feralfae

Now, Shannon, how are you doing? Are you feeling a little more rested? Are you eating some fresh foods (when you can get them other than by dogsled, I mean!) and drinking lots of water? I hope that you have been really resting, and giving your body a chance to do some repair. And that you have been able to meditate, and give your heart some time to repair as well. I hope you are feeling a bit calmer, a little more safe, and just a bit more centered. Every minute, Blessings and Much Love, *<twinkles>* fae

Mary, If she wants to stay in AK, I know UAF was looking for a field archaeologist, and she could ask at the museum about the position. Hum, if you want to PM me, I will give you the name of another amazing woman, survivor, archaeo-botanist at UAF She has super stories to tell, and I imagine those two might know each other already. My friend is at the UAF museum now, curating. I think she is the only archaeo-botanist there. So, they might want to talk. I think this friend knows a lot of people. And we have another friend in Anchorage with USFS, I believe, who will know a lot of people. I will need to track here down, though. She's been moving around a lot lately. Anyway, what a delightful evening you had! That is super! Thank you for sharing, lay off the vacuums! Goodness! Actually, I am only now beginning to be able to vacuum again, and I am glad I took my time and had all the PT. Beehive yourselves! (Just finished watching Nanny McPhee). *<twinkles>* fae

Thank you both for sharing here your stories of love notes left, and no one in the family understanding it at all. No one "got it" about the notes Doug left, or that he had actually created two books out of our correspondence over the years. Two books! I don't know what I will do with them yet, and I have not printed them out from his desk Mac. They are both formatted and ready to print, and it looks as though there are some commentaries by him as well. He always had three computers going on different levels of disciplines and writing. I have not explored them yet, although he told me to go through them before I erased them. He also left memory sticks for me, about 2 dozen. I don't think my hospice counselor got it, although she was very kind. But my grief counselor got it, and I am delighted that many people here get it. Thank you both for sharing your notes about the notes. It is so comforting to find others who understand how precious and wonderful it is to have this love with another person. Thank you. *<twinkles>* fae

He he Sneck: (OED) to close or fasten a door with a latch. Who knew! ?? Thank you for the new word! fae

Thank you Mary. Thank you for your understanding and compassion. I am so blessed to have found this place of kind hearts. Thank you for letting me know the days ahead will be more joyful. I am still feeling pretty numb, but my counselor shows signs of happiness now, and her energy has changed a LOT these last few months, and I am so happy for her, because she lost her dear husband almost three years ago, and when I was first seeing her, she seemed almost as weighed down with grief as I was. Now she is better. You are better. You are smiling and humming! I knew it would happen, and now I will patiently wait for the when. I have a big sign up in my kitchen (where the lights are doing all right at present) "Patience Solves More than You Can Imagine" and I read it many times each day. Doug often told me, smiling at my impatience about things, that patience was not one of my stronger virtues. I am learning patience. It is not easy. I think it is tied to faith, which I am slowly experiencing again, but slowly. Some of the connections got lost when Doug left, I think. You are doing so well, and I enjoy reading your posts. I am not on Facebook, and so I learn things here about everyone that I am missing. But I truly love reading things here that make me smile. And I am so looking forward to humming again! I have played Bach all day. Tomorrow is Scriabin's day. I am working on the beginnings of a daily schedule for me, so that I will have some activities planned. Today, Saturday, I made a list of chores I could do, and so I have hauled up firewood, done the laundry, watered the plants, cleaned the house, and took a walk through the forest. It is snowing emphatically now, so I will not make the drive to town that I had thought to make this evening to pick up mail. There is just no use in inviting a slip on the unplowed roads. I have some old funny Cary Grant movies to watch, and can ride the exercise bike while I am enjoying the movie. And there is all that laundry to fold. Before, I did the laundry, and Doug folded and put away things. Of course, there is not as much laundry now, but I miss his precise and very neat folding of things. I am a bit messier, although people comment that I am remarkably neat and organized.. I guess some of Doug's neatness has rubbed off over the years. Thank you for your loving support and sharing. And your humor and stories, too! *<twinkles>* fae

