so ketzl is deaf, and while i talk to him (fruitlessly) when we are at home (ok, we're going to get some asparagus for you now) when we walk, i tend to be completely silent. and let ketzl set the pace, and sniff and explore at his leisure. tonight when i got home, we set right out. i forgot that when the sun goes down and the wind comes up, that i should have grabbed a jacket to go over my light wool sweater. over a shirt with purple, black and GREEN stripes. so it was cold and even though ketzl found some things of interest that caught his attention, we were back home in 20 minutes.
i've been doing a fair amount of writing recently in a variety of places. poems. letters to Linda. other small pieces.
today i wrote to friends and family, inviting them to services at the synagogue for Linda's yahrzeit. and to thai food on April 13, the actual anniversary of her death.
it is all still quite strange. talking in past tenses. using the words "died," "death," "passing." and yet there are the joyful times, looking at picture albums of trips, remembering doing puzzles together, competing in Jotto, enjoying meals in favorite haunts. a lot of joy.
who am i now? i'm still very much The Deborah (as my children are wont to call me). and yet how changed i am, from before i knew Linda. from before she got sick. from while she was sick. from since she died. (there's that word again). all of these have the underlying sameness of me and yet in each "incarnation," there is such difference.
and i'm getting ready. watching as this last month draws to a close. living it as fully as i can, knowing that "now is all we ever really have." it makes each "now" all the more precious, doesn't it? i'm getting ready. ready to be able to say "YES!" and mean it. i'm not quite there yet, which is the subject of a poem i wrote that i will post here forthwith.
