take your meds in this last few weeks. It was hard for me to accept that you are done with those things, but I get it now."
Afterward I needed to make a call to Marie in Buenos Aires and wanted to do it by pushing one button on my cell phone, but John insisted that I use the 800 number Marie sent us in an email in the last few weeks.
I cried at that point: why couldn't he be easier on me, bereaved and touchy?
I have papers to grade tonight and want to do a few blog entries. All I really want to do is sleep.