it's a party

I baked the gourmet two layer chocolate brownies with white drizzle frosting in the afternoon, put on the curried chicken cacciattore to simmer, then cut up the ingredients for the couscous with mint and parsley and grape tomatoes. My back hurt so I needlepointed (of course I did) for a little while. Dad got the pou pous ready (you've just got to keep saying that name - Hawaiian for little sandwiches), then worked on his crossword puzzle. I tried a puzzle the other day, got about 10 answers, found out the next day about half of those were wrong - I give up. Tony came first, followed by Tim, then John. Five men, including Dad and Bill, and me. We drank a little wine (okay, I made up cocktails for Billy and me - club soda and cranberry juice) and laughed around the island. They sat while I served the beet, pear, goat cheese and walnut salad, then ate that while I fixed the couscous. We ate and ate, talking mostly about politics, the Olympics, work. Billy lasted through most of it, then disappeared to play Club Penguin on Dad's computer.

I watched Dad throughout the night, talking easily and knowledgeably about every subject, switching subjects and keeping up, no matter what. He's amazing. He was so alive, so animated, so energized. I love that we could have this dinner party. It wasn't that hard, setting the table, dusting off the old ice bucket (that really kicky aluminum kind from the 60's) and setting out the alcohol.

The men were all sweet, taking turns talking, being respectful and fun. One's a lawyer, one's a salesman, one's a pharmacist, all neighbors and friends. Two are bachelors, and one's wife was away, helping her sister in another state. What do I want to say? That Dad I and talked about not being able to sleep very well, or get things done. We talked about how we miss Mom, and we just don't know how we're doing, or how we're supposed to get back to "normal." I told him I feel like I'm underwater some of the time, and I can see everyone else up there on the surface, but sometimes I go deeply under, and it's thick, and I fuzzy, and I can't hear or see anyone very well. It's kind of the same, but really altered and different. Then I surface, and it's sort of back to normal. Until I get pushed back under the water again. See, you're separate, but it's not dark, just different. But when we can have a party like last Thursday, we both feel alive again, like somehow, just for those brief hours, everything is okay.

I haven't slowed down too much to grieve, but I noticed that I was getting charley horses in the night in my legs, and that was odd. Then I read that if you cry a lot, you can get dehydrated and get charley horses. Now isn't that something? So maybe I AM grieving, but it's sporadic, off and on throughout the days. I pulled open the top drawer in the dresser in the basement at Dad's, and found Mom's library card from Bismarck. I ran my fingers lightly over her familiar signature, and whispered, "Mommy." That's Bill's bookmark for "A Wrinkle in Time" so every time I open the book, I trace her signature and whisper her name. It brings me comfort, at the same time makes me cry. God, I still miss her so much. But we DID have a party, and life IS going on, and it IS beautiful, breathtaking beautiful, and I'm loving every single second and moment of it - it's all just so beautiful, to hold Steve's hand, rub Bill's warm back, hug Kari and hold her tightly, kiss Dad's soft beard. It's all so very, very good, isn't it?