Category: Musings

General Thought Posts not related to specific topics

On the Other Side

I began this blog in March of 2020 just as COVID was beginning to really grip the world. I was concurrently in the early stages of providing extended care for my wife suffering from Parkinson’s Disease with Dementia – or Lewy Bodies Disease depending on who’s doing the diagnosing. At first posting was sporadic but began to give me an outlet for expressing my hopes, fears, frustrations, love, and learning.

As time and disease progressed, my musings became more cathartic as I delved into music, travel, and continued challenge. When Pam died, I found myself more committed to consistent discourse on many subjects, but most importantly to me, about me working through my grieving process for a loss I couldn’t comprehend. You, my faithful readers, have supported me with your responses, your concern, your caring, and yes, love.

Therefore, I think it only fair and fitting for me to convey the excitement and wonder I am experiencing as I realize I have emerged on the other side. I’ve seen it approaching. I could sense the change in me. In my relationship with my Pam. With acceptance of things that, though I in no way wanted, could do nothing to change.

As it happened, it really began with the sudden decision two months ago that it was time to move closer to where my son and his family live. I realized that I no longer needed or wanted to be all the time reminded of my former life that was so viciously taken from me by a disease. My mate that I love taken away much too soon. Resolute, I began a new journey, still unfolding, that moved and accelerated at a pace I had no clue would catapult me to where I am now.

Since then, I quickly acquired an apartment, began moving “stuff”, and realized I could already live in it. Within a couple weeks I had abandoned my former house to begin a new chapter. I have not looked back. And though I so enjoyed that house, neighbors, and neighborhood, I am totally comfortable and excited in my new abode. Now I have sold “our” home. Soon to be forever in my past as I experience my present and my new future.

I have re-established, and in some cases begun new relationships with high school acquaintances from fifty years ago. I am realizing new opportunities to be a grandparent, a father to my son, and the possibility of new companionship and maybe even future love.

Those of you who know me know that I have lived with purpose over the last two plus years to work through my grief, to take care of my physical and mental health, with the goal of making to this new point of possibilities, new hopes for a happy future. I think I have made it!

Yet I recognize and realize that, as I venture into new and uncharted territory, times and places that extend beyond what had been, I will always love Pam. I will never forget her. I still think of her daily. And often I smile. I smile because I know that she knew that if she went first, I would get here and that she wanted this for me. I can reminisce about our good times without dwelling on the desperate last few years of challenge and sadness.

So I am sharing, and hoping to adequately convey, my feelings of excitement and thankfulness for all that has been and the prospect of things to come. My sincere hope has been that by sharing my experience I could be a guide, a comfort, a solace, to at least one other person who reads wutjavia. I can say confidently that I have made it. I am not so naive to think that there won’t be challenges, loss, and heartache in my future. But I have regained my strength and self confidence. I am ready to face what comes.

And it is amazing. And I just wanted you all to know. You have been instrumental in me mastering my struggles. I hope you sense and are edified by what I am writing today. I hope and yes, maybe even pray, that you can glean something from it. And… Thank you!

P.S. In the midst of my excitement and current euphoria, I just learned that my brother-in-law’s sister passed away last night after an extended illness. They have been geographically separated for many years but fortunately have had recent opportunity to be together. My sincere condolences go out to Eddie, his 100+ year old Mother, his younger sister, and extended family. My heart is sad in the knowledge of what they now have to experience (again) as they work through their grief journeys. Eddie, I wish you well!

“Real Men Love Babies”

So says a billboard somewhere on the back highways of Alabama.

Its intended purpose is to persuade men to vote against women’s right to choose, against any abortion. It is indicative of a Southern religious mentality that pits the right wing, freedom from government control of their lives groups, against other’s views of freedom being about letting people make their own personal decisions.

Our society is based on a set of laws that is meant to ensure that all persons are treated equally, that we steer clear of laws that limit government control while providing for the safety and welfare of everyone within our borders.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on.” So said Eric Clapton during an Unplugged performance of Alberta on M-TV many years ago. I recognize that I am in no way knowledgeable enough nor qualified to write about this subject. I can only try to communicate how I feel and how such expressions, i.e. billboards, affect and affront me.

I am pro-life AND pro-choice. Of course I/we want people to have children. It is not only wonderful, but innate for our survival as a species. But I cannot fathom being forced to carry something growing in me that I neither meant to cause nor want! If it were men who had to carry a fetus in the womb, I think they’d be singing a different song.

