9:23am Writing Practice 49° Boise
Windy and chilly out today after a pure perfect day yesterday. But at least it's sunny. I've got work to do in my front yard but there's no way I'm likely to go out there in the cold wind, I don't care how sunny it is. I went with Janna to Lowe's yesterday to look at plants and I was inspired enough to come home afterward and weed a whole flower bed, the one out by Stephen's tree. It took me about an hour. So now I have two beds cleared, one front one left to weed and then the one bed that I left untouched last fall is overgrown and a monster out there. I can split up some of those plants and use them around in the other beds and fill in with some of the pretty things I saw yesterday and that should be good. At least that's a plan to get me started on something springish and get me outside and off my ass in this chair. But as I cast my gaze out to Stephen's tree and watch the wind whip it around, I know I won't have to do anything about any of my plans until later. Later today, later tomorrow, later this week for sure. I'm a big fan of Later!
Well, I have to say that I'm finally feeling better, lighter, less prone to bleak prose and tragic analogies. And not a minute too soon, I don't know how much longer I could have taken that. A few days ago I began listening to our Love and Gratitude track on the Practice Happiness CD first thing in the morning and I had the third session with it today. It's certainly true that gratitude heals. I really do love my life here in this little house. I must, I'm still here and there are no packing boxes in sight, no plans to move or sell.
However, I will admit that it's the cats who keep me here, mostly. I think, left to my own ideas, I would have moved to the Oregon Coast last year, bought a 5th wheel trailer and left all this behind with a renter. But these cats kept me here and so I'll stay until I think I can manage a move that includes them. However, this is their home, this is my home, we all know what to do here on a daily basis. I just need a few days away and I think I'll get that next week when I go to Baker. I'll stay the night with Jodie and Keith and then drive up to Sumpter and maybe stay a night up there. I just want to be someplace else for a while and I need to find a place to donate something for our reunion raffle anyway, so that's my excuse.
As I go along in my days, thoughts of Stephen and memories come unbidden but always clumped into specific locations. My memories are all pre-grouped into the houses where we lived and I think that would be a good title --- The Houses Where We Lived --- don't know the subtitle yet. But I did just get the line, Suicide ends a life, not a story. And in the end, all lives end, but stories can live on, if it's a good story and well told.
I dreamed of Stephen this morning, in the early hours before waking. He was young, maybe 3rd or 4th grade, 9 years old, just poised to bud out into a teen and outgrowing his chubby, adorable stage. Although he was never really chubby, not by today's standards. He had a mouth full of snaggle teeth but he wasn't old enough for braces yet. That would come a few years later and alter the very shape of his face, creating the handsome young man he became and forever erasing the weak and receding chin that would have been gawkish with the strong nose he was bound to possess. I have a video of him singing with his music teacher at age 9, That's What Friends Are For. I really should figure out how to get that on digital and uploaded to YouTube or saved to share somehow. At the time, I thought it was an odd choice for him, it didn't fit somehow, but he loved it. Maybe it's because he didn't have any friends and the very idea of a life where friends love and encourage each other, stand by each other, trusting that they can count on each other, was so appealing that it inspired him to sing it.
I wonder what he would be been like had we not moved from Florida. Would he have made friends, found a niche for himself in that grade school where he went Kindergarten and 1st grade? Being in the same grade school K-5th hadn't helped me at all, I was still weird and mostly friendless by the time we moved to Baker in time for 6th grade. In that case, staying in Florida probably wouldn't have made a difference. His best friend was Kim Kline, a very sweet, mentally challenged girl who thought he hung the moon. I'll bet I have a photo of them somewhere --- or maybe John has it. Kim fully accepted him and he did the same with her and that must have been the attraction. They were both too different for the mainstream and so they stuck together. He never found another friend like her, she was the one and only in his young life.
I enjoyed seeing Stephen in my dream but it was just a dream, not a visit. I would certainly welcome a visit and maybe I'll get them more often if I can start feeling better and stop blocking him. I'm working on it, Stephen! Don't give up on me, please!
Not long ago I had an idea that there is no time where Stephen is and so I don't have to worry about a time factor. He's not judging me or worrying about anything at all. That vision I had where he showed up to take me to the airport but I wasn't packed yet, was in fact surrounded by so much stuff that I couldn't find what belonged to me and I was too confused to get packed. But he was patient, not hurrying my along at all, waiting for me while watching TV, cool as can be. When I'm ready, we will leave but I have time to get myself together, find my things, sort my priorities and then walk away from that too-stuffed house with Stephen to guide the way. He's waiting for me. How soothing.
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