Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day, little sweetheart. Often seen as observing veterans of foreign wars, I think it's even more appropriate for remembering those we love, regardless.

Happened to watch our video for "Ocean" last night and it made me think so much about you, who it is very much for and about.

With all my love forever.

You Are So Good To Me

Whenever I’m feeling regretful, which is often, little sweetheart, and my heart is breaking for how much I miss you and how much I hate myself for wasting even a moment of the precious few I was blessed to have at your side, I hear your voice and it helps and comforts me. Whenever I think of something you used to say to me, maybe the thing that you said most often. And that is :

“You’re so good to me.”

You have no idea (or perhaps you do, you know everything, don’t you my darling girl?) how much remembering you say those words lightens my heart.

Perhaps, somehow, you knew exactly how very much I would need them.

Thank god (literally) for you, little sweetheart. When I despair so thoroughly, it is you who always picks me up, reminding me. That you felt that and told me so so very many times helps me forgive myself for all my many failings.

Thank god you found me. Thank god I found a way to show you my love and gratitude.

How I long for you! Thank you for sending these words back to me again today when the clouds were all around me. You clear my clear. You are the sky itself.

With all my love forever. Forever. 

Winding Down

I’m coming up on something of a milestone, little sweetheart. My physical therapy is winding down. They all think I’m doing very well and have made significant progress in the three months.

I’ve been going since July. I had to wait until my legs, which were so badly injured, had healed enough for me to begin rehabbing my shoulder. I’ve been going 3 times a week since then. But they’re finally about to “graduate” me next week.

In all of these challenges this year, little sweetheart - waking up in the ER, dying for 10 minutes, the long recovery - I’ve felt that it was only because of you having planted seeds inside me that I could find the strength to keep going. You, from your celestial vantage and dear dear Sylvia, who has been my earthly advocate along with your wonderful parents.

In all, I’m very grateful and seek to know what I’m meant to do as I remain on this side of the divide. I know there’s a reason and I’ll try to quiet myself and listen for your instruction and guidance.

The PT has become such a part of my life. The staff are skilled and filled with kindness. It’s a beautiful place, really, being in the company of others wounded, vulnerable and trying their best to recover. It’s often so very moving. Knowing your own history of such struggles, I feel even ever closer.

Given how much it’s been a part of my life, Sylvia asks what am I going to do with all the time. Find ways to be kind, I think. Do my work, our work. And, like you yourself, my glorious angel, give love and gratitude.

With all my love forever.

Change and What Remains

I finally got back up to the little church where they have the Wednesday night candlelight service, little sweetheart. I’m glad I did because it was the penultimate one of the year. They usually go all the way through June before taking an hiatus until October but this year they’re ending next week.

It was good to sit quietly, thinking of and praying for you. To sing the songs all the way at the back, on my own. To come forward and light a candle and say our prayer. To sit in the silence during the centerpiece meditation when the sanctuary grows yet darker and to hear birdsong outside, knowing you are near.
For nearly three years this ritual was a very integral part of my life, little sweetheart. Its mindfulness helped me quiet myself, I think, and keep you near.

I was on a walk yesterday and wound up going past. I found myself thinking how much had changed there, two of the main pastors moving on to other parishes and all that’s happened to myself, how I nearly died and did leave my body for ten minutes. While I was looking at a block of Broadway just north of there that is now, shockingly, half vacant, one of the first people I ever met at the church happened by recognizing and calling out my name. She was very involved there and has retreated now herself.

I’m not sure how I would characterize my own experience. Have I retreated? I just know that although things change and the ways in which I seek you do themselves, you remain constant. It’s all for you, little sweetheart. You are my home. Please always be with me.

With all my love forever.

Something About England...

For some reason, little sweetheart, England has been on mind of late. Maybe it’s because you and I both had such a history there - you going to grad school at Oxford and my work in the theatre in London - before our visits there together. Indeed, the last time I was there, you were at any side.

Perhaps because I’m in the midst of writing about some of that just now as I work on the first book, it’s coming to mind more and more.

I know much has changed there and it’s still almost unimaginable for me to think of going without you, but it’s all very much on my mind, somehow.

I’ll listen ever more closely, little sweetheart. Perhaps you’ll tell me why. With all my love forever.

Day 5

On the last day of the road trip, little sweetheart. It’s a mini version of something I’ve always wanted to do. I know it wouldn’t be your cup of tea - how you hated being in the car! Ha! But there have been lots of stops, pulling over and talking in the amazing vistas of sea and sky and mountains. We’ve taken lots of pictures and Sylvia has been filming as I’ve driven the winding mountain roads. I think we’ll certainly find some of the footage in future videos for both bands.

