Memories of a day

Yesterday was January 29. That's a big day in my personal history.

In 1990, I arrived in Seattle on January 29, intending to live here six months before returning to college; I've been here 22 years and won't be surprised if I life the rest of my life in this city.

In 1995, I moved into this house, the first home I'd owned. I thought of it as a "starter" home, and expected to sell it within about five years. But then it became more home than starter — and when Sandy moved here in December 1997, I promised her we wouldn't move for at least five years. I've been here 17 years now; Sandy lived here longer than she'd lived at any other address in her life, and the same is true for me. Neither of us had talked about moving for many years, and now that so much of Sandy is in the walls and floors and gardens and space of this house, I fully expect to live the rest of my life here.

In 2011, January 29 wasn't quite as noteworthy, at least not at the time. But in hindsight, there were many important things about that day. We attended the memorial for Ed, a member of Sandy's extended family. We were there to remember Ed himself, of course, and to support those who were closer to him. But it also served as an opportunity for Sandy to talk about what she'd want at a memorial. Later, when I was planning her memorial, I wished we'd talked in greater detail about it, but I was grateful for the thoughts she shared that day.

The memorial was on Bainbridge Island. As we rode on the ferry back to Seattle, we'd just gotten our books out to read in the car when there was a knock on the window. Sandy's sister and her daughter had boarded the same ferry, and they'd come looking for us. They climbed into the back seat, and we enjoyed the spontaneous visit.

There was much merriment at Doña's birthday gathering.
Seated at the table are me (Brie), Mindy, Allison, Sandy, Viv,
and Delyn. Standing behnd us are Carolyn, Doña, and Julia.

That evening, we joined a bunch of female relatives for "girls' night out" in celebration of Doña's birthday. Sandy was tired, but she enjoyed catching up with everyone. I remember very clearly a conversation with Sandy's cousin, a nurse who was considering switching her focus to hospice care, as we talked about some of the exercises she'd experienced. Imagine that you'll never see another winter. That sort of thing. Sandy was talking and laughing with folks further down the table; I looked at her and tears came to my eyes. We thought we were doing okay, but I was all too aware that the ice was thin beneath us, and that Sandy may not get another January.

I believe that night was the last family gathering Sandy attended that wasn't focused on her illness and dying. Indeed, it was the last time we saw many of those people before Sandy was in the hospital in June. There was a big family barbecue planned in Seattle for June 19. But Sandy went into the hospital on the 17th, and so her family congregated at Virginia Mason the next few days, and then the next few weeks — and then at the hospice for the last ten days of Sandy's life.

I made plans, but couldn't anticipate the future on January 29 in 1990, 1995, or 2011. I suppose that's a good reminder that, while I can only see pain, darkness, and a feeling of being unmoored in the future, I really don't know what it holds. For now, I'm plodding through each day, clinging to my to-do list, waiting for the future to show itself.