I've been crying a bit more this week.
Don't know if it's because every time I change something in the house -- today was the hallway closet in the front that had been jelly-tight with a panoply of Deb's coats -- it brings forth a flood of memories. And a little bit of guilt.
Or, if it's because I have weaned myself off the meds I had been taking since Deb's passing nearly 9 months ago. In any case, I went through some Kleenex, which all my widow/widowers friends do, even those that have remarried.
It's the hand we've been dealt.
One of my friends, a member of the Club No One Wants To Be In, reached out to me this week and was sharing her plans to go cross country in a camper/van. I quickly volunteered that I had some experience with that.
Weeks after Deb's Y90 treatment in the spring of 2021 we went on a road trip. She had been wiped out by the custom made package of nuclear pellets that had been aimed at her liver and bile ducts, effectively destroying 95% of her massive tumor. We were optimistic, but bearing a heavy load of cancer fatigue. By the way, I always viewed her cancer as my cancer.
I think that may be a common phenomena.
Nevertheless, having all the energy of a roofied sloth, Deb was insistent that we do our annual camping trip to Upper Gray's Meadow in the High Sierras.
And so I made that happen.
By going on RVShare.com and finding a local owner who rents out his beautiful Ram Camper Van for those willing to shell out top dollar so as to have a shower and not have to sleep in a cramped tent with mosquitos as big as hummingbirds.
That would be me.
It would be the first time we had ever done the camper thing -- vs. the tent thing. Sadly, it was also the last time Deb would see our campground for the past 20 years or so. (I think my dog Lucy is chopping onions in the other room)
I wish I had bothered to take more pictures inside the van but she didn't believe she looked her best, Deb would not permit me. She did a lot sleeping (comfortably) and barely emerged from the van. In fact, she couldn't even summon the energy to make our sunset visit to the meadow with Beth, Colin, Paul and Deanna, for cocktails, pub cheese and crackers, leftover ceviche fermented by 95+ degree temps and many stories about camp pooping.
And yet, this, the shortest of our camping trips (3 days) and the most sedentary, was the one she cherished the most.
It was also the most expensive.
Truth is, I would have paid ten times the price just to be able to give her that experience. Did I say ten times?
I meant a hundred and ten times.
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Editorial aside: If you zoom into the picture you'll notice the number 12. Though I'm not big on tattoos, particularly numbers on Jews, my daughter prepared a special blend of ashes and ink to have 12 placed on her arm as a tribute to Deb and the campsite we called home.
"Lucy, that's enough onions, damnit."
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