We sat on her porch, enjoying the first breezes inspired by Isabel. As always, her doors are open; the house full of light and life. Her gardens planted and tended in memory of her husband. I sipped fresh gazpacho, swallowed the last bite of my second pastry and thought, what a giving, nurturing woman.<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acHow are you doing?\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acSome days okay, but other days, so so.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00ac Don\u00c3\u00adt tell me that.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acWhy?\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acBecause, you look so good; I want everything to be okay.\u00c3\u00ac<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acSo do I\u00c3\u00ae her voice rose, \u00c3\u00acbut I miss my guy. We were married twenty-two years. If I\u00c3\u00adm busy I\u00c3\u00adm all right. I ran a workshop on Star Island and I hurried around all day. Working, talking, teaching, but then I came home and … .
\nSometimes I flop down and do nothing.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acCould I ask you a favor? I have a friend, her name is Ann. Her son died when he was seventeen and her husband died two months ago. Whenever I ask her how she is, she cries. She\u00c3\u00ads so overwhelmed, she cried as we talked about water in her garage. As if her wet floor made life impossible. When you said you feel better when you are busy, I thought you might be able to help her. She rattles around alone in her house with nothing but memories.”<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acYou could say that about me.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acBut you\u00c3\u00adre moving, doing, creating. Look at your house, the spirits are free to fly in and out. There is no movement in her dark house. Her spirits are locked up tight.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acI\u00c3\u00adll call her if you want.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
\u00c3\u00acShe\u00c3\u00ads English. You know, that stiff upper lip. I\u00c3\u00adll give her your name and if she can, she\u00c3\u00adll call you. At least I\u00c3\u00adll have done something. Yesterday I snapped at her. I told her, \u00c3\u00ae You said before, it\u00c3\u00adll take time. You can\u00c3\u00adt rush it, Ann. You want it all over, but it takes time.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
Still crying, she looked hard at me and said, \u00c3\u00acI\u00c3\u00adve been through worse. I\u00c3\u00adll get through this.\u00c3\u00ae<\/p>\n
I should have hugged her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We sat on her porch, enjoying the first breezes inspired by Isabel. As always, her doors are open; the house full of light and life. Her gardens planted and tended in memory of her husband. I sipped fresh gazpacho, swallowed … Continue reading