I love reading this topic and smiling at the antics of these charming, infuriating, and delightful dogs! I don't have a dog. I may get one. Doug did not like any animals in the house. And we could not have cats because I have an allergy, so we had no pets. (But lots of Godchildren!) Now that Kay has pointed out that it is my life now, and my house now, I will think about this, but I wanted to tell you all how much I love reading all about the antics of these marvelous fur friends. And I don't do electricity, either. I can do a little plumbing and carpentry and other things, but electricity scares me since I tried to fix a wall sconce in Evanston, and electrocuted myself shockingly! he he. It is so great to hear about the escapes and escapades of these beloved friends, and about the reactions, too! What a great read! Thank you all! *<twinkles>*fae

Dear Marty, Happy birthday and all wonderful returns of the day. Thank you for being the compassionate and wise person you are for all of us here. I wish for you the best of everything, and *<twinkles>* feralfae

Thank you Kay. Your words are most comforting. This is a journaling place for me, as well as a sharing place. Today, for the first time since Doug asked me to open a bottle of our best (french) wine and had the tiniest sip from his glass before he left, I went into his wine cellar and chose a bottle. I cried for a while, just to be in there, where everything was designed, arranged, sorted, and stewarded by Doug. I wanted to have a glass with the half of my dinner I brought home last night from the restaurant. It seemed a good time to do so. I had dinner with one of our Godsons, who came home from school to take me out to dinner, and who loved Doug so very much, was with us in Alaska when Doug had his first surgery and diagnosis, and who is also an alpinist and adventurer, and looked up to Doug as his leader, father, and mentor. It is hard to describe how close we were. This Godson had no functional parents, and we sort of totally adopted him, got him settled into college (engineering) and have been his emotional and financial support thus far. I am carrying on those traditions Doug had with these young men. And I have a couple of dear Goddaughters, too, whom we shared. I brought home half of my little steak, half of my baked potato, and some grilled zucchini. It seemed to be time, so I opened the door of the cellar, and found a bottle of reserve Malbec that Doug had advisedly labeled for me. He actually spent time making sure I would know when to drink each bottle, sorting the bottles we had collected from so many places, and putting labels on each bottle of when to drink it. I am way behind. When he was here, we would consume maybe two bottles a week, sharing with friends. He collected wines, so I have a lot more than I will drink very fast, and I am going to ask a dear friend who is an expert to come out and tell me more about the wines, because, although I enjoy and appreciate them, I don't know much about many of these bottles. And I need to know when to open them, or give them as gifts, of course. I chose a bottle from a bin that is labeled "2012." I opened this bottle with Doug's special corkscrew from France, and poured about 6 ounces, and then re-corked the bottle and put it in the refrigerator. I slowly heated my meal on the warming burner of the range, and had a wonderful luncheon just for me, and had a chance to have a long conversation with G*d, talking about how wonderful it was to have Doug in my life, and how much I appreciate our years together, as I sat at our table, looking out on the Continental Divide, and so thankful that I am safe, warm, well-fed, and comfortable, and don't have a lot of worries, but am just so very alone sometimes here on Earth. So, I did it. All by myself, I chose a bottle of wine, and it was heavenly. I am still sipping it as I write this. I have been reading the National Geographic and about the Kyrgyz, where we had planned to trek, and which is featured in the February NatGeo. Some of Doug's men, whom he mentored in alpine climbing, and whom he loved, and who traveled to stand to make tributes to him at his Life Celebration, now write for NatGeo. Not this issue, though. But I am beginning to feel I may soon be ready for another adventure, and perhaps I will still go trekking here or in Mongolia. Archaeologists can go most places, because we are not politically motivated, and no one bothers us, especially if we are also peaceful people. Lots of images and impressions for art out there for us, too, as all you artists know. So, as I savor the last sips of this glass of Malbec, and remember the days of joy and laughter we had, I pray that sometime in the future, I will find my way back to joy, laughter, good wine, and happiness again. For now, I am content with this long, long time of learning all the ways one must say goodbye to one's beloved. And it is all right, and a part of the journey, and I will be fine again soon. But for now, the tears flow, and I laugh at myself as I try to keep tears from falling into my glass, which is a special one Doug had made for me by a friend in Alaska, etched with a raven. I am loved and blessed beyond words. I must find my way through all of this sorrow, and I know I will, but it is a new adventure for each of us, and I don't think there are any sufficient topos (maps). We each travel through uncharted territory, bringing with us the tools and memories we have at hand and heart. We must explore and discover each our own path. All I know for certain is that there will be joy at the end of this journey. Oh, but I wish the path were shorter! Much Love and Blessings, *<twinkles>* too, fae

