...the moon rose over an open field

Seven misses mom

I had the day to myself. I bounced around San Francisco on the bus. A year ago, June 22, the first day of summer, 2008, it was surprisingly hot and Kim and I drove to Ocean Beach. I went into the water and, after 5 minutes of adjusting to the temperature, had a wonderful time. Got very nostalgic for my youth at Newport and Zuma beaches in southern California. It was beautiful, clear and crisp, well attended, the sky was strangely spotted with wispy clouds. I kept turning toward Kim on the beach and waving, "Hey! Look at me!". We laid together on the beach towel in the sun, watching the crowd and the dogs running and playing. We were so at ease, we spontaneously started necking, there, in public, on the sand. Who could have a problem on a day like that?

Today I was at Ocean Beach. It was more emotionally difficult than I anticipated. I was lost and empty and aching, but I did know why. I put my hands in the Pacific Ocean for a recharge, and I left on the 18 bus for Outer Richmond and beyond.

I find I continue to change and then recognize that my new view is really my impression of her view. I'm losing or gaining interest in some things, as she did (e.g., I strangely want a cigarette after 7 years). This was pointed out by one of my doctors as a way for me to bring her back into my life. I recently heard about a counselor who lost her son and found putting his coat on irresistible, feeling his shape, smelling his scent. I must be aware of this tendency -- I am not Kim, hers is not my life, I shall not adopt her problems and conflicts, I am distinctly different. I can choose, she could not.

So, why were five and six afraid of seven? Because seven eight nine!