On Tuesday (that would be tomorrow), Thomas will be dead for 5 weeks. I am so fortunate to have had him in my life, and he was so fortunate he maintained his sense of humor until the very end. If all the people who wanted to be there to cheer him on, to wish him well, could have been there, the house would have split at the seams. Literally.

I am reminded of an old blog of mine, where I asked Are You Adoptable? Thomas was not only adoptable, but he was adopted by many people. More women than men, I think, but that’s okay. In fact, it’s not surprising at all. Women liked Thomas. He made us feel important when we were with him, he made us laugh, he brought all the romantic thoughts to the fore. When he was with a woman, he valued her.

When Thomas died, he was not alone—and yet he was. There were close friends there, and many close friends who wanted to be there. People wanted to be with Thomas. He made everyone important. He listened to them. He laughed with them. He was interested in them. But birthing and dying are two of life’s most momentous times, and we must travel that path alone. True, Mom isn’t far away on the former, and loved ones can hold you for the latter, but you still gotta do the heavy part all by yourself alone.

Most, dare I say all, of my good friends are adoptable. They like and love me, and I like and love them. I wish I could say ALL of my friends, but I have a couple of friends who aren’t adoptable. They whine, they are lonely, they are sitting in a corner of their house just waiting to die. That’s what old people do; isn’t it? Just sit in the dark and wait to die. Sigh.

I think I was very lucky when I was in my mid 30s. I went into a deep funk. Really deep. I started reading self-help books, and the two I remember, that really helped me was My Mother/My Self by Nancy Friday and another one the name of which eludes me, as does the author, but on the cover was a girl with her arms in the air, and she was happy. I did the exercises, well, most of them. The primal scream I didn’t. But I realized, I really had to change. Of course, the big thing that scared me no end about the self-help books is once I got to know myself, well, what if I didn’t like myself? That’s a scary thought, or at least it was for me. | Today is Friday, but my friend, Meg just gave me the title of the second book I couldn’t remember: Born to Win. Marvelous book, and marvelous friends.|

But I figured I really needed to do something, so I did it. And I figured out I was pretty okay, just needed some tweaking here and there. I became happier, I complained less, in effect, without realizing it, I became adoptable. It was a long road, but I had friends who saw the end much clearer than I, and they helped and encouraged, and ya know what? It is a process, and it’s ongoing. I figure as long as I have questions, I can still search out the answers. 

Thomas and I had several discussions about what happens when we die? Nobody knows. People of faith are sure theyknow and they will go to their heaven to be with their God. Far be it from me to tell them otherwise. If it makes their dying easier, by all means they should believe it. I waffle. Since no one has come back with irrefutable proof of life after life, I figure my ideas are as good as anyone else’s. When Mole asked Raven Roshi what happens at the moment of death, Raven Roshi thought then said, “I give away all my belongings.” (From Zen Master Raven, sayings and doings of a wise bird, by Robert Aitken.) At the moment of death we give away all our clothes, our books, our computers, our wants, our desires, our anger, our love—we give them all away. We no longer need or want them.

As I said, I waffle. I hope my Ancestors will call me to them. But I really hope Schrodinger had it right, that we are on this planet both alive and dead until (God?) observed and we must decide. If dead, do we slide into another universe? Do we just die, everything goes dark, and that’s it? Buddhists believe in reincarnation. I’d like that if I can come back as a spoiled lap cat!

Will I see my family again, Thomas again? I don’t know. I can hope, I suppose I could have faith, but I won’t have proof until I’m dead. And then it won’t really matter, because I won’t be able to come back and tell any of you about my last adventure. Bummer. And I’d so like to share with y’all.

I only had Thomas in my life for about 5 years, but I am so fortunate to have had those years, and to have been introduced to some of his friends and family, so we can all keep him in our lives when we get together. I can truly say I am a better person for having him in my life. I have deleted his email from my contact list, but not his name. As long as he is remembered by someone, he isn’t truly gone. I’m still keeping my EBOC in my computer, as well as my heart.

If you missed my earlier blog, “Are You Adoptable?” or have forgotten it, and would like to read it, drop me a note and I’ll send you a copy.

Addendum: I wrote this over a week ago, then my hard drive crashed. I mistakenly thought my computer had suffered the lonesome blues while I was gone so long and had invited some outlaw bikers in to keep her company, and the not only trashed the place, but left her full of viruses, malwares and a trojan or two. Now, I have apologized hugely, because she was merely trying to keep the hard drive from dying. One needs to treat their computers nicely. It looks like the only thing I lost of great import is all my passwords. Oh, well…

Anyhow I have her back, and today is Tuesday, the 11^th of July. On Sunday, the 9^th, I was back on the Dark Side for the Celebration of Life we held for Thomas. It was beautiful. The sun came out, it was warm, and 50 people were there. I will post a couple of readings in the Spoken Word later today, or possibly tomorrow. As soon as I can remember how. 😉 And postings should begin, again, on Mondays.

This was the wine. The beer was in a washtub and a cooler or two, all filled with ice. Do you see the little ceramic shot glasses in the basket at the upper left corner? Those were made by Sheryl’s sister, Lori, who is a potter. She made 50. And the bottle of booze next to the wine is a bottle of Bullet Rye. When everyone had finished telling their Thomas Tales, we all got a shot glass, a shot of Rye, and toasted Thomas. The shot glass then went home with us. Thanks Lori for the wonderful memento, and thanks Sheryl for giving Thomas a beautiful place to live out his remaining time. I am so grateful to have met you, and Lori, and Matthew, Andrew, Olga, all the kids, two-legged and four-legged, and to have been so lovingly accepted by all.

Some of the people who came. They are looking forward to someone who is speaking. I am standing in the back, the short one with a black tee that says Metaphors Be With You that I bought in honor of Thomas, and holding the poem he wrote the morning after his sister, Sally, died. I managed to get through it and sit before I lost it. Photo is by: MarySue Finley

An elephant ear (baby, still growing) and a huge drop of water, either from a bit of rain, dew, or sprinkler. Not sure which. Probably a good tablespoon of water. It’s growing in MarySue’s yard.

Thanks for your patience, and hugs all around.