The Cycle of Life

February 4, 2017

This morning I am wandering about the house aimless, yet with little tasks on my mind to do – picking up this or that, emptying small garbage cans, making coffee, watering plants, etc. I think I am in avoidance mode. Avoidance mode is that place where you know you should deal with something – a thought, an action, an activity – but you just can’t quite make yourself do whatever it is. I am declaring right here and now that avoidance mode is an alright place to be. Not always, but sometimes. 

I know what I am avoiding, and I guess now that all my little tasks have played out and I really need to get on with my day that I can let a little of it out. I am avoiding thinking of those hard decisions to be made in life. Move, or not. Work, or not. Marry, or not. So many things we have to make hard decisions about. I think the most important decision must be the one that takes us down the road to our own destiny. We are born. We die. What happens in between is living, and sometimes we have to make that decision to lead us down the path to our own death; or maybe it is our own destiny. I had to do that for someone I loved a long time ago. It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made. It was the right decision, I know without doubt, but it was not easy. My mother-in-law made me her health care surrogate, which means when her faculties shut down and hard decisions had to be made, she asked me to make them for her. It took me a long time to sign that paper, and even after I signed it, I wanted to take it back. But I know it was the right thing to do.
To me, our lives are unscripted, yet somehow with pre-written endings. We have free will to choose the paths we travel, but that path always takes us to where we are supposed to be at any moment, always toward the end of our lives. That is a hard truth sometimes, and it probably goes against what others believe, and that is okay. Maybe I am wrong. It does not matter in the end. We walk the path of our lives wondering if we are on the right path, but I think we always are. To me, that means that every breath we breathe, every step we take, every decision – everything leads us to where we wind up. 

So I think of the little moments of my life sometimes – those gone by. They cannot be changed, but each of those tiny moments has made me who I am, where I am today; it is always the right place to be, the here and now. This morning I had little moments of memory of my early teen and teenage years. Of waking in my old bedroom, patchwork printed curtains tied back at the windows, the antique bed and dressers; the beautiful smooth, mirrored vanity. Of the way the sunlight came in, soft and subtle through the sheers in the windows with their slightly wavy old glass. I think of polishing the banister, of cleaning mirrors downstairs, mixing up cookies on the kitchen counter; of the old Charles Chip can on top of the refrigerator. I think of late nights downstairs in the house – with everyone asleep upstairs, of watching out the front windows at the silent, sleeping village; watching nothing special but longing always for something different. Of the sound of the distant train on the tracks, or the low sound of a boat horn on the river as it signaled for the boathouse to raise the bridge so it could continue on its own journey. I think of the dusty smell of metal screens raised in the summer, of the cold, fresh spring air that would pour into the house as we aired it from the long winters. I think of the gurgle of the pool summer nights, and of the soothing sound of the old box fans in the windows the hot nights, pulling in cooler air from the outside. 

I think of these things, and then I know what I am really avoiding. Thinking of my Mom-Carole. How she’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I think of her teaching me to float in Joan Armstrong’s pool many, many years ago – when I was very young; when my parents were still together, and her Spike was still alive and our world’s touched always until they collided in my pre-teen years. How my father and I moved in with her and the boys, after the turmoil and upheaval in all of our worlds brought us all crashing in together. I think of how happy they were for a long time, of how confused the boys and I were, but how much we all were a family, despite it all. And how hard it was. But I also think of how hard she tried. And I think of how she’s been a mother to me, and so often she was there when my own mother was not. I think of how she has supported me and loved me, even after she and my father parted. I think of the changes in her life, and how she became less independent over the years, and how losing my father, Danny, her parents – how all of that really destroyed her confidence and sense of security, and how hard life became for her, despite her often brave face. How bitterness took hold, and it made everyone sad, but no one was able to fill those voids left behind in her life.

I have tears in my eyes, running down my cheeks. I know that life; her destiny has led her to where she is now, and to the decisions she is making now each day; that hard choice to say no, I cannot do this anymore. I am done. That her life will end, and it will not be pretty or easy. I would not want to do it either. But I am in a different place in my life, and I continue to think of all she has done for me, been for me – good and bad, because life is never, ever perfect, and we are never perfect to those we love or who love us all of the time. I think of her, younger, robust, full of life, pride, purpose. I think of her in more recent years, and I know her existence and reason for living has become a shell of what it once was. 

