A Porch of My Own

A Porch of My Own

Saturday, November 24, 2018

The Last Entry

A dear friend is burying her husband of many years this weekend. He passed away two days before Thanksgiving. The same as Rick. In the same way, having a heart attack. She found him on their property, a rural area where they made their home. 

She’s a writer and in fact wrote a book about tiny houses that included our Texas cabin. My heart has been heavy for her. And the similarities of the life they led and the way and timing he died has me searching back to the early days of my loss. Trying to find some words to comfort her. Though there are not really any, not when it’s so fresh and your life, your dreams, your plans, are dissolving in the blink of an eye. 

When Rickie died, my niece Alison sent me a little leather journal with parchment pages. She said she thought I might like it to write some thoughts maybe I wouldn’t want to put in the blog. I decided to use it to write to Rickie. To speak to him as if he was still there. When you lose the person it’s most easiest to talk to and know you’re never likely to have anyone else like that, it’s one of the biggest losses in the whole sorry deal. The journal was the best thing anyone gave me then because it gave me the ability to still talk to Rickie. 

I’ve been reviewing it this morning, rereading some of my thoughts when the loss was so fresh. And reading the last entry, the two pages I saved for the last entry from the ranch. This time of year is hard, not only because it’s the anniversary but because this was Rickie’s favorite time of year at the ranch. Hunting, northers blowing in, campfires, Orion in the night sky. Lots of memories are showing up on Facebook with the kids and siblings out, especially the week of Thanksgiving. The week Rickie died. 

I miss the ranch. I miss everything associated with it. But I have sense enough to know it’s the life I had with Rickie that I miss and that can’t ever be regained, whether I stayed or not. Sometimes, especially this time of year and when I think of the kids, I still wonder and hope I did the right thing. Reading the last entry restores the sense to me that I did, though nothing is ever cut and dried and there’s no perfect option. 

So I thought I’d share that last entry. It has some wise advice from my grandson Larry Michael in it. It’s too early for my friend to even begin to consider what her life will now be like, what difficult decisions will have to be made. But maybe it will give hope that you can one day pick up the pieces and carry on. 

Here it is -

January 15, 2017

Tougher Than Leather's at the feeder tonight. The last time I’ll see her. I’ll be at Martha and Scott’s tomorrow when the feeder goes off. Then Tuesday morning I’ll leave for the last time. Yesterday I went to the ridge, the bench, sat in both blinds, walked the land, watched some turkeys as I sat in the Knight blind. 

Sarah left a tiny Crown bottle at Shotgun Ridge when she was out last and I went to sit awhile. It was gone, maybe carried off by a coon. The little one I left months ago was still there, behind where we sat. The weather was just how you like it - cool and damp, misty. ❤️

I close this book with words from Larry Michael to me - “You carry Rickie and the love you felt for each other wherever you go. I think Colorado would be good for you. Not only because you would enjoy it and it’s a beautiful place. But because people in Colorado would be better for having known you, because in turn they would be able to know the version of yourself that carries Rickie as well.”

So to the best pard a girl could have, let’s hit the trail. It’s time. ❤️❤️


4 comments:

  1. As always, Sue, so beautiful. As I embark on this unexpected journey, I will look to your wisdom and experience often.

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  2. Oh, Kerri, I wish it was a journey you never had to take. But I know you to be a strong resolute woman. And as Rickie’s friend John C said to me, I say to you - “it’s a bad hand you’ve been dealt but if anyone can handle it, it’s you.” I’ve played my hand the best I know how and you’ll do the same. And your friends and loved ones will be there for you. Not all. I wish I could say everyone will. But we lose some along the way, usually ones we thought would be there the most. But you’ll have many and you’ll add new ones, as I did. And some of those new ones will be just what you need. And always, you will carry Dale with you in all you do.

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