Share the Moon

Otto Kjirgaard’s Barn Lopez, WA taken by MOON

I am going through a transition. Steve died, and in a week that will be nine months. I have been nine months sober a handful of times, and I know that is a fucking amazingly long time. It is starting to feel good to be without him.

Me and my dog and my little cat TiTi are doing wonderfully. I’ve got the yard all figured out. It looks like a mini jungle. Jay and I play in the hose and water the red current, the mint, the hay that has sprouted from the straw, filling holes and making pools, running around and splashing in the cool water. I of course love to spray off my feet and sometimes put the soft faucet right up to my head for a few minutes. Titi my elderly miniature kitty, finds sweet little spots to lounge in the sun and in the shade.

My Island community is also a paradise it seems. After ten years of taking care of Steve and nurturing his disabilities as well as my own, I have crawled out from under a metaphorical rock. There is traffic, new people, and activities everywhere. There are endless programs at the Library and the Family Resource Center. The two coffee shops are bustling, and the resort is full of all kinds of sailboats and motorboats; some live there, some just passing through. Bands have assembled, lots and lots of musical talent, and kids I have cared for are full grown with jobs and some have families.

This brings joy to my heart, and there is so much for me to learn. It is as if I have landed in an alternate universe. And now my father is dying of Alzheimers. But you know what we also have here on Lopez Island in immense abundance? Spiritual communities. I feel held, looked after, and my family is receiving help. It takes a village to raise babies and to watch folks die.

This transition is incredible. I actually attended a small party the other night where several bands were playing, and I laughed and danced, and watched the most spectacular sky change from large streaks of violet pink to stars. My dear friend who lost her soulmate five years ago, a man who was also a writing mentor of mine, sat next to me. She told me about this. That the body and brain, spirit and soul, completely change in the process of grief. This includes our muscle tissues, our nerve cells, our fatty cells, our brains, etc. etc etc. And our minds and spirits and souls pass through a gateway as we sing our lovers off to sleep and peace. But really, you know what I think? I think I am singing Steve off to life, a life after death. He will always be here with me when I need him, but it is time for me to return to this world, even the humble rural pleasurable reality of Lopez Island.