But what I simply cannot understand is how the very people who want less government control of their property, their money, their “freedoms” are the same people who want to control others’ bodies and thoughts because a god, or any other socio-religious entity says it’s the only true and right way! The same people who truly believe that some humans are more human than others, or less so, think that the only sustainable race profile is white, Christian!

As I read what I am writing I know that I have now gone off the diving board into the deep end of opinion at the risk of upsetting those I have tried so hard not to. All in hopes that you “like” what you read. I feel bad if that’s how you feel. I respect it. I understand if you think you must divorce yourself from this blog. But I do not apologize!

Maybe next week I’ll get back to the wading pool with warm fuzzy topics like travel or music, family and friends. But not today. Today I am taking a stand (or a dive, not to mix metaphors)!

Life on Earth

While visiting family I find myself not only in different surroundings, but with different stimuli while on an elevated deck contemplating the universe.

My first encounters were with subtropical weather. High humidity, higher heat, the build up of rain-filled clouds during afternoons and evenings, sometimes precipitating overnight. Everything is lush and green, not unlike home, but in the hills of Georgia, tall trees are prevalent, reaching for the comforting embrace of the firmament, surrounding the houses and streets, hiding much of the sky that I normally see at home.

As I looked up between the towering foliage I saw the sky – our atmosphere – in a way that I don’t remember realizing before. Like a 60-mile thick blanket it warms us. It cools us, nourishes us, and protects us from external universal forces that would otherwise make life on earth impossible.

As the building, billowing clouds mixed with the azure sky framed in tall pine and tulip trees, I somehow understood our earthly blanket’s lifegiving significance. At the same time I felt that it, as other living beings on earth, is threatened by how humanity treats this unique, amazing phenomenon. It left me simultaneously in awe and in fear.

Returning to the deck on another afternoon, life touched me in a very different way. A dragonfly landed in a potted orange tree next to me. I was struck not only by its beauty, but also by the complexity of its body, by its wing structure, transparent and framed in blue , and the attachment to its torso. Its eyes and mouth (basically its face) conjured human-like attributes. What an amazing being. What an amazing manifestation of life on earth!

When I moved it flew, only to return in seconds to the same or nearby branch, staring at me and I at it. So I spoke to it. It seemed to nod in understanding as I expressed my appreciation of its beauty and life force. Again it flew. Again it returned. I decided to approach it directly from ahead. I extended my hand. It stayed. I touched its hair-thin black legs. It stayed until I tried to lift them in hopes of having it transfer to my finger. It flew.

Walking away to the other end of the deck I felt so in touch with life on earth. I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful to become so aware and connected to life on this earth that, in the end, I would simply fade away into it, mixing my energy with the plants and animals, the air and the sky. Finally, I would be one with life on earth. Maybe I already am.

I Still Believe

My new normal includes revisiting experiences and learnings from my past. My dad would be happy to know that, contrary to how it seemed in my youth, I learned the value of taking care of what is entrusted to me, be it material or ethereal. He taught me about organization and planning, and again, though I rarely exhibited it, follow-through. As I navigate a plethora of changes, those traits help me. Especially as I age and my brain works, let’s just say, differently.

Following through on a daily basis is important. But there are more consequential concepts engrained in my psyche. I, as many who read this, am a product of growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s. From the latter days of the beat generation (Beatniks) through the Hippie movement that included tuning in and dropping out, drugs, burn the bra, protest the war, and freedom to love whomever we choose.

Through my formative years I learned what I still consider to be the most powerful tenet of living in community with others; do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I know. This isn’t the first time I’ve broached this subject. But I still believe. I believe that being kind is better than being mean. Recognizing what is common in our humanity outweighs our differences in religion and politics. Helping is better than ignoring. You get the picture.

While the saying is basically biblical, living life loving and cherishing those whom you know and those you don’t does not require religion or even belief in a deity. Sure, we can glean valuable instruction about living from them. But the truth is that religions, just like the people who adhere to them, are both good and bad by nature. We must choose individually how we want to behave.

The longer I live, and the more I learn about myself and my likeness to every other person on earth, the more I want to choose kindness and inclusion. Sometimes this takes proactive effort when those I encounter are so different from me in both looks and ways of living. Dare I quote another biblical reference, “Judge not lest you be judged.” Again, regardless of its origin, it rings true.

