Letters to Michael:  The First of Many… Firsts

Dear Michael, I guess I am going to have to get used to a lot of firsts.  I had two days of travel alone, sleeping in a king sized bed at the Ramada Inn alone, and eating dinner alone in the Ramada Inn restaurant.  In doing those “alone things” realize I will miss having someone to talk to over a meal and a glass of wine.  I will miss laughing about a television show or discussing why the remote control doesn’t work properly.  I will miss arguing with you about what to eat, what show to watch, and how early to arrive to the airport or go to bed.  I miss having you to help me with my suitcases and I miss having you to talk to in the security line.  I think I just miss having you take care of me as much as I miss taking care of you. 

I am sure there will be the first time I go to a movie alone, shop for groceries for one, and the first time I start talking to myself wishing you were there to answer me.  Twenty-one years of making my life your life doesn’t stop when you are no longer here to love and care for.   The realization that I have to make it all about me is not as much fun as when it was about you and me.  I realize it takes time.  But I am used to working out my problems at a faster pace.  I like results.  I like action. I value strength and fortitude.  Why then, do I lack energy to spring into action, recover, and solve many of the problems I believe I need solve.  I find everything very frustrating!  I keep hearing that I need to sit back.  I need to relax.  I need to reflect.  All of which is good advice.  It is just that I find it difficult to sit for long.  I am constantly looking for things to do to stay active.  But then I realize that I am so tired that I wish all I could to do is sleep.  And yet, I avoid going to sleep as much as possible.  I know what I would tell a patient faced with this problem.  But telling myself to take it easy, relax, stop planning, is much harder.  I guess am just too “im”-patient!  No one ever said grieving was quick and easy! I am finding that it is hard and slow!

I have moved to the Buena Vista house.  If I can learn to relax and slow down this is certainly the place to be.   Just as we expected it is in the perfect location, just steps from the warm, beautiful, aqua marine water that is the Sea of Cortez.  The view of the water fills the house with the delicious colors of blue that I love.  However, if you were here you would hear me complaining about the fact that the kitchen is poorly stocked with dishes, and pots and pans for someone like me who expects to put on full nightly meals.  I made my usual pot of beans but the smoked ham hock was not available this time so I resorted to just using a piece of pork shoulder to give the beans that extra flavor and I was not disappointed.   I am glad that Dot is here for company.  While she cannot take your place, she has memories of you to share which are comforting.  I find that I am cooking for her much the way I would cook for you except we are eating far leaner and healthier than you would have liked.  She makes fresh nightly salads and I prepare fish recently caught with a fresh mango salsa topping.   We are avoiding desserts but satisfy our sweet tooth with the delicious fresh tropical fruits that are in season.  Mangos, in particular, are sweet and dripping with goodness. 

I am getting use to the sounds that inhabit the darkness of night.  I was a bit uncomfortable sleeping alone with nothing but a flimsy screen protecting me from the world outside.  In the darkness everything seemed foreboding and scary.  But, I am learning to recognize and enjoy sounds of the night. What I am hearing is the water hitting against a cluster of boulders just off the shoreline and the occasional slapping sound of sting rays as they fly out of the water and land with a smack against the rippling sea.  When the lights are off the stars seem to reach to the water’s edge. They appear so close that you could reach out and touch them.  By about 6:30 am the sun begins to rise in the East casting a purple and red rainbow across the horizon.  Because the Sea of Cortez is a body of water located between mainland Mexico and Baja California, the sun rises over the water and sets behind the house and the mountains that line the highway about a mile away.  Other than the sound of the sea and slapping of the rays it is unbelievably quiet here.  We are far enough away from the highway that there is never traffic noise.  During the day there is the sound of quads that pass in front, along the beach, but that is only intermittent and brief. I am told that on trash day the stray donkeys and cows make their rounds looking for food but I have not seen them yet.  Twice I think I smelled the vapor of a skunk that must have visited in the darkness.  But other than the occasional dog and owner exercising on the beach I feel like I am on my own private island.

I go into the water at least once a day.  There are still warm currents mixed with the chill of refreshing cooler water but that doesn’t deter me from floating along the shoreline or snorkeling further out.  I have discovered a lot of fish.  My new friends are a white and black spotted puffer fish, yellow puffer fish, and schools of other common grey and yellow tropical fish.  There are also schools of fish that look like trout and small black tip bass-like silvery fish with big round eyes.  These fish would probably be delicious served for dinner.  What I haven’t observed yet are the turquoise and pink parrot fish that I saw three years ago.  I hope to find them here again.  Perhaps as the water warms up they will return.   Unfortunately, with warmer water comes the annoying jelly fish but I am learning to avoid those blue bubble-like creatures and hope they don’t come in great quantities until I am ready to leave in mid-June. 

I have already made new friends with the neighbors.  I am sharing the cost and use of their Wi-Fi and have to sit on their porch to get full access.  Daily visits have created conversations which are growing into a friendship of sorts.  I have renewed my friendship with the dog rescue people that we met three years ago and hear the French woman and her daughter (who is now six years old) have returned from France after testing out life on a farm near her family home.  I have not talked to her yet, but understand that she returned after a year or so because she missed the quiet life here more than she needed to be with her family back home.  I remember you talking about these past acquaintances with the expectation that you wanted very much to rekindle our friendship with them again.  I know they will all be looking for you and then sad to know that this time, and for all the times in the future, you will not be returning to greet them with your winning smile and friendly hello. 

It is frustrating and sad, but I am learning to accept that you won’t be coming through the door, or sitting on the porch, or going for a swim with me.  It is crazy that you aren’t here and in so many ways makes no sense.  I argue that you were too young, too full of life and love.  And yet, if I am honest with myself, I realize all the reasons that you couldn’t be here even though I wish otherwise.  There is this silent movie of our last days together in Costa Rica, Antigua, and then, the hospital in Guatemala City that plays in a constant loop in my brain to remind me that you are not hiding somewhere, you are certainly not at home, and you are never coming back.  I wonder how long it will be necessary for the brain to re-live this vivid chapter in our life.