Thank you, MartyT, for those kind and comforting words. I often feel that I am writing too much here, taking up too much time and space here, but then, as Kay pointed out, people have a choice to simply ignore it all. Thank you for this wonderful vessel into which we call all pour our shared sense of loss, our grief, and where we can share, celebrate, and find solace in our wonderful opportunity to have experienced the blessings of love and our beloved. Thank you. *<twinkles>* (I find that fairy dust shines even through tears. ) fae

Dear Jan, As a history buff, I just had to go read this! How wonderful! I am glad that Richard, in part at least, may be redeemed for all the bad press he had earlier. And I am glad his bones will be properly laid to rest, too. What a neat discovery, and the DNA information is excellent! Thank you for this bit of news! I have always found Richard to be an enigmatic and challenging character, with many pieces of history about his life that do not fit together neatly. It was a difficult period for the throne. *<twinkles>* fae

Dearest Shannon, I hope you can feel my loving arms around you. I have two daughters in their 40s, and am a grandmother. I cannot imagine what you have been through in your life, but I can empathize with your sense of fear, loss, betrayal, and helplessness. YOu are not at all to blame. And I know that loving hugs through the internet is not much to offer, but I hope you can feel my loving compassion surrounding you. Everything will be all right. It is going to take a while, but you will get through this. While you are weakened and so very tired, and sleep-deprived, it is even more difficult, as Marty pointed out. I hope you will be able to find some reading, movies, music, or art to distract you. Maybe talking with a close friend. Right now, as much as you are able, I hope you can turn off the memories, feelings, and worry. I hope you can shift your brain to neutral, and then even further, taking it into a place of comfort, solace, and healing. If you have a Chicken Soup book, or any book that takes you into a safe and calm space. Or a movie, or a poem. I hope you can focus on the upsetting energy, shift to peace and faith, and then to some measure of solace or perhaps even a little joy. I do not mean in any way to diminish what you are feeling, or what you have been through, but hope to share with you that we have the ability to parcel out the anguish and pain, into smaller portions that we can manage. Then we can take a break, and come back for further resolution later on. I think that is why counselors see us only for an hour, then we go home and sort out those pieces, before our feelings of those intense sessions overwhelm us. So, if you can, please take the time to quiet your mind, using music, poetry, a movie, a book, or talking to a friend. Be still, have peace. Let your troubles slip off your heart for a little while. You are a wonderful and precious person exactly the way you are right now. Please love and cherish that wonderful and precious person who you are. I don't know if this will help, but when I was experiencing a lot of guilt, I found this site helpful: http://theselfcompassionproject.com/ and these meditations: http://www.self-compassion.org/guided-self-compassion-meditations-mp3.html Please know I am sitting here typing, and holding you in my heart and arms. I send Much Love, Blessings, and *<twinkles>* fae