I think of how much I will miss her, because when we are faced with such a reality of loss, I believe we realize even more how much someone’s presence in our lives really means to us. We don’t know what we have until it is gone; or we are faced with the reality of loss, I guess. 

Here’s the thing that is so odd, though. Life does go on. We do not think we can bear it; the weight of loss, and yet we do. The reality of losing my Mom-Carole saddens me, and I feel lost already, even with her still here. I know I will survive; I always do. I value life and love life, and I love the people in my life. But I have survived loss, and I will now. It makes me think of my own life, and all those little moments long forgotten that have transpired to bring me to this moment; to this now and I feel so grateful. To God, my angels, to those moments and all those people intertwined within my days over the years. And it makes me determined to live my life and appreciate those small moments, because each and every one is vital to who I am right here and right now. I love my Mom-Carole. I always will. She has been such an integral part of who I am, and I love her.

Things Are Spinning 'Round Me

I have so much to do. The truth is, I can't seem to get beyond my own thoughts to get anything done. Writing has helped all of my life – helped to clear my head; my mind. It's a purge or a catharsis, depending on the need. Today, a purge, I think. I began the year with high hopes, and my hopes are not dashed. I am subdued from goings on in the last week, but I still have not given up on the year, and I won't. Life happens. There are things that need to be done sometimes, before others can occur. I just have to be patient and continue to do housekeeping – not a term I like very well, but it is all I can think of. I need to sweep my mind from all the debris tangling there – thoughts of death and life and the huge amount of work piling up around me. 

There is a Jim Croce song going through my head - "Well, things were spinning round me and all my thoughts were cloudy and I had begun to doubt all the things that were me. Been in so many places you know I've run so many races and looked into the empty faces of the people of the night, and something is just not right". That is me the last few days. Spinning thoughts; things are just not right. It is plain what some of it is about – the death of my cousin's wife, the death of Jan Thompson, such a dear family friend. Those things in themselves are hard to wrap my head around. Jan's death –her life was so wonderful and the world she and John created together for 63 years are truly inspiring. Their family – my extended family – they are just the epitome of a family; not perfect, they argue, fight – but they love each other and they come together in times of happiness and sorrow both. I love them all dearly. And Jan will be missed. She and my mom are drinking coffee in heaven, I know. Jan might be sad to have left her worldly body behind, and my mom might be saying, but Jan – it's ok; you will adjust. They will adjust. I have watched my girls for 11 years now, and I promise, it will be ok. They will all join you one day, but for now, look - we can drink coffee and we can smoke, we can laugh like we always did, and we can shine down on them from heaven.

Eryka's death. That is something else. Not planned, not expected, not welcomed by anyone she knew – of course, whose death ever is, right? But she was young, healthy – beautiful; she had a beautiful young daughter who loves her, a mother who loves her – a husband, who, despite their differences, loved her a long time. They mourn her, all these people. I mourn her, and I did not know her as they did. I mourn the loss of her, and I mourn my family for their loss. It is heart-wrenching, and I cannot get my head around why she would take her own life. Suicide is not something I can fathom. I understand, logically, that people are unhappy, and I understand suicide happens. I don't condone it, and I don't believe in it – and I know it is not my place to pass judgment; I am not doing that. I just do not understand it, and my brain says why, why? Why would you do that? No man, no situation – nothing in life cannot be changed. Life changes, minute by minute; hang on; give your life a moment to adjust. I am not arguing for suicide and I am not arguing about it; it is truly not my place nor is it my intention. I just am having such a hard time with the depth of what it leaves behind. The beautiful daughter; the mother; the husband. The friends – the family. The world shifts a minute, immeasurable amount when someone dies. It has to. The course of history changes, even in the slightest bit; the air that is displaced when a butterfly flutters its wings, or a ripple that flows outward in a pond when a pebble is dropped, or someone passes from this world; it can change the world. I feel my heart ripping at the thought of the exquisite pain she must have been in; down inside her soul and how hard her last moments must have been. The depths of that agony are beyond my measure, but oh, the sadness it brings to me; the thought of another human being in so much pain.

