Journal Entries
Dear Bonnie
Posted May 10, 2003
Hi Sweetie,
I started this letter last month, but it seems appropriate to send it today….
We missed you at last night at Seder. John, of all people, dedicated a toast in your honor. We saved you some brisket and sometime soon we'll get together with Dennis and eat it in your honor. Barton and Dennis will take out your guitars and I'll sing (ok- croak) along with them. I finally found out why Barton never wanted to form a trio ... he doesn't know how to follow someone else's lead. Dennis is playing again. We've hosted a house concert for him and we have a second one planned in May. Of course, he lead off with John Denver and dedicated it to you. Of course, nowadays you're probably playing with John yourself and having a good old time.
Have you finally gotten over Steve not 'saving' you sunglasses when the car got impounded on your New York trip? I had thought to put a pair in your coffin, so you could really rest in peace. 
I still remember when we were contemplating a trip out to Colorado - back in '76. If you hadn't been so insistent on splitting the costs three ways, we probably would have done it. Sheesh - Shawn was only 2! He would have been free in most places and figuring out how to split the gas for the trip by dividing by our weights did seem a little excessive. Oh well, I'm sorry now that we didn't go.
The camping trip to boy scout camp was fun, though. I still remember when I sent you out to get the wood for the fire. You came back dragging a trip limb and said, "Fetched wood, froggy". We had to burn it whole - we didn't have an ax. I think the fire is still burning. We didn't get much sleep that trip. Between singing around the fire and playing D & D at night, it didn't leave us much time for sleep. I still think I would have done much better on the archery range had I had sleep ... I think the first arrow must have hit in the next state ... I know we couldn't find it. The gun range was probably a bad idea too. But, then again, I did hit the target at least once.
Then, of course, was the year long pinochle game. I don't think you ever went to work on Friday that year. I'm not sure whether you hated your job that much or liked pinochle more. But then, cards were always an excuse for a good conversation. Not mind you that we need an excuse.
Remember when you, Marianne and I went to Kings Manor? Early on they had requested that people keep their seats during the show. You had to test them. You jumped up shouting, "King. Oh, King." When he finally acknowledged you .. after much shouting. You replied, "I have to go to the privy. Can I please go to the privy? Please! Please!" I turned around to Marianne and said "she's not with us". You had the room in stitches....what did you do when you left? I know *I* had to go to the privy by then. I was laughing so hard. 
I loved you, but some times you really got on my nerves. I could only take you in small doses. You were always so opinionated and intolerant. (How did you and Steve manage not to kill each other?) I remember one conversation we had a few months before you died. I was complaining about something or other and you hung up. When we talked the next day, you asked if I was mad at you. How could I be mad for you being you? You were right. What I was complaining about was trivial. I hadn't reached your level of acceptance.
You were there when my first marriage was going to pieces. You supported me hanging in there because you knew my warped reasoning for staying - you let me know it was stupid but you supported my decision. You were one of the only friends I still had after my divorce. Steve gave all of our other friends the choice - him or me. You told him to f*ck off and stayed friend with both of us. You never could understand that I really didn't blame him and hold any animosity against him. I let myself become a victim. Or at least I thought I had at the time. I'm just now realizing how abused I really was at the time and maybe, just maybe, I wasn't to blame.
You were at my wedding to Barton. You watched the transformation from an abusive relationship to a loving one. You listened to my frustrations on how I wished I still had more. You gently reminded me that when I was down with Barton because of something or another .. wishing there was more something in our relationship ... thinking about
whether being single might not be a good idea after all. You let me know how lucky I was. Not only had I had one man who loved me, but two (even though, in retrospect I'm not really sure the first man knew the meaning of love - but that a different story altogether).
You let me know that when you were feeling really low and alone just knowing me kept you going. You had seen the transformation in me and knew that all things were possible. You were there for me as my son grew up. Remember the teen years? 
. You were by my side. When Angel was born, you were at NICU. I have pictures where you appeared to be the happy grandma and you were. Shawn and Angel were yours just as much as mine. You played guitar at her naming. I still have that picture too. It’s the way I want to remember you.
Then you went and got cancer. Before you started your first round of chemo, we all went out and had one last fling. Once you started you knew you’d be too sick to party. But you came through alright. The next summer you even came out and helped us at the faire. But you were worried. Another spot had shown up on the scans. The doctor’s told you it was nothing and to come back in four months …you went back in two... it had gotten bigger … they still told you to wait. Finally you went back into chemo.
We went out in December to hear Debbie Friedman. Our tickets were upstairs. By then you were moving so slowly. I wanted to see if we could exchange them for handicapped seats on the main floor, but you insisted you could make it. It took you fifteen minutes to get to our seats. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.