It is February 9th, and I have made it past the one-year mark of Doug's leaving on 7 February. A year ago, when someone told me I would feel better in a year, I could not imagine that I would be alive in a year, much less feel better. All I wanted to do was leave and go find Doug. Then, and I think I wrote about this before, one of our dear friends had a dream where Doug was lecturing me and telling me to stay in my body. She was most emphatic when she was confronting me about that. Other friends had other dreams to tell me about. I felt at the time that I had lost all connections with Doug, because I was not dreaming about Doug, but only hearing about others dreaming of him talking to me, and then telling me about the dreams. I guess I was too deep in grief to even have dreams at that time. By now, I have had a few lovely dreams of us together. I planned a lot of practical events to help me make it through this anniversary time because this week so filled with memories from last year. I looked at photos, watched videos, read notes and letters. It helped a lot. I had a massage. I went out to dinner with one of our Godsons, who came home from college to spend part of yesterday with me. I met a friend for coffee. I felt very proud that I was taking care of myself, even while all the memories of those last days Doug when was here flooded in and pretty much overwhelmed me. But I have been even more overwhelmed by the love that has reached me from my friends, my family and my husband through these golden threads of love which seem to have held me together thus far. The notes. The arrival of the necklace. The 'all clear' diagnosis on what everyone was concerned was skin cancer. And yesterday, a good report on my heart. Hurray! A couple of his "bird books" showed up in the mail yesterday after being on loan for several years. Doug's scraps of paper with his field notes are still in the books. A fellow from a wildlife refuge had borrowed them in, I think, 2006, and only recently came back to the US from field work in S. America. So, here are the books, with Doug's notes and a few of mine on bits of paper interleaved with the pages of the books. I held the books, smelling them, caressing them, and hoping to feel a little of Doug there. But the books have been through a lot of hands. Our contact is mostly spirit now, I know. I have made it this long, lonely year. As I type this, I glance over at the corner of our living room where Doug would sit in his wingback chair, writing up notes, answering emails, sorting papers, and occasionally smiling at me or chuckling over something and then sharing it with me if I looked up from my own work. A lot of my pain now is still this overwhelming sense of loss, or finality, or knowing I will not have his presence here in our home. I woke up crying, although I had a good day yesterday. Each time I shed tears, I know there is healing, that I am coming to acceptance, and that emptiness is being filled with a new kind of love that cherishes, remembers, and celebrates our love Here. And even as I cry, I have a certainty about the future, and I know Doug is only gone from that broken body, and that his spirit is still with, in, and around me, and his love still fills my being. But, oh, I miss his voice, his breakfast prayers at the table, his kind and loving hugs just any old time, and his humor and wit. But I think that I am grieving less. I am able to function more. I no longer plan to join Doug before it is my time. I am taking better care of myself. I am cooking meals. I am able to take care of the house fairly well, although there is still a lot to do to restore things to the way it was prior to Doug's illness. And the house will not be that way again, anyway, but rearranged, redecorated, with new memories starting to be made these days. Yet, the overwhelming sense here in our house, for me, is still one of loss and emptiness. But here is the good news: When I grieve, mourn, cry, and tremble with this sense of loss, there is a quiet voice now, reassuring me, telling me that things will be all right. That I will be fine. That the future will get better, lighter, and have more joy. Doug used to tell me I made a great research scholar because I have more curiosity than anyone he had ever met. And now, my curiosity is awakening a bit, and I am beginning to wonder what the future will hold, and how I can contribute to the shaping of that future. I don't have any answers yet, but I am able to ask the question, which I could not do a few weeks ago. Grief wells up in my heart, and I must stop whatever I am doing to cry. But then it passes faster these days. One book I read called these "grief bursts" and that is a good description—sort of like a cloud burst, just moving in fast, a sudden quick shower of tears, a sense of cleansing, and relief. I think it is all right to natter on here. None of this is required reading for anyone, but it makes me feel that I have shared the journey, have taken it out from inside of me and set it in public view, and that it has been permissible to do so. Somehow, sharing here makes me feel that others understand and honor this experience. Doug would be embarrassed by this public emotional display, I think. But