Such thoughts are clouding my mind. I have other things happening in my life that just seem so trivial in comparison. I am not downplaying my own life and all that is filling my head right now, but those things – work deadlines and responsibilities I cannot seem to concentrate on; health concerns; daily more and more to do, bills to pay, plumbing issues, the need for a new roof, classes to take, books to read for deadlines; my step-mother's terminal illness and the changes that is bringing to life. It's all there, and it is all part of what makes up the fabric of my life. It is weighing on my mind. But it will all get done, somehow. Those things that we encounter each and every day – they do pass. This moments worries will, in a month, be behind me, taken over by the new worries of that moment. I know that. I just can't seem to stop my head from spinning a little out of control. This, too, shall pass. Life has a way of taking care of such things. I am blessed to be alive. Blessed to have these worries and concerns – these minor burdens. It means that I am alive. I am living my life. I am taking breaths, one after the other. My head is spinning, but it is thinking, and it is trying to come to terms with everything; everyone. I am so, so fortunate. Thank you, God, for life.

Christmas and Family

Yesterday was Christmas. I've created a tradition of cooking the holiday meal for my family - whoever happens to be around at the time. Aunts, Uncles, cousins - friends of the family; whoever. It began long ago, even before Steve left, but it became even stronger after that. Family are those people in this world who know us best, despite our quirks, oddities, dysfunctions. My family are no different than every other family, except they are mine, and I am theirs - we are each other in so many ways, and different in so many others. My family, I am grateful to say, treat me with warmth, affection - love, above all. They make me feel special and appreciated. It makes my heart so happy and full. My husband did not love me enough to stay in spite of the fact I gave my marriage and our life together my entire heart and soul - for over 20 years. It was not enough for him, sadly. It was for many years, but in the long run it ended up just not enough. When the best of what you have; who you are; of everything you have to give is not enough, it is soul shattering. I was broken into a million pieces. But my friends and my family helped stitch me together. They rally around me still, and they succeed in showing me that I am worthy of love; of appreciation. Family are the root of who we are. We are born into each other forever, even if we sometimes try, we cannot lose those bonds. I am so fortunate to be part of a huge network of aunts, uncles - cousins. My father was blessed with 12 siblings, and all together there are over 40 of first cousins. They all have so much to do with who I am today. Thank you, God.

When we were growing up, my cousins and I, the majority of us spent Christmas evening together. We had huge Fields family gatherings all together at my grandfathers house; the house my father and all of his siblings grew up in; It was huge, dark, old, and it was the old homestead on the corner of Bridge and Homestead in Phoenix, New York. The old wooden house burned in the mid 70s and my uncle, who lived with Grandpa at the time, bought a new double wide modular home for them both to live in. The house was placed on the same old foundation, and the basement was still the same. The new house was much smaller, but we all still gathered in that house - 13 older siblings and spouses, all their offspring; friends of the family - it was a chaotic, frantic mess; 60 plus adults and children in one modular home for the evening! I can still remember the feel of all those bodies in one place, turning sideways to get by people, the noise, the heat - the smells; the feeling of completely belonging to each other, despite the chaos. The tables, kitchen - every surface was laden with food, drinks, presents, coats, hats, boots, scarves. My cousins and I still talk of those old days with warmth and passion - those were the days that formed so many of us. We gathered at Grandpa's on Christmas night, in each other's houses throughout the year for birthdays, graduations, weddings, births - deaths. We gathered at the lake for family reunions for weekends of celebrations. We gathered and we celebrated all of life's moments together, good and bad. There were arguments, laughter, loud voices, laps to sit on, necks to hug. There were copious amount of food, alcohol, coffee - cigarette smoke. There was always such a welcoming air and presence to all of our family gatherings, and there still are. Even as the Fields family grows and expands, that core group dwindles and the special gatherings are never as loud or large or intense, but they are still special. I think that is one of the reasons that I started having family gatherings here at my house - a longing for those far off gatherings at home in Phoenix. After I left home for Florida and Steve and I began our own holiday traditions, part of me always longed for those huge family events. I missed so many of them living so far from home. I know that as my cousins and I grew into adulthood our parents began slipping away from us, one by one, and the heart and soul of our family shrank little by little with each death, Now all that is left of my many aunts and uncles are the youngest two; my dad and my Uncle Gary. Aunt Betty and Aunt Carol are two of the spouses left to us, and we treasure the four of them, each and every one of us. We can never recreate our past, but those formative years stay with us. I think my holiday celebrations now are a way to pay homage to those days of youth, and as a way to say thank you to all of my family, far and wide - for being my family, for being part of my tribe; for loving me and for allowing me to love back. Family is the heart and soul of who we are, always.

