In the 17 years I’ve had a collection of Heath Ceramics dishes, only one has broken and I can’t remember how it happened. This morning I let a favorite bowl, in a discontinued color, slip from my wet hand onto the counter.
Cracked into multiple pieces is already a feeling I’ve had this week. It’s become the usual – I find myself wanting August to be over. Today it’s been seven years since Paul died and that has forever changed what used to be a fun and celebratory month. We started dating in the month of August, and his birthday would be the 31st. Parkway IPA fest. Maui Channel swim trip over Labor Day. Ripe peaches, deep red tomatoes on toast with mayo and sea salt. Homemade ice cream. Now these tastes and smells and memories make me think of hospice in my living room. Fans moving the summer heat. Background soundtrack of surf music. Karl under the covers and me trying and failing to navigate around all the tubes and equipment to crawl into that tiny bed with them.
Temporarily I can snap out of it. This week I’ve witnessed really tough things happen to people I care about, and that immediately takes my mind off of my own grief. But it also reminds me to honor it. I’ve tried to enjoy the good that comes with August, but it’s not the same. For one, my tomatoes aren’t ripe. And I had the chance to go to Hawaii over Labor Day but it just doesn’t feel like the right time – work is busy, I can’t afford it, I should spend that time finishing house projects, other excuses…
This year, I choose to wallow in the mourning. I took a personal day, sent one of the dogs to daycare, and am letting myself feel it. When I finish this post I’ll get on my bike, an increasingly rare occurrence. If I start to feel whole again by the end of the day, that’s a bonus. All morning I’ve been trying to cement this bowl back together and that process hasn’t filled me with confidence.
How About Now? 
xxxx. Sending you love. Thank you for the reminder of your august high’s and lows. I’m glad you have given yourself the month to wallow. I’m so sorry about the broken bowl. I think you should try to reclaim the homemade ice cream. 🍨 ❤️
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I’m still following along…
Re-reading your last post about dreams reminded me: I rarely remember mine, but I had one recently in which Paul and I were riding around SF on vintage Vespas, because he had a bunch of things he needed to get done before you guys moved to Tacoma, and I was just tagging along. It was a beautiful day, and I was having a good time with a great person, in one of my favorite places to be. I was both happy and sad when I woke up.
In my real life, there was a time when Paul was visiting SF, and he texted me while I was at work because he and Tom were having lunch at Fiddler’s and he wondered if I wanted to join them. I literally dropped what I was doing at work, hopped on the Vespa, and zoomed over there. The three of us had a lot of laughs. At the end we all shook hands and I puttered off, back to work. I think that might have been the last time I saw him.
I think of both of you often.
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I love this, Owen!
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maybe the bowl could become something different – take an altered state that’s still appreciated. All the past moments of enjoyment are still true and not lessened by its changed state. Maybe a mosaic frame for a favorite photo?Thinking of you, Susan
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Hang in there friend ❤ still here in Seattle if you need me
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