it is not too public. He did not want people to know he had cancer. He did not want people to know, even when we knew he was leaving soon, that he was leaving. He did not want to publicly acknowledge his leaving. Some people knew. He was a very private person. We were a very private couple, which is ironic considering that we are both writers and our stuff is all over the internet. But our personal life was pretty calm and private. Not secret, just private. We had some very close friends, and they have held me in their hearts through all of this, and helped Doug when he was preparing to leave. He let them know. Most people we knew had little information, because Doug wanted it that way. When I started posting on Caring Bridge, to provide updates in response to all of the emails and phone calls, and to alleviate the repetition of the updates, it was a relief for me, but Doug thought it was too public, and often edited what I wrote, excluding most of the medical details. And of course, I did not give up hope until Doug told me that we were aborting the mission. Then we began to say goodbye. We had already prepared for this leaving, just in case, but we held onto hope for a long time. I am glad we did. I am glad there was nothing left unsaid. I am glad he was with me when he escaped. I am glad we had each other. What I am hoping for these days is the courage and strength to continue, to live on, to become who I am becoming, and to be able to share love and kindness with others, and to carry on our work. I hope to be able to show Doug's love and compassion for others, for he was a non-judgmental person, far more than am I. I don't think he even needed to forgive people—he simply accepted them as they were, and hoped that they would learn the lessons they were here to learn. He would often let people harm him, and still treat them as a friend. I am more wary. Right now, I feel the need to be very wary, as there have been some instances where I needed to have protected myself better since Doug left. I am learning a new balance in my life. I am watching all of this unfold. I am very thankful to have had our years together. Doug's love changed my life in many wonderful ways, and I know that will continue into my future. I am astounded and amazed at all the love around me, and all the beautiful expressions of love that keep arriving. I am also learning how to take care of myself better these days, and to eat healthy foods, drink lots of water, sleep enough, exercise, take time to meditate, to read books that comfort me, to watch funny and happy movies, and to reach out when I need comfort and help. I am learning to take care of myself again, after those years of being so entirely focused on taking care of Doug. I am glad to have this place to write, to share, and to articulate my feelings as words. I am sad to be on this transformation, but thankful for how it is working out in so many ways. I am thankful to be able to have enough awareness to see how things are unfolding, and to be reassured of my life and path, and to be able to know that I am recovering, healing, and accepting. I am so thankful to have my faith to carry me, and for friends and loving people around me. I have made it through this year of upside-downness, of emptiness, and of sorrow. I am not finished on this path, but I know, and am wonderfully reassured, that things will be all right. Blessings, Much Love and *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Mary, The richness and depth of your love with Bill shines through your sharing posts. Doug and I figured out we did not chose each other (his first letter to me was addressed to Sir: because of my name) and yes, we both had the same reaction to loving each other—that we had found each other again. We talked about it quite a bit, because of the uncanny overlaps in our lives. You and Bill had a wonderful love, and I am thankful that you are able to share so much here. It is a comfort to be able to smile and nod my head and say, "Yes, see? Others had it too, and can express it." Doug wrote love letters when we were separated on business, and often left little notes around the house for me, many hidden in places where I am still finding them. Once he had heard the final diagnosis, and had given up the thought of more chemo after three years or growing weaker and weaker, he set about putting everything in order, and I think that is when he began to leave the last set of notes. Some are reminders of things to do. Some are notes for the Trustees. Most are signed sketches, some with notes, mostly sketches of birds (he was an ornithologist by profession and also an artist) and lots of little notes, many just saying "I love You" or "I am still Here." Although I shed tears of loneliness and gratitude when I find the notes, they are truly a comfort. And he was very good at hiding things in places he knew I would eventually be looking. But, Doug was no poet, although a great writer and storyteller. I love that you have Bill's poems to cherish and read. Songs from his heart to yours. How wonderful. I know Bill is still "Here" with you as well. Thank you for your continuing outpouring of love and thoughtfulness to us all here. Much Love and *<twinkles>* fae

