When

Rich and I came to CA from NY, I was 21, he, 23. We didn't know much about anything, and nothing about being married. What we thought we knew, we were dam sure about. 

We got settled in the best neighborhood in San Francisco, the Inner Sunset. For several years we went to the coolest little church, St John of God, the Newman Center for UCSF. We watched, we participated and we learned. We had two kids, I found a baby sitting co-op and a food collective. In between building a business, Rich learned songs, I learned calligraphy. 

Rich's first favorite song and my calligraphy. The print was a gift
from another young mother that knew I'd enjoy the blank spaces.
The camera left an additional gift of sunshine.

35 years later, I am looking for stepping stones, the wisdom of widows, and grandparents. A bereavement group that continues to meet after the Hospice counseling session finished, searches for alignment and inner resources.

The first several months were up and down. I still felt the invincibility of two. The anniversary of Richard's diagnosis, Feb 16th took everything, literally laid me flat, just as it did that day a year ago. There is no spark of super hero power left.

I know it is different for everyone, a great ripping asunder, no road map. The only thing to do is stay present. I don't know that I want to carry anything forward, nor leave anything behind. I understand why loss leaves you bowled under belongings, business, connections.

'Outa' left field' just keeps on givin'. 
Asking the question, 'what do I want?' 
a touchstone.