At sea days
I am floating. Up and down, no ports of call. “At sea days” they are named.
I am a widow. Widow, widow, widow. The word sounds funny. What are widow’s weeds anyway? And do they come in size XL? My weeds appear to be cruise wear.
Thoughts flit around, sting and are gone. Do people know the amber earrings they are buying on board are insects in tree poo? Would they pay less if they did? Or is petrified poo worth more?
You shouldn’t write when emotionally ionized. Maudlin. It sounds like a name, doesn’t it? “I’d like you to meet my new friend, Maudlin. You’ll be seeing us together quite often for a while.”
Did he have to die while I’m half a world away? Did he do it so I wouldn’t have to sit there and watch? A bad joke or a kind gesture. He was capable of both, you know.
These are the at sea days. And I think there will be a lot of them on the back nine.
NOTES:
- To all of you sending well wishes, you are appreciated more than you can know. In time, I will thank you all. In the meantime, you’re saving me about a billion in counseling! Love at you all.
- Because the Mister requested cremation and no ceremony, the time pressures are not as great as with many deaths. That’s why I have the ability to take it slow and make few decisions until I am ready.
- In his last days, he was preparing an email for me with photos of all the kinds of dogs we have owned. His last night he dreamed about dogs in his room, according to the nurse. He loved those pooches, so I think that is nice. About time these mutts earned their doggy bones.