Thank you Mary, that is a beautiful and inspiring poem. I often find myself being distracted by noise, when what I most need is the silence to hear the voice within. Is description of noise was exactly what I have noticed at times. It is so easy to let the outside world distract me from the self within sometimes. Thank you so much for sharing. Your Bill had a great deal of insight. How wonderful. Thank you *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Friend, I am so very sorry to hear about the loss of your daughter. My heart goes out to you. Sudden losses seem to me to be such a trauma to the entire sense of our being. When we lost our twin boys years and years ago, we started to sell the house and move away from all the memories and hopes. Our dear priest talked us into renting a house in another town for a year, close enough so that it did not involve either of us needing to leave the university where we both were teaching. He found the house for us, actually, and helped us to move. We leased our closer-to-campus house to a visiting professor and his family, and we moved into a smaller place about 20 miles away, where everything was a bit cramped, but as (first husband) David said, "it does not feel empty" and so we stayed there for more than a year, then when our home was vacant, we redecorated a lot before we moved back in (the nursery was ready for the twin boys, you see, and they did not live long enough to come home from the hospital). That year away from everything, with time to focus on our own loss and sorrow and to get counseling and not be confronted with so many changes that we needed to make at home, really helped us. We gained some peace and comfort. It was a lot easier to accept and adjust, and to get through the shock and trauma, than if we had tried to do it all at once. I am so happy we did not sell our home. We raised our girls there, and had years and years of happy memories with them, and with friends for dinner parties and wonderful evenings and teas before David became ill. I am so glad we waited. It is not easy to look at empty rooms and feel the emptiness around us, but there are other options than selling or moving. I hope you have someone to help you sit with and move through your loss and grief. There is no way to avoid the journey of grief, but there are many ways to make it a bit easier. Sharing here can be a Godsend. And we will be here to lift you up and be with you when you need our love and support. I hope you have a good grief counselor. Hospice facilities in your community will have trained, helpful people who can assist you in sorting things out emotionally, and help you to look at your options, find ways to cope, and stand with you while you work on making some decisions. I hold you both in my heart, and in my prayers. Blessings, Much Love and *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Shannon, I just want to second what Anne said above. If you don't have help already, now is the time. I put off getting help when Doug was ill for way too long, so we could have as much time with each other as possible, but I was slipping very badly, and am still recovering my health. In fact, I must go for another set of tests today, after tests on Monday. More than anything else, you must take care of yourself. I know how hard it is to pull away a little and let someone else be there for Leo for a few hours, but you must take care of your health, get enough rest, and be mindful of your nutrition. Be there for you for a while as well. You are there for Leo as much as you are able, but you must be mindful of your health and your body's need for rest. You also need an emotional respite so that you will be able to come back with more energy and peace to care for Leo. Many friends and other people tried to tell me this, and I ignored them, thinking I could do it all. We cannot do it all. If you can get some nursing help to come in and take care of Leo while you get some rest, have a cup of tea, take a nap, or even just sit with yourself, please do so. Maybe there is a family member of close friend. Take all the help you can get, and ask for more. You need time right now to rest so that you can think clearly, process what is going on, make the best decisions, and so that you can give Leo the love and emotional presence you both deserve. Let someone else take his temperature and check his vitals. And maybe have them check yours as well. Go gently with yourself, so that you can continue to give Leo your love. It sounds as though things are becoming more challenging, between the virus and the weather. Maybe you can start making arrangements today to have some help come in and to be able to give yourself some time for self caring. I hope you make it through this storm with your power and that everything with the house is all right. Mostly, I hope you can get some help so that you can spend a little more time taking care of you. Please do take care of yourself, Shannon, and please let us know how you are doing. My prayers are with you, and I am holding you and Leo in my heart. Blessings, *<twinkles>* fae