And while I’m preaching (pun intended), love transcends people to every living thing, the physical world, and the universe as a whole. As a youth I would often step on or otherwise kill bugs, birds, and other small animals mostly just for fun, sometimes for the hunt. Now I choose to let living things live – unless they are invading my personal space or, I am sure, if I need them for food. I am not a pure pacifist. I believe in protecting oneself and community. I am no longer inclined to destroy anything just because. Still, I am not guiltless in my efforts.

So many times it’s the little things; a smile, “hello”, a wave. Not all actions need be monumental nor monetary. Though we should endeavor to positively impact our world through effort and donations. Lift up those around us and around the world rather than tear down. We all benefit by doing so. It feels good. It feels right.

I’ll quote another biblical passage, “This, too, is vanity.” We are such tiny specks in the grand universe. What does it matter what we do? Probably not much considering our position in the whole. Yet I think it is worth while, and true to self, to positively affect the world around us. The alternative just doesn’t seem to make sense. Not to me anyway.

I choose to believe.

Special Connection

Caregivers develop a special, deeper connection with those who are in their care. I have no empirical data to support this claim. Anecdotal stories do support it though. I have my personal experience, those of family members, and friends who have cared for and lost those close to them.

It is only logical to assume that caregivers who are not “related” to their charges develop special, deep connections with those they care for. Again, no empirical data, but I cannot imagine they don’t.

Pam and I had a special relationship from the git go. I am sure we were in love before we knew it. We lifted each other up, consoled each other, confided in each other, and counseled each other. I’ve realized more recently that she saw more good in me than I saw in myself. I know Pam struggled with her own positive identity. But I saw her true self as did she see mine.

Collaborating with my sister who has been the primary caregiver for our aging (99-1/2 years old) Mother brings to light changes in relationships with our loved ones. I with Pam, she with our Mother. As Jan confides in me, it is easy to empathize with the deeper emotional ties she has developed even as her caregiving role has changed. I hear it in her voice (our conversations are by the phone). The occasional catch in her voice. The tell-tale sign of tears welling in her eyes. Her concern for our Mother’s failing cognition and general health.

Jan’s experience has helped me understand my own special, deeper relationship with Pam as the insidious disease ravaged her both physically and mentally. I’m sure I’ve said before that I didn’t realize the depth of my love for Pam until we traveled that horrible path. But now I see that my love and care for Pam actually deepened even more with the experience.

It’s hard to explain because we were still so much in love after 20 plus years of marriage. But many things changed as she became more dependent on me for her everyday needs. She slowly lost the ability to convey those needs or communicate in complex ways. I know she hated the dependence, but was also thankful to have my help.

For my part, I had to listen closely, not due to volume, but to understand. I had to develop ways to provide both physical and emotional support that I never knew I could. And her condition was always changing, and thus my means and methods. I had no training.

Caregiving is a noble endeavor. One that I imagine is very fulfilling for those professionals who choose to train for and engage in it. Jan and I have witnessed how professional caregivers work with those to which they are assigned. Whether they are members of private, commercial organizations or of non-profits like Hospice. Of course, they are not all equally sensitive or compassionate. But for the most part, it is apparent that they, too, try to, and ultimately do develop special connections with those they care for.

As we age, our exposure to caregiving is thrust upon us almost by default. If not for an aging parent, then for a partner or other close relative. And there are those who must take on the role for their young spouse, partner, or worse yet, their children. In the midst of it, it’s hard to recognize the good and positive aspects of your care and commitment. Know, though, that regardless of the outcome, your efforts are not in vain. You become more sensitive, empathetic, compassionate, and wise. From then forward, you will find it easier to experience special, deeper connections with those you care for, and for other caregivers as well.

Strange and Wonderful Sounds

My ears were subjected to a cacophony of sounds as soon as I opened the car door. I knew immediately that it was cicadas. I’d heard a few at home, but nothing like the constant noise I heard from the parking lot at Squire Point. Returning after several weeks of on and off travel, it was great to be back. But the sound!

Having donned my boots and trekking poles, I set off to enjoy the trail. Last autumn’s prescribed burn coupled with ample spring rain allowed the undergrowth amongst the trees to flourish in stature and color. Patchy sunshine filtering through the majestic, aged trees dappled shades of greens and browns on trees and undergrowth alike.

