For me, it started with rowing at 5 a.m. The moon in the clear dark sky was a perfect half-circle; not a crescent, but an exact half-circle as though the moon had been bisected along a perfect seam. I'd never seen a moon quite like it.
After I rowed, Brita and I took the ferry to Bainbridge, and stopped for oatmeal and toast at Steve's old haunt, the "career corner" at Bainbridge Bakers. Then, Brita and I traveled north to Port Townsend, another favorite. We wandered through Fort Warden - the site of so many weekend drives.
We took Steve with us, that is, we took his "cremains" in the paper mache box from the funeral home. Brita and I found a beautiful spot on the sunlit beach and scattered a couple handfuls of Steve into the sound. We couldn't part with all of him, but couldn't resist joking about which parts we might have "parted out."
|With the bright sun in her face, Brita, sixteen, holds "the box" that's been |
kept safe in her room since last April.
So, we made it through the anniversary, awakening only to find that Steve's still dead. Another chapter begins.
Linda Gromko, MD