Today is the 20-month anniversary of Lorin’s death. I think about him every day, and light a candle for him every night. The passage of time has not altered my love for him or the depth of my sadness, and anger, that he has left this earth.
Lorin and I loved our many road trips together. He used to say he was “Driving Miss Sweetie” — Miss Sweetie being me.
We planned our music, audio books, snacks and drinks ahead of time. It was always an adventure.
On the drive home from Orlando after a long weekend, there was a delay on I-4 East due to a car accident. A fatal car accident.
In the past, I might have been annoyed at such a delay, but yesterday I felt differently.
I imagined how annoyed motorists must have been after our car accident on September 29, 2016. How they might have been complaining how they would be late for work or to take their kids to school that morning. I used to be one of those people.
Yesterday I felt profound sadness. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of the life or lives that were lost on I-4. As we passed the mangled red SUV, I said a brief prayer for the deceased and his / her family.
Another lost soul on the American highway.
Another family, grief-stricken and traumatized.
I will never forget the beautiful person I lost on September 29, 2016. I am forever altered and still struggle to understand why only my cat Samson and I survived.
Perhaps someday it will all come clear. Until that day, I will do the best I can to make sense of it all and live another day.
“There he goes. One of God’s own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.”
–Hunter S. Thompson
I admit to being a weirdo, a mutant, in the words of Hunter S. Thompson. But mutants are on the rise, are they not? X-Men and superhero movies are all the rage, as are TV shows about geeks and zombies and people with special powers. Not sure if I fall into any of those categories. I am more a generalized weirdo with an abstract sense of humor that some don’t understand and others are offended by. So be it.
I’m writing this because (a) I don’t have much to say at the moment, (b) I only had 2 visitors today on my site (egad!), and (c) my husband and I are in the throes of selling our home (short sale) and have had 20 or so prospective buyers come to see the house so far. Somewhat nerve-wracking and self-absorbing, but a necessary and positive step forward in our lives.
We have done a lot of cleaning, sifting through our belongings and throwing things out, all in preparation for the “staging” of the house before our realtor’s photographer took pictures of the house pre-listing. After seeing a slideshow of the photos, my husband said, “The house never looked so good.”
We call our house “the huddle house,” because we feel cozy and safe in it, shielded from the troubles of the world. During one of our marathon car trips, we discovered a restaurant called Huddle House, and wondered if people go there to gather in safety or take a needed respite from the madness of The Outside. Seems like a good idea to me.
Alas, it is time to leave our Huddle House and begin a new chapter of our lives. I hope someone nice moves into our house. It’s a very, very, very fine house.
photo by Robert Croma
At the airport
only two flying per day
had to go
Dad helped me pack
on the phone with Mom
and still packing
after a while, she stopped speaking
“Mom, Mom, are you there?”
I kept saying, “goodbye”
put the phone down
background noise / music on her end
then a click
I was traveling overseas
Where was she?