But the sound. It didn’t take long to identify three distinct types of cicada music. The constant background of whining permeated the forest. Difficult to identify, it was something like a mechanical whirring of mid-range tones, like that of a fan in need of lubrication. Its volume changed only as I ambled through the woods. Clearly there were areas of higher cicada concentrations in the trees. But the sound never abated while I was outside of the car.

I passed smaller swarms of the bumblebee sized insects along the path. Their sound was more like the incessant buzzing we are familiar with. Louder than the constant whirring throughout the forest, the chatter undulated at different decibel levels as I passed, louder then softer, then louder again in a coordinated symphony of winged instruments.

Closer, I could hear individual cicadas in the nearby trees extending their invitations to females in hopes of completing the mating act during their short, 24 hour adult life. Watching the path below and ahead as I often do, I saw the remains of those who’s time had passed. In some cases, I saw only a pair of wings. Other forest critters having hauled off and feasted on the other remains.

Traversing Squire Point and entering Woodpecker Trail, there was actually a fourth sound. I thought it might be a nearly silent drone or some kind of electric bike, barely audible compared to the singing (not really singing, but…) bugs. I turned to look and saw a single cicada flying, then landing on a nearby fern. Such a delicate contrasting sound, and enlightening new experience!

Winding my way back along the matted dirt and naturally mulched path, I found myself hearing something different. Smaller, nearby cicada swarms were absent. For the first time this day I could hear the breeze high up in the trees. Its cooling refreshment barely reaching pathway level. Now that’s a familiar sound. But short-lived. Hike a few meters forward and back into the din.

Nearly five miles later, I was back at my vehicle. Take off the boots and put on shoes. Stow the trekking poles and drink the rest of my water. Looking down I found a wayward interloper at my feet. Yep. A cicada.

Above the twig, just below my thigh

Time to go. I got in and shut the door. OMG!!! It’s quiet! I didn’t realize just how loud the cicadas were.

As a side note, I was driving along the back roads east of the reservoir last week and thought my hearing devices were malfunctioning. I kept hearing a faint buzzing come and go. Since I have had a similar problem with them in the past, I took one out, and then the other. But I could still hear the noise as I meandered along the narrow, unmarked asphalt roads. I finally realized that, from time to time, I was passing swarms of cicadas. Who knew?!

Another thing I realized while on my hike today. I’m going to miss this natural world when my time comes – hopefully not soon.

Hmmm… What to Write?!

“I guess this probably qualifies for meaningful and thought-provoking ;-)”

Not even my backlog list of topics yields a subject to write about. I’ve even been toying with the concept of writer’s block. But that’s not the sole reason for the lack of a post last week. I was gone for three days during the week and spent two days prior preparing for the trip.

I do enjoy writing this blog and appreciate the positive Likes and Comments. They give me courage to continue. But I also feel a commitment to meet my self-imposed deadlines and to write content that is meaningful and though-provoking. I’m not sure this qualifies. But maybe…

I continue to hold back. Yes, I have dabbled around the surface of controversial topics. But I am afraid of scaring off some readers. I can also admit that I am fearful of reprisals. Not so much from those who follow the blog. More from any entity that may interlope into this site. What a condition of current culture, that we have to tread so carefully.

No. Damn it! Not this time.

My son and I were discussing politics while camping with his family at Maquoketa Caves State Park a week ago. It is not typical to have internet access or cell service away from cities and towns. Yet we did, and our phones buzzed and lit with the news of Tridiot’s convictions. The discussion evolved to what ifs.

It was then that I verbalized that I might take a stand against an authoritarian regime if he manages to get elected. I/we simply cannot allow a faction of bullies who want to roll back time and eliminate social and political freedoms for any one or group who does not agree with them to do so – by brute force!

I am scared just to say it and write it. But I am at a stage in life where I have less to lose by waging the battle (figuratively speaking). Future generations are at stake. History does repeat itself. The parallels in political design to those of Germany in the 1930’s are clear. Today I was reminded how the Nazi takeover was not with a coup in one fell swoop. Hitler came to power legally, by election. Then he installed his henchmen in positions of power and dismantled the government to execute his malevolent plan.

I’m not sure what form my resistance would take. I am frightened just to consider. Better, though, would be to make sure that Tridiot and his henchmen do not come to power. So, I will battle my fears of reprisal and work toward that end. Please join me in this effort.

