7 A.M.

Sitting, listening, tears streaming.

I received a lovely box in the mail yesterday from my Brooklyn boys. Among the gift items was a CD/DVD of Simon & Garfunkel (one of my very favorites!). I decided to let it keep Milton and me company this morning.

It takes me back to Easter Sunday, March 29, 1970.  I'm three months pregnant and staying with my parents on the farm. My husband of 10 months is in basic training outside of Chicago. I work at the hospital in a small city, about 10 miles away. There are no cell phones and we only get three TV stations - a few radio stations. I'm off work and enjoying my holiday with family. A call goes out in the night for all hospital staff to come help. I'm unaware and can't respond. The next morning, we learn that there was a terrible fire in town and five volunteer firemen are dead, 27 people injured with 12 admitted to the small hospital. Even in New York, Chicago, L.A., Paris, or any huge city you can think of, this would be front page news. Imagine a population of 8,000. Everyone in the town and surrounding area is either friend or relative, relative of a friend, friend of a relative, works with, goes to church with, or had their life/home saved by one of these killed.

Within the next few days, the fallen were to be eulogized, farewells given and put to rest. Several of the injured remained in the hospital. It was planned to have the audio broadcast on the public address system at the hospital. My mom was working that day and I came in for the 3-11 shift. I was able to ignore the service in the guise of busyness (Didn't want to cry at work!) Until the song. S & G in their pure, melodic harmonies singing, "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

I expounded a bit about the power of music to vividly refresh a moment in time in my post 'The Song Remembering When'. Thus the tears streaming at 7 A.M. I'm back there, back then, trying not to cry, not succeeding, feeling the anguish, feeling the sorrow of the above mentioned people, feeling my own sadness at the loss of so many, so young, so dedicated, from all walks of life, brought together in death by their mutual commitment to life.

I'll never forget. No one should.

*David Lee Rotten Note: Check out the amazing Simon & Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water performance that I was lucky to see LIVE at the 25th ANNIVERSARY ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME CONCERT- Madison Square Garden, NYC - October 29&30, 2009

I love to see the jet streams high over my home. Sometimes I can count 6 or 7 at once. I don't think about the people inside or where they're going or why. I just enjoy the beauty of the white streams against the sky blue and the glinting silver of the plane in the sunshine.

When I was thirteen, our family reunion was held near an airstrip and dad's cousin had a small plane. I flew for the first time. So exciting; I loved it, though slightly motion sick. (my lifelong problem)

1970 was my first commercial flight; Pittsburgh to Key West. I've taken many flights since. Pennsylvania to California, California to Pennsylvania, Ohio to New Mexico; Alaska; Florida many times; Hawaii; Aruba; Tennessee; New York City. I so enjoy the destinations, but not the flight. Always vaguely sick, slightly nervous, cramped, uncomfortable and happy to land! It's the means to an end, necessary evil, time saver.

So, I fly when I need to see beautiful beaches, majestic mountains, desert landscapes, tropical islands, snowscapes, 'other worlds'.

Guess I'll keep looking up, admiring the sight, and be grateful for the ride.

My paternal grandfather died in his early 50's when I was three month old. We never talked about death, but somehow I always knew my dad thought he would die young as well. When I was a kid, 50 seemed very old, so it never worried me.

When I married and had children, I vaguely thought I might die young; leave my kids without a mom. I tried not to think about it-made me sad for them. The children grew up, I didn't die and leave them without a mom, and my dad lived to be 91.

I've made the statement that I always thought I'd die young, but it's too late for that now. However, as I get older, I realize young isn't so cut and dried. Doesn't have to be 20's, 30's or 40's.

I recently found out that a childhood friend and classmate has terminal cancer. She was always so fun and full of life, friendly and kind. She's too young. She should have more time.

I've only seen her a few times over the years, but I like knowing she's in the world. I won't be happy when she's not.

I'm looking back over my self-therapy writings. A lot of my sadness and heartache came out in poetic form.

I didn't purposely set out to relate and examine my angst in verse, sometimes it just happened.

I wrote this about two months post-relationship and shortly after I became aware of the fact that it didn't have
to be over in his opinion. That made things even harder for me. I've never had to determine to end a relationship
with someone I still love.  If I 'broke up' with a boy, it was because I didn't like him anymore. If he 'broke' up with me, he didn't like me anymore.

