Woke up about 4 am. Wide awake I got out of bed, peed, threw on work out pants, then washed my face. I did not actually wash my face, rather I cupped my hands to let water fill them. With my hands a little too relaxed most of the water crippled back into the sink. With wet hands I touched my cheeks, grabbed a dry wash cloth and patted my face dry.
Back in the bedroom I slipped a work out bra on under the t-shirt I slept it. It is a cheery yellow. Sauntering into the kitchen I made a few pots of coffee in order to have some to sip on throughout the day. Without much thought I went up to the loft, perhaps my favorite spot in the house.
At the top of the stairs I get to pause to acknowledge the peace Ron brought into my life. As I walk along the alley to the west side I acknowledge how Danny’s kindness allowed me to live the lifestyle I have enjoyed since the day he rescued me in 1980 at Kelly Park.
Today’s chores include peeling the cactus bulbs to make juice and build a wall in the van between the galley and the shed. Eventually I might put a curtain along the length of the shed to make the decor more pleasing to the eye especially when I lie down to sleep. For clarification the shed is the area in the van where my bunk once existed. For 3 years Ron and I slept side by side with a 12 inch foot path. When asked why he didn’t make us one double bed he replied with a chuckle. “I use the van for utility purposes even though the middle is a narrow alley, I can slide sheets of plywood and other building materials in and out easy. As far as sleeping with my lady, “Hell, it’s only a short hop across to her hot bod.” For Ron to say that was quite impressive. He is usually a more subtle, non-sexual, romantic type of a guy.
What struck me yesterday was a sudden fear of returning to Florida. The fear is an overwhelming burst of emotion that will repeat itself with every friend I encounter. Most of the people are friendly friends; yet all of them are people I can count on. Still, I feel so stupid, so much like I just fucked up my life and I don’t know what I am going to do. What if I run out of money. No one wants to return home broken hearted or broken down. My heart is split. I now wonder is it letting the pain out, or bringing in an infection.
Some say the pain of a loss allows us to let the love we have for the deceased to do something. Oh, I don’t know what all this is about. I do know my sister said yesterday during our daily chat that she doesn’t want to live long. If she is healthy I argued why not live long. I am going to write her a personal letter.
In the meantime, know that emotionally this Florida trip is scary. Otherwise, I have a road plan, and should be able to stay within my budget. To all my friends and family, may you never have to bury or burn a loved one…
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