Dear J, I write of you a fair amount (there will be much more when I risk to break the dam that holds it all back), was posting lots to your Facebook page for a time, trusting you've got time to pop in and catch up now.

My focus has been shattered since your unexpected departure. It's not that it's gone, or that you're gone, but that the form is so transformed that my comfort zone, if I even have one, is on fast forward.

I dive into deep cleaning, unearth treasures and add them to the walls, my Faberge egg in quarantine. Many reminders of you are tucked around my place. In your old room/my studio, there are reminders that make me smile.

The strange bits that trip me up and plunge me into despair aren't these obvious items, but the random cable that causes my heart to sink at the many road blocks to accomplishment because my tech guy left "with you."

In you I lost the most incredible companion and teacher I could have asked for, my best friend (and the other one died last year too), and a son who from day one allowed me to see I'd "done something right."

When I have projects, I can cope. And there are always more forming in the wings, with stage set, simply awaiting the Muses. Seven at present, but they spring up like mushrooms.

Remember that table, I rescued from recycling? That was August. I'll share it here. It's got much of the Lundberg art glass I picked up in Davenport, chunks of beach glass we collected in Fort Bragg, the Swarovski crystals you found at that little treasure trove on Mina Street, a silver VW bug to honor 25 years for adventures in that conveyance. Fun reminders of our life together, and next to my Sky Chair.

It is my safe place and my happy place.
The world is doing everything in its power to deprive me of that last shred, yet Iwill not pay attention to the facts. Only the truth.

I love the playful and joyous ways you still convey your presence. Thank you. It is so very much needed. " )