This has been a wonderful place to spend a lot of this day. There have been many loving calls and emails. Tomorrow I am having a massage from a very good masseuse and then I go for my physical, and I know it is going to show that my endocrine systems are improving, that my spine surgery is healed, that my health has improved in many ways. The report today is that all the biopsied spots were totally benign. One more plus for the day. I am alive, and slowly coming back to life as well. Thank you for all the wonderful posts that I have been reading. How comforting to find this place! *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Harry, I am very relieved to hear you are staying home, regardless of when the memorial will be held. I hope this turns out to be a blessing for you. Yes, here in Montana, it seems that every year some new arrivals will walk into their heated garage, load the warm car with children in t-shirts, and never bother to check the weather. It makes the news when the state troopers, already too busy with all our remote little towns and roads, must go rescue these people. And we all get renewed lectures on winter driving, chains, blankets, etc. And I think maybe there needs to be more winter awareness, because it seems we lose a few people each year. During blizzards here and in Fairbanks, we generally tried to hunker down, keep warm, sip cocoa—and occasionally sherry or brandy, or Doug's splash of scotch—and read to each other, or sometimes watch a series from the Teaching Company. After Doug became very ill, we would sometimes just sit by the fire and hold hands, our heads together. So, blizzards were nice times of isolation and togetherness, but we did not try to make it out of the hills where we live on narrow, gravel roads. I am glad you will have some time of peace. And if these things come in threes, then you have had your three, and maybe you can relax. Doug was followed by one of our dear long-time friends, and then Estelle. I am counting that as my three for the last year. I am declaring that year over. I expect things to keep getting better, even if very slowly. I just wish I had more patience with the process. I hope you find solace in the silence of the snow. I have found quiet walks in falling snow most comforting. We used to do that a lot together. You are in my prayers. *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Harry, I am sorry to hear about your friend's husband. Oh my. Not another loss. So soon. I am so sorry to hear that you are traveling this road again, and I do not mean the snow, although that is not so great. I mean traveling this road of loss, support, saying farewell. I hope you are finding some time for your own healing and quietness. I know it must be tough trying to make it through all of this, all in such short sequence. I am just so sorry for all the losses on your path right now. How wonderful that they had 57 years together! I hope February gets better for you, and very soon. Be careful driving in all that snow. I hope the roads will be well-cleared for your trip. I am so sorry that you have another loss to face right now. I hope that the rest of February will a be a time of low or no stress and peace for your healing heart. *<twinkles>* fae