Then I broke my ankle in January. You couldn’t come and visit. Driving this far tired you out too much. But we talked and talked on the phone. We had dual appointments in March…me to see how the ankle was doing…you to talk with your oncologist. Only one of us got good news. I’m walking now, but still in pain. But I wish, I wish, I wish, you were the one to get the good news. Your choices…more chemo…experimental drugs…or dying naturally. Your choice was made in your naturally accepting grace.
I wish I had made Barton drive me into the city to see you. I wish I had put my own pain aside. True I couldn’t have made the steps up to your house, but I could have seen you. We talked everyday on the phone. Towards the end most of the time I spoke with your housekeeper. You were too sick to even talk.
Then finally I had the pin out of my ankle. I could finally make the trip to see you. I called you. I was so excited. I could finally come and see you. It was May 10, 2002 at 10:30 a.m. My call went to voice mail. You never got to hear the message. You had gone back into the hospital and died just at that precise moment. Why couldn’t you have hung on just one more day?
I’m sorry for all the disagreements we had. I wish I had been more understanding. I wish I could be telling you all of this. I know you are reading it just the same. But …..
D*AMN, IT. I MISS YOU!
I never knew just how much our friendship meant to me. It’s been a full year and I’m still hurting.
I love you and I miss you more than I could ever could have imagined. 
Candy
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: May 10, 2003
Words
Posted May 8, 2003
Right now I'm in a love-hate relationship with my email. Or perhaps it's a flight or flight relationship. No many how many smileys or emoticons we create, they can not compare to actually hearing the words. Words are so much more than printed letters on a page.
When I opened my Pandora's box, I seemed to have missed a few compartments. Somewhere down there are words. Why can't I find them? I know I had them once. Unless they are d*amn lucky, no one can manage to get perfect scores on college entrance exams. I wrote for my high school newspaper for two years. You only got on staff by invitation! Where is that part of me hiding?
It certainly doesn't help that us 'mericans tend to be imprecise with our words to begin with. It has often infuriated me how much time my husband spends making sure someone understands just what he means when he uses a word. I can finally appreciate why he does that. Not that I can do the same. It is that male/female thing. To paraphrase hubby. Men have the words, but need to be able to find the emotions to express them. Women have the emotions, but need to be able to find the words to express them.
I spend hours agonizing over email, just to be misunderstood. Yesterday it spiraled out of control from there. I made the mistake of checking email before I left work and found out things had gotten worse. (Thank goodness my co-workers are used to seeing me in tears…they just assumed my pain level had spiked) At that point I had already spent 10 hours trying desperately to respond to the first email. I had managed four lousy paragraphs (short ones I might add). I spent another six hours staring at what I had written, only to finally delete two sentences ( I would NOT go into self-sabotage mode) and add a couple more in response to the additional emails. An awful lot of effort in the hopes of getting things right and the dreadful feeling that I blew it again (sigh). (And I didn't do such a great job explaining verbally just what my problem is - more worms) So, oh joy, I have something new to worry about today.
Well, I think I'll wait until later to open email. I can only handle worrying about one new thing at a time.
Why is communication so difficult????????????????
Discuss this Journal entry [3]
Latest reply: May 8, 2003
It's a mystery
Posted May 2, 2003
I was driving to work this morning when I noticed a Styrofoam cup filled with water. The cup of water is not unusual. I almost always have cup or a bottle of water with me just in case I need to pop some meds. What is unusual is where it was sitting. It was not in the cup holder next to my seat. It was smack dab in the middle of the floor on the passenger's side. Even if I want to, I could not reach it from the driver's seat. I carefully pulled over, got out of the car, opened the passenger door, pickup up the cup and put it in the cup holder. How I had driven 8 miles without spilling it (especially the way I drive) is somewhat miraculous.
But how in the heck did it get there in the first place? No way for me to have put it there accidentally. I haven't had a passenger in the car for over a week. Just how long had I been driving around with it, managing not to spill it?
It is frigging driving me crazy.
(so nice to have something minor to worry about for a change)
Discuss this Journal entry [3]
Latest reply: May 2, 2003
I can't take it!!!!*!*!*!*! :-D
Posted Apr 25, 2003
Everywhere I go in my office, there are Krispy Kreme doughnuts!!!!!
How utterly appropriate for today.
ing a happy tune while I'm 
ing myself 
Discuss this Journal entry [2]
Latest reply: Apr 25, 2003
Doing the happy dance :-D
Posted Apr 25, 2003
yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES
YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES
YES
Boy am I glad I got that out of my system.
Discuss this Journal entry [5]
Latest reply: Apr 25, 2003
Richenda
Researcher U223570
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