And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
Lately, it seems like numbers have become very important to my life. I’ve never been a fan of numbers, and I truly don’t understand them very well, at least when it comes to math. When I was doing my undergrad work at the University of Wisconsin – Madison, I had to take a math class, and I took the simplest one I could find: Theory of Arithmetic. I earned a D. I have no idea how I produced a daughter who is a math whiz and teaches math (way higher level than Theory of Arithmetic) at the University of Louisiana – Lafayette.
But lately…numbers. I know exactly how many months it’s been since Michael was hit and run over by a passenger van. I know exactly how many months it’s been since he died. I remember when I had babies, and I wondered when I would go from saying, “He’s 3 months old…13 months old…18 months old…27 months old…” to “He’s three years old.” It seemed to happen around the three-year mark, maybe because the number of months grew steadily higher and, with my (lack of) math ability, I began to lose count.
I wonder now if it will be three years later that I finally lose track of the amount of months that have passed since Michael was forced down the path of leaving me, and when he left.
It’s become that way with writing too. A career that is made up of words, but now, the heaviness and importance of numbers has entered in.
Tonight is the launch of my 16th book. My 5th book of poetry. My 17th book, 6th book of poetry, will be released this winter. My 18th book, 9th novel, is currently waiting for judgement on my publisher’s desk. These books have all appeared in the last 15 years.
At least I don’t know months.
It’s even taken over the actual physical act of writing. Look at how I wrote the numbers. I’ve always written out the numbers as words, which is appropriate for standard manuscript format – Sixteenth. Fifth. Etc. But suddenly, I am using numerals.
This is the sort of thing that can drive me batty.
So tonight, the launch of my 16th book, 5th book of poetry, as a kick-off event for the Southeast Wisconsin Festival of Books.
But it’s another day too.
On 10/9/1999, Michael and I were married. It’s our 26th anniversary.
I’ve been struggling all day with how to say that, what words to use. Should it be, “Today is my 26th anniversary.” Or, because I am now legally a widow, which means, I guess, that I’m no longer married, should it be, “Today would have been my 26th anniversary.” Should I use “my”? Or should I use “our”? Today is our 26th wedding anniversary. Today would have been our 26th wedding anniversary.
Am I still married?
I feel married.
My gosh, this death and grief thing is complicated.
I just returned home from getting my hair cut and colored, in preparation for the launch tonight. The woman who keeps me red and spiky is Michelle. She gave me a lovely plant that she picked up for me this morning, because she knew about Ursula, my dog, who died 2 weeks and 4 days ago.
2 weeks and 4 days.
And Michelle gave me the plant just after I emailed someone, who asked me if I wanted to do something special to honor the anniversary after the launch is over tonight. I answered that all I wanted was to have Michael walk through the door, carrying the flowers he brought me for anniversaries 1 – 24.
A few minutes later, after answering that email, I held flowers.
I carried them to my car, placed them in the back seat, got behind the wheel, and burst into tears.
Oh, it’s a day.
It is also, by the way, the 2nd book launch that Michael has not been in the audience. And it is the 2nd anniversary without him.
But after coming home, I came up to my office to work on this blog. My office has become a forest, because the nights have turned cold and so my son carried in my 3 hibiscus plants for me, so that they could stay warm and cozy through the winter. I love hibiscus, going so far as to name them and make them a part of my family. I do talk to them, but hell, I talk to everything. So in front of me right now, lined up where I used to have a bookshelf, are Lefty, Ruby, and Joe The Jolly Green Hibiscus.
Seeing them reminded me of yesterday.
Yesterday was their first full day in the house. When I passed them in the morning on the way to my desk, I noticed that Lefty had a bud that was swollen to bursting. I took a photo, and then, throughout the day, when I had to run by en route to the next thing on my to-do list, I glanced at the bud, and took another photo. By evening, Lefty gave me a glorious bloom.
Out loud, alone in my office (except for 2 cats and 3 hibiscus), I said, “There are some lovely parts to life.”
And now, I’m sitting here, reminding myself that I said that. That I felt that. And I can see that bloom from my desk.
I can see the flowers from a friend, who thought she was memorializing my dog (she was), and didn’t realize she was giving me something that my husband would have given me, on our 26th anniversary.
There are some lovely parts to life. A bloom from a plant. Flowers from a friend. Celebrating accomplishments.
A lovely husband, who was always there for me, and who would be here today, if only he could.
Even though my life seems to have become about numbers, I can feel the lovely parts again, when, a short time ago, I couldn’t.
That’s lovely too.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
(For those of you who are within driving distance, I hope you come to the launch. I need help to get through this day.)