Thank you, Amber, for creating this video of Chrismas Past -
Fields Family Christmas

I Liked My Life

Book Review - Good Reads

This is the story of Madeline, her daughter Eve, and husband Brady. Madeline has died, but it does not stop her from trying to find her replacement in her families lives. Maddy watches and guides her family from where she is - somewhere in-between heaven and earth. As Maddy's death unfolds, we learn the backstory of her life and that of her friends and family. Both Brady and Even struggle to discover what hidden secrets Maddy had, and how she could have been so vastly unhappy without their knowing it. Both characters search deep into their souls and discover truths about themselves that are unsettling, yet enable them to grow into the lives they are meant to live.

Each life has a turning point - many turning points. Eve and Brady find themselves wishing to go back to any moment in time and react differently; live differently, speak differently. Their epiphanies are full of prose, poetry and words of wisdom; self-discovery moments they are guided to by Maddy from her place watching over them. One of the most beautiful pieces of prose is given to Eve by Maddy's sister Meg in the form of "Maddy's Truths". Such great words of wisdom.

As with every wonderful work of fiction the plot twists and turns, leaving the reader guessing at the truth until the very unpredictable ending - I did not want the story to end. As well as surprising me, it left me satisfied and contemplative all at once.

I have been sitting on this review, deciding just what to say. I read the book twice - I should say I devoured it once, then went back and reread it slowly, savoring it. It is such a unique story, and so well written; Abby's words are magic and beautiful. I am completely in love with this book, and I cannot wait for Abby's next , even though "I liked My Life" will not be on sale until January 2017. I was so thrilled and honored to have received an ARC of this book - thank you Abby, for the gift of your words and story, and for the opportunity to read it early.

Dates

July 12, 2015

Dates are funny reminders of the past. Every now and then one becomes significant in our memories; births, deaths, marriages, anniversaries. They are just dates on a calendar, and yet they become so momentous in our minds, and they become placeholders of moments in time. I have my own placeholders of my past. Of course my birth, that of my parents wedding – my mother’s death; the day Steve and I started going together; our marriage. Somehow the date of our divorce escapes my memory, but I think that is more of a lack of desire of celebration than anything. There is a day in February that I remember that goes back to college; a day of remembrance that is important, not in the grand scheme of my life, but just a minor life-changing moment I choose to remember.

I am a keeper of objects. Little things that remind me of important moments. Photos, papers, notes, etc. On the vanity mirror on my dresser there is a ticket stub tucked in the bottom on the right corner. Tab Benoit, Skippers Smoke House, January 17, 2014 – admit one. That was really the day of my own personal independence, or freedom day. Insignificant in the overall picture of my life; just a blip on the radar screen, and yet there it is. It ends up the memory associated brings on mirth, rather than tears, although earlier in the day it could have gone either way. I don’t celebrate the end of my marriage. I just don’t. I am sad it ended, but I also recognize that I have moved on, moved up, that my life has become so much more than it probably ever would have with Steve in my life. That said, I also recognize that I was happy; I was content. I meant to stay married; I meant to have a 30^th or a 50^th anniversary. I meant it when I said for better or worse. So the loss of that in my life was never cause for celebration. 

