Listen and Remember

I’m sitting here tonight switching through the channels on Sling, little sweetheart, and I saw that The Wizard of Oz was on. It doesn’t matter where I pick up watching that - the beginning, middle or end - randomly, it just always breaks my heart because of how thoroughly my thoughts are filled with you. 

Of course, you famously played Dorothy - I think you were 12, is that right? - in the production at the Chico Light Opera company. People were still talking about it 20 years later and it had been such a big thing early in your life, it’s how you’d first worked with and met Coy. 

I remember one time you and I set out on a long walk from your apartment in the Inner Sunset all through Golden Gate Park and finally winding up down by Ocean Beach. It had begun to rain and we ducked into quite a nice restaurant. You’d wanted to take me there anyway, so we got ourselves a table by the window. A little jazz trio was playing and at one point they began to play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. I held your hand and looked into your eyes and cried and cried and cried. 

How I love you! How I still do! How I always will! 

I remember you telling me once - remember exactly where we were, I was driving your Prius and we were on the way to go grocery shopping at Andronico’s. It was shortly after my mom had died and you propped my up that whole week. I couldn’t have gotten through it without you - As we drove you said something to me about your own death. You thought I would probably outlive you and you asked two things - that I speak at your funeral or memorial and that I listen to our songs, like what we were playing on the car stereo just then and all of our songs - and think of you. 

The Wizard of Oz is like that. It’s so hard to take it on and not fall apart with longing and grief. But I try. And I love you my little sweetheart. 

Love you forever.