17 August 2024

 

My driving skills are pretty good because I believe I have an excellent peripheral vision. This talent, since Rosemary died, is now a downer.

When I drive I can sense the empty seat next to me. When I am in the garden and I may be looking at one of my hostas  but I can feel the presence of one of her roses or perennials. The worst place is in our bed. I lie on one side and I can note that empty spot on my right that Niña has taken over.

That sensation of Rosemary not being there on my right I call her empty presence. When I walk Niño around the block, almost every day, and take Rosemary’s route, I can feel as if she might be behind me. I wonder what the feeling of someone behind me if it has a word like peripheral?

That beautiful Spanish word for share compartir which literally means to break bread with is one that I think of all the time. Living alone takes away that wonderful action, one that in some way is partially replenished by sharing the presence, the real presence of Niño and Niña.

Today my granddaughter Rebecca is celebrating her 27th birthday but without her family. She will not answer her phone so I cannot call her. Texting a greeting is anathema to me. I have hundreds of photographs of all our family birthdays with someone blowing a cake. I almost became tired taking them. Now I know that those ceremonies will not happen again. I will miss them. Rosemary would have agreed.