On January 14, 2014; that was a day that did reduce me to tears. Tears of loss, feelings of inadequacy, rage, frustration, almost a bitterness, and very much a bittersweet look at the past. That was the day that Steve deposited his very last alimony payment. For him I think it was liberating, and I guess, for me, it was too. It had already gone on longer than the court papers specified. He had been sick the year before and was out of a work some, so; we worked out a deal to make the payments last longer for me, and ease his financial burden. We also admitted to each other that we knew once that last payment was made that was officially our last legal tie. It was sad and scary and so final. I did cry. I felt that loss keenly, even though he had been gone officially so very long. I almost did not go to the concert. I was afraid I would bring down the mood of my friends, that I would drink too much and be too sad. I remember sitting outside in my car giving myself a pep talk. I remember thinking, ok, Kim. You can go in and be sad and have a terrible time. Or, you can suck this up like you have every other bad thing. You can take a deep breath, go in, enjoy yourself, let your hair down and show the world that you are ok; that you are a survivor. So that is what I did. I did tell my friends about the day, and I did share my decision to have a good time, regardless. And I had a great time. I was flirty, attractive, cute, fun. I laughed all night, and I did drink too much, but it was all okay. My friend Tammy drove me home – the first time ever that we switched roles, and I laughed and felt good all the way home. I was not hung over the next day, and we still talk about that night and how much fun I had. Even now, the reminder of that date brings a smile to my face. It was an awful time in my life; a sad, momentously sad moment in the history of my life. But I am so proud to say that I overcame that and turned my night into so much more. That January 14, 2014 was truly a day to remember.

Thoughts on Paul Harding's Tinkers, Life and Living

Book Review - Tinkers, by Paul Harding

Choosing books for a book club can often be a daunting task. It is so difficult to anticipate what members in the group will like or appreciate. I myself often don’t like the choices, but I am always glad to expand my own reading choices.

This month I selected Paul Harding’s Tinkers. The book won the 2010 Pulitzer Prize, so I thought if nothing else at least we could appreciate reading a quality novel. Book group meets this coming Tuesday, and I have already heard grumbles that it is too hard a subject, too meandering, too esoteric for most readers. Even my friend who has read every single book in the nearly four years our group has been meeting has been challenged to finish it. One of the couples in the group could not get past the first page – his father recently having succumbed to a similar death as the main character.

I admit it was a difficult book to start. I started and stopped a few times over the last month, until last week I knew I needed to get serious and get it read, so I began again. This time the book flowed for me. I found myself captivated, enthralled, engrossed by so many of the passages that I actually had to get sticky notes and mark the pages I found truly beautiful.

Tinkers is the story of George Washington Crosby and his descent to death to cancer. The story of his life is intertwined with that of his father, who left the family when George was a young boy, rather than be institutionalized by George’s mother because of his epileptic fits. George became obsessed with clock repair later in life, and the mechanisms and clockworks are woven throughout the story. Howard, George’s father, had a parallel life with his son, and their stories show the fabric of life and how deep inside, all of us are made of the same stuff as nature throughout the history of the world. Inside the red blood of our bodies lies the rust left behind from Roman armor, and our bones contain the same materials as the stars in the heavens. It is the story of life; of consciousness, of moments in life that can stay with us always, of living and of dying, and how none of us can escape no matter how we live our lives; deep inside we are all one in the same. The prose in this book  completely left me breathless on several occasions.

“..and my father’s fading was because he realized this: My goodness, I am made from planets and wood, diamonds and orange peels, now and then, here and there; the iron in my blood was once the blade of a Roman plow; peel back my scalp and you will see my cranium covered in scrimshaw carved by an ancient sailor who never suspected he was whittling at my skull – no, my blood is a Roman plow, my bones are being etched by men with names that mean sea wrestler and ocean rider, and the pictures they are making are pictures of northern stars at different seasons…” p. 136

This is an incredible book. Yes, it is a challenge to read, and the timeline jumps so much it is hard to keep track of who is speaking or when. I read that Harding printed his manuscript, laid it all out, then cut it up and formed it into what it is today by pasting the bits together. Whether or not this is true, I do not know. However, I can believe it is. Despite the challenges, I found this book to be poetic genius. Thank you Paul Harding.

Selfish Kim Day

December 29, 2014 ~“I’ve made mistakes in my life. I’ve let people take advantage of me, and I accepted way less than I deserve, but I’ve learned from my bad choices and even though there are some things I can never get back and people who will never be sorry, I’ll know better next time and I won’t settle for anything less than I deserve.” ~Unknown

Thoughts to ponder today. Today is a day I reserve for myself. I call it my “Selfish Kim Day”, and yet that is not really the best way to honor myself, which is what I consider today. Until I can think of a better name, that is still what it is. I don’t answer the phone, I don’t make plans with anyone but myself. It is about me; for me. A day to do as I please when it pleases me. My one day a year I can truly claim as my own for just me.

