It’s Saturday morning. 7:46am and I woke up to a stunning view of Mt. Tampalpais from Jason’s childhood bedroom. The same room that as teenagers we would fill with laughter and farts. The same room we would fill with adolescence and misdirected testosterone, playing video games, “giving each other shit,” being boys pretending to be men.
I am alone in this room and fear that it might be too early to rouse Jason and his dad from their slumber. I slept soundly and completely last night. After the service Jason and I came home and watched some of the Raider preseason game. We chatted about this and that and then this again, never dwelling too much on the events of the day or the loss of his mother. We both needed some space to simply be for a few hours.
The service was beautiful and perfect and necessary. 300+ friends and family and ice and cream and memories. I am too cotton headed at the moment with fatigue to do it any justice with words. We laughed together and cried and shared memories about a women who people described as “a force of a nature, courageous, generous, funny, kind, and loving.”
The house is quiet and empty without her. This house that holds so many memories and fingerprints of her chaos and tenderness. I keep expecting her to yell out, you awake yet? Let me get you something to eat. But the sound of traffic beyond the hill is all I can hear.
We will find something to do with our day in her empty house. She is still here in every sense, but the one we cherish the most.
My daily posts are as discombobulated as I am, so I am going to crawl back under the warm covers and try to get a few more hours of sleep, or at least some quiet under the cover of darkness.
I am alone in this room and fear that it might be too early to rouse Jason and his dad from their slumber. I slept soundly and completely last night. After the service Jason and I came home and watched some of the Raider preseason game. We chatted about this and that and then this again, never dwelling too much on the events of the day or the loss of his mother. We both needed some space to simply be for a few hours.
The service was beautiful and perfect and necessary. 300+ friends and family and ice and cream and memories. I am too cotton headed at the moment with fatigue to do it any justice with words. We laughed together and cried and shared memories about a women who people described as “a force of a nature, courageous, generous, funny, kind, and loving.”
The house is quiet and empty without her. This house that holds so many memories and fingerprints of her chaos and tenderness. I keep expecting her to yell out, you awake yet? Let me get you something to eat. But the sound of traffic beyond the hill is all I can hear.
We will find something to do with our day in her empty house. She is still here in every sense, but the one we cherish the most.
My daily posts are as discombobulated as I am, so I am going to crawl back under the warm covers and try to get a few more hours of sleep, or at least some quiet under the cover of darkness.
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