As I type this, today has become tomorrow. It still feels like today, until I get in bed and fall asleep.
Today I had alot of work to do, teaching 3 classes back to back. I didn't have much time to reflect on Alice, and her life, and her death -- yet she was with me throughout my work. There's a refrain in a Distillers song that kept me going, actually. I was working with people I didn't know, and in designing a course it's hard to know if people will get what they want out of the class. So the lyric is "Don't waste my time, come on, get what you come for" and it made me feel comforted that participants could take responsibility for themselves in getting what they came for; it wasn't something I needed to be occupied with for everybody. So Alice helped me relax and provide a better program, really.
Then, as I was just outside of the building on my way home, I saw 3 beautiful black and yellow butterflies intermingling, almost in my face. It was a rare sight -- three butterflies so close together. I stopped and looked at them, and a passerby commented, "look at the 3 butterflies together." I knew it was Alice immediately.
Next, as I moved to the other side of the garden with my colleague, the three butterflies came our way again! Still flitting and dancing in the air as a trio, they made sure we saw them. It was a sign that the three of us -- Sophie, Alice and I -- are still together. Alice wants me to know that we will always be together, somewhere.
Isn't it truly amazing that I could see this so far from home? I don't think it's a coincidence, I do believe it's a sign. And I'm grateful for Alice to remember me as deeply as I remember her. Somehow.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Two Years Tomorrow
Tomorrow, September 19, 2008 will mark two years since Alice died.
I'm out of town for work, away from all members of my family, and it's hard. I'm so sad. I miss Alice so much. It's been a long time since I last posted to this blog, I know. Of course I think of Alice so very frequently, although you wouldn't know it because I haven't written anything here. I do think it's an indication of how Alice has moved deeper inside of me, her physical absence is less at my fingertips, as it were.
I'm struggling here to make clear sense, I think. Maybe it's the recirculated air I breathed during the flight to Tampa.
About 10 nights ago, I was out with a friend, we had a drink and then dinner, and while walking over to the restaurant -- Lupe's East L.A. Kitchen, yes, in New York City -- I saw a nearly full, brilliantly white moon. And immediately I thought of Alice. For the first time, in connecting a moment in nature with remembering Alice, I wasn't overwhelmingly sad. Maybe it was the beer, but I felt comforted to have a reminder of her with me while I was out enjoying an evening. It is possible to feel sadness, pain and joy together while carrying Alice with me during a pleasant evening out.
What has been so difficult, realizing this two years later, is the fact that Alice was the closest person to me. She had been in my life, from the day I was born. We understood each other in a fundamental, cosmic way. She was under my skin. So losing her has been losing part of my life.
These words feel a little more heady, less emotional, than other words I've spilled onto these digital pages. And while I cried yesterday, and I cried today... I don't know, I can't end this one in a tidy knot. Maybe I'm tired.
Very tired indeed.
I'm out of town for work, away from all members of my family, and it's hard. I'm so sad. I miss Alice so much. It's been a long time since I last posted to this blog, I know. Of course I think of Alice so very frequently, although you wouldn't know it because I haven't written anything here. I do think it's an indication of how Alice has moved deeper inside of me, her physical absence is less at my fingertips, as it were.
I'm struggling here to make clear sense, I think. Maybe it's the recirculated air I breathed during the flight to Tampa.
About 10 nights ago, I was out with a friend, we had a drink and then dinner, and while walking over to the restaurant -- Lupe's East L.A. Kitchen, yes, in New York City -- I saw a nearly full, brilliantly white moon. And immediately I thought of Alice. For the first time, in connecting a moment in nature with remembering Alice, I wasn't overwhelmingly sad. Maybe it was the beer, but I felt comforted to have a reminder of her with me while I was out enjoying an evening. It is possible to feel sadness, pain and joy together while carrying Alice with me during a pleasant evening out.
What has been so difficult, realizing this two years later, is the fact that Alice was the closest person to me. She had been in my life, from the day I was born. We understood each other in a fundamental, cosmic way. She was under my skin. So losing her has been losing part of my life.
These words feel a little more heady, less emotional, than other words I've spilled onto these digital pages. And while I cried yesterday, and I cried today... I don't know, I can't end this one in a tidy knot. Maybe I'm tired.
Very tired indeed.
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