Today marks the 30^th anniversary of my marriage to Steve. Now, today is not about being lost in the past or searching for answers as to why it faded. I consider it a day of reflection, of remembering who I was and moving into who I can become. Life is a process; each day we learn and we grow – or we are supposed to. It is an honor in my life to remember that day – now 30 years ago. It was truly the best day of my life, and in spite of all the changes since then, it remains so. I knew myself thoroughly that day, and I was so sure and so confident that day. I said I would, and I meant it with all of my heart and soul. I chose today as my “selfish day” because it is a date easy for me to remember because it was a significant date in my life. Edel told me once to choose another date and make it my own, and I tried, but you know, it just was not the same. So today, December 29 remains my day. The last few years I have not had “my” day; two years ago I spent it with friends from Stockholm; last year with my brother and sister-in-law, so this year it feels nice to have my day again.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, a breeze is blowing. It’s a beautiful day in Florida, a beautiful day to be alive and to be able to count my blessings and the joys in my life. My marriage was certainly one of those blessings. I do not believe in regrets at all. I am so glad that I met, fell in love with, and married Steve. He was a beautiful soul; a beautiful addition in my life. We were together a long time, and we were blessed with a happy marriage, even if it ended sadly. Of course I have moments of “what-if” and sorrow that I lost something so valuable, and maybe in some alternative universe I am still married, I could have had children, and might now even have grandchildren. But, life happens, people change, and we grow together or we don’t, and in this world here I am, me, alone with myself. Sadly, it took a long time for me to get over the huge loss in my life. It is true that it is only in the past few years that I have been able to know that life is good again, and really is as it should be. I knew he was gone, I knew it ended, but my heart was so slow to catch on. It’s not with regret that I say that, but with a sigh. And yet, I really do believe that everything happens as it should. Losing my marriage and myself for a long time was not easy, but I think of all that I have gone through to get to where I am now, and I know it happens as it should. I would not be the person I am today without my marriage or my life before and after that point. I would not have finished college as I did, traveled as I did, met the people I did, experienced the things I did without all the loss and sadness, or even the joys that were in-between, and today who I am is because of all of that. I know I am a kind, caring, beautiful person inside and out, and I am grateful for the good, and for the bad and sad things we all think we don’t need to experience, or can do without. Today, on my Selfish-Kim day, I am so grateful to be who and where I am in my life.

Pushing Back the Clouds

It’s been cloudy today; overcast, misty, gray. The air is heavy, almost oppressive. Cool air is on its way, but often here in Florida, this time of year, this is typical weather. I am pensive; thoughtful this morning, reflective and reminiscing on days gone by. I knew when I first got the message, that when I returned the call it would be bad news. I knew Maryann – Nanny, was sick; deathly so. I did not expect the news to be that John – Papa, had died suddenly. It seems that he had received news some time ago that he had liver cancer. He chose to keep it to himself, and he chose to focus on Maryann, his life, his love of 50 odd years. I never thought of him as self-sacrificing, but I guess I never had reason to think that way. Now Maryann lies on her own death bed, hospice coming in and making her as comfortable as possible, knowing her husband lost his life and that she will soon follow. There must be some comfort in that; such a long life lived together and neither having to live very long without the other.

When I first met them I was 19, and newly arrived in Florida, newly in love for the first time, full of new impressions and a new life wide open and gorgeous in front of me. The finer details of their lives elude me now, with the passage of time, but I knew their hearts were huge with the capacity to love. They lived just down the road – not even quite a mile, and yet we would often spend the night, crashed in this bed or that, sleeping off the massive party we had celebrated the night before – their only concern that we stay for our own safety. Often John was the one downstairs first, drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette, enjoying the peace of the early day, and me, always an early riser, relished those quiet moments of fulfilling conversations. They were more like friends than the parents of a friend. They laughed at our crazy antics, and they had more than a few themselves. We partied, hard, with them, and around them, and we stayed safe and sound. Those were crazy, chaotic days filled with a lot of alcohol, a lot of laughter and silliness, yet I remember them fondly as some of the most peaceful, carefree days of my life.