I guess this probably qualifies for meaningful and thought-provoking 😉

News, No News, and Good News

News

No need to expound. It’s been another week of international tensions, national political intrigue, and intense weather, especially here in Iowa. The Greenfield tornado is especially troubling to me because I was just there and had seen some of the destruction from the Harlan tornado just a couple weeks ago. Otherwise, I am not going to comment on any of the other.

No News

Because I have none. It’s been another week of trying to find my way in this new reality. I feel like it’s been one step forward and several steps back. Not that all is bad. I enjoy the people I interact with, the walks and hikes I take, grilling, and most of the weather. But internal struggles persist regarding Pam and my loss of her. I am told they may never abate. I am trying to learn to live with that.

Good News

I have a camping trip planned with family for this week that may provide fodder for another travel log. Hopefully, I can get it written by next Saturday. Until then, I sincerely hope you have a high-quality, healthy, and safe week. And don’t forget to acknowledge our fallen veterans as we celebrate Veterans Day on Monday.

Travel Log – Nebraska 2024

My trip to Nebraska was both rewarding and painful. I hope to expound on the rewards, but can’t help mixing in some pain. My planned route included stops at two lunch spots that I had seen on Only In Iowa, and designed to avoid any major highways.

First, I must say that Friday was an interesting and ultimately difficult day. I was packed and ready to go by noon. and considered taking off early, but didn’t know where to to. I kept busy outside all day which was good. But the evening relaxation turned into a major letdown that further exhausted me mentally, adding to the physical tiredness.

A ray (or rays) of hope on Friday evening

Waking early Saturday I left before I’d planned. That was good because it was a five-hour drive to Malvern, Iowa and Classic Cafe. I found the downtown area to be bustling with quant businesses, pedestrians, bikes, and cars. I could have spent more time there if I hadn’t another place to be that afternoon.

Classic Cafe was excellent. With decor epitomizing small town downtown cafes, It was comfortable with “Please sit anywhere” and welcoming friendly staff. The main special this day was Hot Beef Open Faced Sandwich. Not my favorite fare. But I jumped when the server mentioned Made Rites. One of Pam’s favorites, we used to seek out places that had both Made Rites and good pork tenderloin sandwiches. Accompanied with sweet potato fries and iced tea, my hunger was soon satisfied. If you are ever in the area, I highly recommend it.

The lengthy morning trek, enjoying the wandering state and county roads (mostly IA 92) of southern Iowa, left me less than two hours of yet more pleasurable travel to Leid Lodge at Arbor Day Farm. I had not been there in over 30 years when I stayed while consulting at Cooper Nuclear Power Plant. There on business, I never got the opportunity to enjoy the many interesting features at Arbor Day Farm. Taking Pam there to share what I thought would be a fun and enjoyable venue was on my bucket list. But we never made it there. I thought it fitting that I return now as part of my journey to Pam’s bridge.

Leid Lodge and Arbor Day Farm did not disappoint. A Baltimore Oriole greeted me as I walked toward the entrance from my car. The lodge reminds me of some in and around the mountains out west. Its timber construction, vaulted ceilings and glass walls are augmented by the use of recycled materials that finish the room decor, such as carpet made of recycled plastics.

I walked about five miles along wooded pathways and apple and nut orchards around the perimeter of the grounds. There are interactive displays in hundred-year-old farm buildings, a Tree Adventure ideal for family excursion, and a really neat shop, Apple House Market, where I spent more than I probably should have on honey, popcorn, candy, and a sweatshirt that colorfully says “Plant Trees.” There are many other facilities and activities there to enjoy.

Having made reservations, as recommended, at Timbers in Leid Lodge, I chose to sit on the deck overlooking treed grounds. I enjoyed an excellent meal of Prime Rib, homestyle mashed potatoes, and asparagus, with a glass of Cabernet. This was actually the third point at which I really felt Pam’s absence, the first two being while strolling in the woods. The second, while shopping. She would have really loved this place. Her joy would only enhance my experience.

Views from my table

I played my guitar on the stone terrace behind the lodge where more than a few people, especially with children, stopped to listen and offer their thanks. Cool. Having a fourth floor room facing the orchards, I hoped for a glimpse of the Northern Lights anticipated that evening. But they did not manifest. I slept well.

