I wake this morning grateful for my full night’s sleep. I purr open more gradually than yesterday. It isn’t until my daughter tells me that her grandfather, Steve’s dad, died last night AND I discover that my debit card # was stolen that the adrenaline begins to swell.

I’ll traipse to town now and dance with Ilene and her niece Marina and then pick up a new card. And I will breathe. I will breathe, and I will breathe.

I don’t need to leave, not really. I’ve got this beautiful back yard swarming with mosquitoes and a beloved upstairs who I adore. I’ve missed him so much. We’ve moved in together, and though be both work from home, we’ve hardly seen one another because we really do lead full lives.

My former father-in-law lived a full life. He ran marathons, traveled for business, kept mistresses in strange lands. This was horrible for Steve to learn on one of his post-college sojourns, when his dad gave him the name of one of these to stay with.

My grammar gets worse and worse these days. It’s becoming unhinged, kind of like my mind. It’s the wonder: It takes my breath away. Punctuation becomes ineffectual until it vaporizes. All that I need is the grey and white clouds against the blue sky, the breeze blowing the cottonwoods, and Zoe at the door, wondering anew why she’s now an outdoor cat, as though peeing on the rug is a perfectly normal thing to do.

I sip the hot tea and inhale, let it all out again. I’m glad Eugene has transitioned. He was really suffering at the end, so dehydrated his fingers were cold and numb. This doesn’t make so much sense to me if the goal was to keep him comfortable. I plan to leave this world hydrated, thank you. I’m sorry you’re gone, but I’m glad you’re pain-free, dear one. He was both kind and loving and mean, so many things in one. He’ll commune from above with his family who gathers today including Steve, Hannah, Steve’s sister Robin, and her two grown kids, Kelsey and Kevin. They were 7 and 4 when I met them. I won’t be there this time around, but if there’s somehow time and money for me to go for a service, perhaps. Both Steve, and then his dad, said goodbye to me already. And so, so I can enjoy this day rather than being immersed in family loss. And I sip my tea and am glad.

Sleeping, my dearest friend, has returned. Last night I slept from 10 until 5:20 straight through, deeply and well. Thank you. I’m so happy in my sadness, because it is sadness also. Because it is a loss. I must surrender, now, because there’s so much afoot that I can only facilitate and allow. I cannot, and never could, stop this train called life and then call the shots. Its momentum is deep and wide and can only be experienced, it cannot be controlled. If it pleases you, gentle river of this holy world, please support Steve and Hannah through this and help us to all feel the love.

I love you! The cat leaves the old door and looks for her better, new cat-door entrance. I walk her over, make sure she knows her way into my cozy office, where her bed and warmth await her. And all change comes and we welcome it in and offer it our love, our presence, and breathe. Thank you!