Maryann and John worked hard and their lives were not easy, but they never lost their spirit or determination to fill the world with their love. They wanted a lot of children, but God had other plans for them. Maryann had Ricky and John adopted him; together they fostered and adopted, and extended their family, picking up stray people left and right. None were strangers and all were considered and treated like family. I could not now even begin to untangle the webs of love and care they extended and cast over so many people. I know I am just one little soul in the arms of their care, and through them I came to know and appreciate so many people. 

I’ve known them a long time now – 33 years. They were such a large part of my early days here in Florida; until after my marriage, until after Steve drifted away from his friendship with Ricky, their son, for various irrelevant reasons. Similarly, Steve eventually pulled away from everything in his life, leaving it all behind with barely a backward glance. For the years leading up to Steve’s separation from Ricky’s life, we could stop down at their house at any time, be welcomed with open arms, a warm friendly hello, a great conversation. After Steve left I was in such an odd position. I was close with his sisters, his aunt, all of his friends prior to my arrival in his life. I made the choice to not contact them all, to not force them to take sides, to not stay in touch with so many of them. It was not until the last few years that I began to realize Steve did not just leave me and our life, but he left his entire past behind, including people. By that time, so much living had taken place and I had moved in such a different direction than the others, it was hard to step back in and pick up where we left off. It was hard to rekindle, but it is not hard to remember how vital those years and friendships were. 

When Ricky died seven years ago I nearly did not go to his funeral. I wanted to go, to express my condolences, to share memories with the entire extended family, but I was afraid I might be stepping on a place where Steve belonged, rather than me. His reaction to Ricky’s death was terrible for me to take. He was blasé, almost uncaring, unfeeling. Oh, that is sad, he said. My heart cracked even wider. So I went, he did not, and he never mentioned it again. In their mourning, Maryann and John were so kind and gracious to me, about Steve, about the missing years. And I have meant to go back and see them, yet somehow I never did. I have kept in touch with the girls; their granddaughters, but I have not physically been back to see them, and now it is too late. I can remember them with love and gratitude, but truly, the past is past.

Maryann and John. Hearts of gold, hardworking, hard living, rough around the edges by some standards, but if you ever spent any time with them, all that was obvious was their devotion to each other and to the lives of the children they had accumulated through the years, picking us all up like strays, giving each one a safe harbor, reigns to live and make choices, guidance if needed, along with chaotic, peaceful to nest. They lacked judgment over people, unless their loved ones were wronged.  Their house was messy and big and overflowing with pets and kids and craziness, yet they thrived. They had a chance to buy a new house, to buy the bait shop Maryann had worked at so long, and they did. They moved, lock, stock, barrel, and the new house became the same safe, messy chaotic, safe-haven the old one was. John continued to travel – he was a long distance truck driver, and Maryann continued to run the bait shop. A few years ago they sold the shop – it is gone now, but it was on the corner of a busy, developing area. Instead of enjoying those retirement years, their health began declining. Ricky died of a heart attack, and I know their lives took a terrible turn. Looking back and reflecting on life, it is amazing when we consider the people who have touched our lives, unintentionally, unplanned for, unexpected. And yet, oftentimes, those are the very people who we come to realize have made powerful impressions on our hearts.

This morning the clouds hung low in the sky. It’s a gray day. But a little while ago the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and the day brightened. It occurred to me that John has his angel wings now, and maybe he is the one who helped push back the clouds. He was always, always, a ray of sunshine in my life. I always wanted what he and Maryann had; a loose, easy relationship, complicated by family and bills and craziness, but a true dedication and devotion to each other. I admired him for his ease of friendship, his bawdy humor and great big laugh. He was an amazing hugger, and incessant flirt, and a sweet, caring, kind, teddy-bear of a man, rough around the edges, but matter of fact and kind, deep down to the core. John Hunstman, thank you so much for gracing my life for all the years I have known you. You are a true blessing to everyone who ever had the pleasure of knowing you. You will be missed.