Last night we stayed in Carmel. We didn’t book the last night until we were already on the trip halfway down the coast. I was avoiding Carmel, to be honest, little sweetheart. Not because it isn’t lovely but because I spent such wonderful times there with you that I thought it would hurt far too much. I’ll tell you why, even though I know you already know. You know everything.

After your tragic passing, I still had over a week left before my originally scheduled flight home. It was less expensive to rent a car and stay in California than to change my ticket and go home and I couldn’t think what to do with myself anyway. I thought maybe I’d drive down to LA and see some friends, taking a trip along Highway One, just like this one Sylvia and I have finally done to Santa Barbara and back.

My first stop was Carmel, where you and I had spent such wonderful times. I had this idea that I would find your spirit, newly freed of your body, lingering there. That I would find you. But what I mostly found was unendurable pain. I walked the little streets where I had held your hand, just months before, and wept. I tried to go down to the beach where I had held you in my arms but I limped to a tree and hid there, too broken to make it to the water. I went back to the hotel room I’d checked into an hour earlier and collapsed on the floor in tears, trying to get someone, anyone, on the phone. A friend, one of my agents in New York, told me to get out of there. Just check back out, get in the rental car and drive back to Marin where I’d been staying with Chris and Sheri.

And that’s what I did. For a long long time, for years, I was afraid any travel would be exactly like this - that if it was a place you and I had been, it would crush me, and if it was a place that we hadn’t, I would miss you so achingly I would break in two. This morning, little sweetheart, I don’t feel that way - I feel you with me, with us, instead, finally.

We’ve been visiting some of the Missions along the way. I didn’t even realize Carmel had one of them. It turned out to be, perhaps, our favorite. Just before we went inside, locking the car, I looked down at my phone. It was exactly 11:11am. Angel time. How well I knew you were right there.

Later, we walked down to the beach. I went to the other side of that tree where I wept before and took off my shoes and headed down to the water’s edge. I went a long way down the beach. Sylvia had stayed behind just watching me as I prayed and spoke to you. She took the most amazing picture of the moment.

A year ago, for 10 minutes, my heart stopped. In that strange place between worlds I felt the efforts of you, little sweetheart, and angels on both sides of the divide turn me back, return me to earth. I still feel so devastatingly sad sometimes, little sweetheart, but I know there must be a reason I remain. Please help and guide me, as I know you’ve done today.

I love you with all my heart and soul. Forever. Forever.

Bixby Canyon Bridge

It’s the penultimate day of our road trip, little sweetheart. I’d read in preparation for it that we’d be going over the Bixby Canyon Bridge, known to us both from the DCfC song of the same name. I remember when the album came out, listening to it all and this opening track in particular, over and over. There was a line about “all the way from San Francisco” that had caught my ear and I kept singing it to you. You had to be the one to point out that, as often was the case with Ben Gibbard’s songs, the pretty melody concealed a very dark, sad lyric. It get that now.

There’s no sign anywhere near the bridge itself. The sight of it is pretty iconic but there’s a second bridge that is not unlike it, so it’s easy to get confused. Sylvia and I were trying to find it on Day 2 as we left Monterrey for Big Sur and it wasn’t until later that we realized we’d already crossed it. On our way back now, we made sure to locate it. It’s pretty spectacular. Maybe there’s no sign, if there ever was one, because fans kept making off with it. That’s my theory anyway.

We both got out and took pictures and when I turned around Sylvia snapped one of me with the bridge in the background. I’m wearing the leather jacket that you gave to me for Christmas, our last Christmas together in 2010. I wear it constantly. Indeed, some of the leather has torn under the right arm and I’m in a bit of a panic about it. I need to try to find a leather restoration place when we get back to NYC.

Meantime, here I am, listening closely and quietly for your voice, your beautiful spirit, your flawless guidance. I love you with all my heart and soul and always always will. Even if, as the song says,  “I’ve still got miles to go”.

With love forever.

In the Morning

I’m in California this morning, little sweetheart. Sylvia and I flew in last night. We’re staying with your parents and then going down to Santa Barbara on a five day road trip that will begin tomorrow. It’s a mini version of two little ideas I’ve had for the longest time:
1) to visit some/all of the 21 California Missions and
2) to take a leisurely trip along the coastal route of Highway One, stopping along the way wherever the spirits (namely yours!) may take us.

As I’ve woken here this morning to birdsong and the gorgeous warm California air - it’s 80f here and was still in the 40’s when we left NYC - I feel incredibly grateful, my heart full, to feel close to you and home.

It was late last night when we got in. The plane was delayed three hours. Your dad left the Enclave in long term parking for us to collect and drive back. We detoured through Davis but didn’t stop because it was about 3am.

Tomorrow, we’ll visit The Angel, where I know you are not tethered but merely alight to guide and comfort me when I myself stop by.

Please be with me, as I know you often are. With all my love.