I might still love or care for him, but no chance of reconciliation.

When my marriage ended, the love had been long deadened. No conflicting feelings or yearning for that person.

Mostly fear and anxiety regarding the new life to come.

So this has been a whole new experience knowing he isn't good for me and loving him anyway.

I miss you-has to be over.
No fear, no anxiety, I know it's over.
Just sadness and yearning.
The occasional tear.

Thinking of you less and less.
Sometimes an hour or two.
Happy for that.
The occasional smile.

So many things I love about you.
And not for the usual reasons.
I love who you aren't.
I love what you don't.
I love what you won't.
Just can't love what you do and who.

I want you-has to be over.
No touch, no closeness, I know it's over.
Just craving and feeling.
The occasional heat.

Could have you-has to be over.
Can't share, So-I know it's over.
Just mourning and grieving.
And occasional healing.  

I just got off the phone from wishing my son (David Lee Rotten) a happy birthday-and many mooooooooore. We talked about the "day you were born". I've always done that with all three of my children.

I loved being pregnant. Of course there were aches and pains and morning (afternoon and night) sickness to contend with. But the specialness of knowing that growing, living being was inside made the problems a minor inconvenience. The first butterfly kick I thought I could detect that would become karate strength that anyone could feel! I remember lying on my back in bed with their dad, watching them roll around and make peaks and valleys on the terrain of my belly.

I have often felt sorry for men's lack of ability to experience the beauty of carrying and even of bearing their children.

Dave was my third child following 2 lovely daughters. Of course, that was before we had the choice of knowing what color clothing to buy and before we knew color didn't matter anyway! We'd been waiting ten days past the projected birthday to meet this baby; girl or boy. I went to the doctor that morning for a routine checkup and he "helped things along" a bit. Yay! Labor started a couple hours later. Since it was my third, I'd better meet dad at the base ASAP. (Last birth only took 4 hours start to finish) I had good Navy neighbors who kept the girls and transported me to the hospital. Disappointment! They told us to go back home-not progressed enough to be admitted. It was over 40 minutes each way, so we began to walk in Balboa Park. Beautiful, that park. I loved being there-watching the frisbee players, squirrels, joggers, picnickers, children playing, colorful flora, couples holding hands; so much peace and life going on. We walked and walked and finally decided to go back home. At the edge of the park, I had to sit down on a bench-contractions so strong, I couldn't move. Hell no-we won't go! We'll huff and we'll puff (lamaze breathing) and we'll break those doors down!

Finally got admitted and had David Lee Rotten (aka Davy at the time) on the stretcher! Will never forget the feel of his newborn cheek against my face. Almost sodden with moisture and so, so soft. He stopped crying immediately and the nurse said, "He likes you." I liked him, too. Always have, always will.    

I love my home.
I love my privacy and my freedom. To clean and rearrange all day or to do nothing all day.
To listen to CDs , radio, or be silent.
To watch what I want or not watch at all.
To play games on the computer.
To eat what I want and when I want and where.
Alex, Pat, Vanna and I have shared many a meal together.

I occasionally get restless but never lonely. Never wish for constant companionship. Never wish for live-in love. I can't imagine that kind of existence again. I'm glad I turned down that offer! Even though it was a deal-breaker and I miss him, seems like I would've been miserable. Better some heartache and tears than an untenable living situation in my own home.

I look around and see the table my mom bought for $2.00; round, oak, claw foot. The cupboard my dad made over 60 years ago. My step-mom's hutch, the books, pictures, yard-sale finds, tchotchkes collecting dust. The backsplash my whole family helped install. My little laundry nook under the stairs that my sisters and nephew painted blue. (lovely surprise of color)

All the trappings of my life.

I look around and I'm happy-always happy!

Getting better everyday.
It's over.

Yearning never stops.
It's over.

Missing his touch.
Over.

Try to ignore and just go on. Tell myself I'm lucky.
Dodging that bullet!

But once in awhile, just once in awhile.
I'm there in my head.

I breathe him in, my mouth on him, his mouth on me.
So close behind him, so close behind me.
Moving against him, flush from our dance.
He's kneeling over me-stretching my limb, mouth warm and wet.
On my toes, foot, leg.
More sensual, more moving,
Than anything I've known.

Never will be another him for me.