SF Set

I was watching a movie the other night, little sweetheart. I’d seen it before but it was funny because I had just been thinking of it and here it was on TCM. I mentioned to your dad after and he said he too he just watched it the day before that. It’s the Steve McQueen film Bullitt.

It’s famously set in San Francisco and it’s really kind of astonishing how many shows and movies are. Even films like this very much a product of their time (still good, just clearly a wonderful snapshot of their period), in this case the late 60’s, the city is somehow timeless. Seeing it in 1967/68 takes more there just as vividly as seeing footage from 2010 - which I did last night, watching a film about the Giants World Series run of that season.

So often, little sweetheart, and I know I’ve said this before, I feel like I can almost touch our life. Can feel it on my skin, in my heart, a part of the blood flowing through my veins and I have that sense that it is just ever so slightly out of my reach. Not so lost that it can’t be regained, found.

However frustrating the feeling, there’s also an enormous comfort in it. Like it can’t possibly really be gone if I can have this vivid of a sensation. And that, maybe my gorgeous girl, is a good sign, a bolster of faith.

You’re there. You are always. And so are we and our time, I just can’t get my fingers on it yet. But we are and are always. You’ll take me there, I know.

With all my love forever.

Foundation

Little sweetheart, I was watching a baseball game the other night (you know I follow the SF Giants and your dad & I often text each other back and forth during the games). There have been long periods in my life when I was completely oblivious (and rather arrogantly proud to be so) of sport. But I've noticed in times of loss - when my father died, and my mom, and in the horrible aftermath of your own tragic passing - that I find my way to it, somehow. There's something comforting, especially in baseball, with its leisurely pace and in the fact that they play almost every day. There's something comforting about having the game on and listening to Kruk and Kuip, the Giants announcers, call the game. Kinda like having two old pals around for a few hours each day watching the game with me, seeing the sweeping views of the beautiful city where we used to live and shots of happy, festive onlookers - lots of families, sometimes babes in arms - in the stands.

Anyway, the other night when I was watching, the opposing pitch let fly with a wild throw that went high and wide past the catcher and careened off the backstop. Kruk said something about that as they showed the replay. You see his plant foot kind of slide when it's meant to stay rooted. Something had given way on the mound when he released the ball. Kruk described it as "losing his foundation". And that phrase struck me so profoundly, my little sweetheart, because I believe that very much describes my own state of being.

I've lost my foundation - you. You. The angel and anchor that kept me grounded and loved and safely held in your arms and eyes and heart. Every morning is waking to that again and again. I've lost my foundation. And I am so very shaky and alone without you. Every day I try to slowly get back on my feet for the duration. Do a little work. Be kind. Be mindful. Listen for you. Pray. Pray that I may be returned to you soon and forever. And to wake - maybe this next time after I lay my head down at the end of the day, at the end of the night, after the end of the game - in your arms and care in The Forever. May it be soon. May it be tonight. May you find and take me in the morning. Reset my foundation. Return me to you. With all my love... m