On the road before eight on Sunday morning, headed for the bridge. It was appropriately gloomy and I could see rain shafts in the distance toward Creston NE from the open road. Sullen anticipation enveloped me. About a 2-1/2 hour drive, I arrived by 10:30.

It was cool and breezy at Pam’s bridge, with intermittent light rain. Also appropriate. Avoiding too much detail about my time there, my lasting images are of dropping yellow daisy flowers over the guard rail while reconnecting with my sorrow, loneliness, guilt, and just trying to connect with Pam. And being on my knees, grasping the guard rail while screaming in agony as the pain overtook me. I spent quite a while there. I didn’t want to leave, but knew I would eventually have to.

Heading east again toward Ankeny, I had another lunch stop to make in Beebeetown Iowa, truly a “don’t sneeze or you’ll miss it town”, to a place called Twisted Tail Steakhouse and Saloon. Also recommended by Only In Iowa, it looked like a fun place to visit and enjoy another good meal along my route. Talking with a sister while on my way, I suggested that it might be the only restaurant in town and busy, being Mothers Day. No kidding. Look at the map on the link. Beebeetown is literally a on stop sign town. Twisted Tail was the only business I could see there. And it was packed!!! Cars parked up and down the street. People standing in line outside, decked in their Sunday best or Mothers Day finest – whatever. I moved on, grabbing a wrap sandwich in a convenience store and eating on the road. I’ll have to consider going back to Beebeetown another time.

of a sudden, in the hills about a mile west of Harlan, I crossed the path of the recent tornado. Mangled trees and missing roofs, silos, and damaged barns. There was a concrete slab on the side of the road. It was once covered by a house. All that remains is the slab and the entrance to a storm cellar, doors in tact. I hope the inhabitants of the house were in there!

On to Ankeny where I visited family and stayed over. It was a good plan. I was totally exhausted from two days on the road and emotionally spent from my experience. I did sleep well, though, and my leisurely trip back home Monday morning was pleasant and relaxing. Ah, the back roads!

This week has been filled with to do’s, and overarching feelings of sorrow and self pity. As of writing this yesterday (Friday), I am coming out of the funk and remembering that I must go on, remembering and honoring the past, while striving for a quality-of-life future. Remembering the rainbow.

It’s Getting Real – Again

(Shout out to K & K who should recognize the title)

It’s Thursday as I’m writing this. I don’t think I’ll be back in here until next week. I’ll be traveling to Nebraska as this post is published. Meanwhile, my week has become increasingly more difficult as the anniversary of Pam’s death looms. I can feel it in my entire being. Low energy, mood swings, painful memories that sprout up again from their dormant past.

Early last Sunday, having woken up in the middle of the night as is typical, I realized that the hour was close to that of Pam’s passing. One week to go – two years ago. Vivid imagery, as a painful video, played in my mind. I broke into tears.

On the phone with my sister during the week, while we were discussing the ravages of Parkinson’s Disease (her husband had PD also), I walked into the living room and saw in my mind’s eye, family sitting around the room, picture albums and scrapbooks removed from storage totes, evoking painfully good memories for Pam’s siblings and offspring. Always at least one person in the next room with Pam, just being, or praying, recounting memories, or feeding her ice cubes and popsicles. Anything to try to ease her pain. The vigil.

Once again the reminders of Pam’s impactful presence in my life as I go about my daily activities, remembering what we did together or how Pam’s way of doing things has become mine. All the while visions of her, early in our time together, until the end, like a digital auto-biography of her and our life together playing on the screen of my mind as if imaged there.

After all this time I realize that the place I least want to be is the bedroom and find it the most difficult room to be in. I dislike going to bed, giving up the day. Another day without my Pamie. I sleep fine once I get there. The challenge is just getting there. Not only do I miss Pam’s companionship, it is also the place where she breathed her last. The place from which she was taken away, never to return. I cry as I write this!

Last week’s post was a testament to how far I have come in my grief journey, following through on my promise to Pam that I would be okay. But now is a time of intense reflection filled with sorrow and loss. My trip to “Pam’s” bridge on Sunday will be equally, if not more, intense. Yet I know I must go. I’ve known it since I poured her ashes into the stream running through the Bachman family farm.

I don’t plan to make it an annual ritual, but as with many expectations in life, things don’t go as planned. If so, Pam would still be with me/us and we would be enjoying our retirement years traveling, maybe even to the family farm, together. And we would go so many other marvelous places, enjoying them together. But that is not reality. This is.