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A place for family and friends to see what I'm up to. Visitors welcome here.

Hail Guest, we ask not what thou art.
If Friend, we greet thee, hand and heart.
If Stranger, such no longer be.
If Foe, our love will conquer thee.
-Old Welsh Door Verse

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Beatings.

All I want is a breath between them, OK Universe?

Update.

I filed for divorce.

Before his papers were served, he died.  Left a financial mess for me to clean.

Sons came home (again - they were just here last month for a happy time) for the Memorial.

Memorial was yesterday.  It was planned and executed by someone else.  It was perfect.

Younger son returned to Tennessee this morning.

Less than an hour after arriving home, my older son was hauling me to a retinal specialist in Santa Barbara.  Verdict?  Detached.

Surgery scheduled Monday 6:15 am.

Flat on my face for two weeks.

I've decided this is this life's task:  to learn to let go and go with the flow.  So, yeah.  Beat me to a bloody pulp and I say "Uncle."


Uncle.

Friday, September 05, 2014

Sometimes life is surreal...

...like today.

A loved family member asked me if I would be attending the celebration party for the father of my sons (of course),  and my divorce attorney sent me flowers in sympathy for my loss.

This is a lovely tribute my son created for his dad.  He apologizes for the Emmy snippets but we are Sara Bareilles fans and her performance of "Smile" on the Emmys was flawless and perfect for what he wanted here.

video

My husband worked with emancipated foster youth through the California Youth Connection and Casa Pacifica in Camarillo.  His lovely friends at Casa are coordinating a Celebration of his life on Friday, September 19 at 3:30 at Casa Pacific on Lewis Road.  Both of my sons are coming home to say goodbye.

Such a sad time.

Even for me.

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Sad.

My poor boys.

Yesterday I returned home after a day of teaching, a staff meeting and a couple of errands to find a car at the curb that should not have been there, the newspaper still on the driveway after noon and a mailbox full of mail. After a quick check of the family room revealed only an empty chair, I found the man I had called husband for forty-two years still in his bed. He had apparently died during the night.

Although our relationship had deteriorated over the last few years, I never doubted his profound love for our sons or his generosity of spirit to all who called him "Poppa Larry." 
 
This is a heartbreaking time for all of us who knew him. Teacher, mentor, father, friend. I had hoped he would have those 15 more years he had been promised, and that they would be happy years with those who loved him best.

A deep, dark hole in our lives that will never be refilled.