What a wonderful and timely post, thank you Mary. It was a delightful distraction for a part of this day, and I was lifting weights, too, while listening. Mindfulness of body, I hope. I could not find any movies or books that offered any fullness or what I seemed to need. And I found this post from you. Nice! Especially, I loved how the mindfulness is useful for finding out who I am becoming. Or, more accurately it feels, unveiling. New depths, skills, things I did not know about me. Sitting quietly has become my favorite activity a few times a day, and I have been meditating, but felt I needed more input. And here it is! Thank you. *<twinkles>* fae

I must add: As is the custom in our line, we retain few assets within the family: the women generally share their fortunes with charities. Estelle left most of her estate to Hunter, Duke, the American Cancer Society, and a variety of scholarship funds at a variety of schools. Maybe some to Harvard. And the University of Tampa. It is the custom. And the tiny stone I have received means more than any fortune, as I am sure you all understand. And to have it arrive today makes me certain there is a conspiracy of Angels. *<twinkles>* fae

Thank you Kay Yes, Estelle was a superb person, brilliant, loving, and unable to have children from her body. She had some wonderful children of spirit, however, and everyone of them a lovely person. I was her Daughter(-by-marriage), and she gifted me with great love. After I met Doug, she gifted him with her love as well. I am so glad I got to love her. The necklace is so special because of the story. The tiny diamond was one of those smuggled out, and used to buy life. Ticket of life, they were called back during the Inquisition. (I was told a lot of remarkable stories by my Dad. It's funny to find others who fled Spain at that time, because many of us, even if reared on various continents, look a bit alike. But Estelle was not of that line. She was not Sephardic. And of course, that is only a drop of my genes, along with Scottish, French, Sioux, etcetera, but it is a nice heritage.) I think it was recut in about 1850 or so, into that old european cut. It is not a significant stone, but the history of these stones is remarkable. This was one of the ones saved—who knows by what means! It has been passed down through the women of the family. It keeps getting diverted due to no daughters, so now, I am its steward. I have daughters, so we are covered, and Dad told them the stories as well. So, Estelle married my husband David's father, and she brought with her the ticket of life, which her mother-in-law had given her when Estelle married Jim. I think Jim's mother, Adele, had no daughters. Adele was Estelle's wonderful MIL. My father called these the Stones of Rachel. (Lots of history in that phrase!) My Father's name was Joseph. This stone ties back a circle more than 600 years, for that branch of my far-flung ancestors left Spain in 1500. The stone belonged to one of many families to escape torture and death and go out into the New World with what they could carry, hide, convert, and conserve, and that family might have been mine. I consider this stone a wonderful talisman of Doug's love, Estelle's love, and how very, amazingly blessed I am to have them in my life and heart. I miss them both terribly, but I am not alone. These circles of Grace are truly amazing. Truly. Thank you for allowing me to praise Estelle here. We have yet to have her memorial service, which falls to me when I am able to do so, and I must not wait too long, as many of her friends in her retirement community are in their 80s and 90s, and I would like to see them all and bring them together one more time, as Estelle did at so many magnificent parties she hosted. Thank you for this healing place to share these stories. Thank you. Blessings, hugs, and much love, herinafter condensed into *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Anne, Thank you so much. I feel comforted reading other posts here, knowing this journey is a shared one. Thank you for the welcome. Blessings, Much Love and *<twinkles>* fae

Dear Kay, Thank you. Special is unique, and so, we each have our own special times and lives and loving, I think. Kay, just because you did not have time to say words does not mean that the intention was not manifested at a spirit level. Yes, it is a true blessing to share the words out loud, to have the time to say "see you later" and to have last kisses and hugs and touches with that other manifestation of spirit, but I am sure that you and George met at a spirit level, and that cannot change by "something as the simple as a minor detail like death" as Doug used to say to me when we were talking about "next time." I miss Doug's physical presence. I miss sharing ideas with him. But I have profound knowing of his spirit still being connected with mine. I am sure you feel that with George as well. Sometimes, when I let myself put down all the worries and stop being hyper-vigilant too much of the time, and surrender to the silence, I can hear Doug reassuring me, letting me know that all is well. Meditation helps to calm my mind and heart a great deal. I am here, counting hours, watching videos, reading Doug's words, cherishing some of his love letters to me, admiring all the things he made for me, thanking him for sharing his spirit with me, because out of everyone on Earth he found me (!), and for letting us touch each other's hearts. Wow, what an incredible gift! I feel as though I am surrounded by Angels, and that the entire Universe is conspiring on my behalf. Estelle's necklace arrived today by FedEx, and I have it on, remembering some of her wisdom: Life is meant to be happy. You are entitled to as many miracles as anyone. Anyone. Love is the only valid reason for anything you do. And she used to say how lucky she was to have had two such wonderful husbands. Especially Dad, she said, which made him smile every time. She often told us how lucky Doug and I were to have each other. When Doug left, Estelle and I comforted each other by telephone. She left a memorial to him with the American Cancer Society. She really helped me a lot—she is still loving and helping me. For me today, people are calling, sending cards, notes, flowers, and love. Having the necklace arrive was a very special blessing. It is very comforting. And Estelle's Goddaughter, who received it accidentally, sent it filled with her love as well. She is a remarkably wonderful woman with 5 sons. And here at HOV, this place simply IS comfort. Thank you all. {{{hugs}}} Blessings, much love, and of course *<twinkles>* fae

Dear, Dear Harry, Your soul is so very beautiful. Thank you for sharing the journey you are traveling with us. Yes, the gift of life is a lease, but the gift of awareness is eternal. Which has always comforted me, and comforted both Doug and me since the day we began the new adventure of the cancer, at which, Doug used to say all the time, we humans are only guessing, but then, we are a young species. Life recycles, but awareness of spirit is a gift out of all bounds beyond life. Thank you so very much for sharing, and I pray your heart is healing a bit more every day. It gets easier. Blessings and Much Love, fae ps our favorite poem for the last several years has been Valediction Forbidding Mourning and it was handed out with the program at his life celebration last May in Alaska.