It’s a peaceful Sunday afternoon. Today has somehow seemed more ‘normal’ to me  than any other in the two months since Sam died. I woke up late on this sparkling day with a feeling of peace. I think I’d had a dream of all three kids. I made my way out of bed and joined Diane in Sam’s room. We’d made a goal of opening the last of the many hundereds of condolence cards we’d received for Sam. As always, we took our time reading the letters that people sent. I try to imagine them sitting down to write.. Many times I can reach out across the distance and time and feel how sad they felt for us. . It may be hard to understand this.. but we really enjoy reading those letters..  Most of the cards began  with  some version of the phrase.. “words cannot express”… but somehow. the words people chose did manage to  express the writer’s  sadness  and caring for us. Some cards had just signatures.. others had long  letters,, some had nice memories of Sam., some had pictures  There was a both a satisfaction and a sadness with finally opening the last letter from that large box.. in one since it was a job that needed doing. On the other hand there was a finality to it that really hit me…  One of the other jobs was to collect the checks and cash that folks had generously donated to Sam’s fund. We had several boxes that we filled mostly with $1 bills collected at the schools, the battle of the bands and other places. I had the job of counting that money…At first it seemed like a chore.. then it dawned on me that each dollar had been pulled out of some kids lunch money and handed over to Sam as an act of love… we had about 400 $1 acts of love.. amazing !.

    About midday I was alone in the house. Gabe was up at the mountain. Max and Diane were off with Jessie. And Sam was…   ?.. Sam was everywhere.  Everything I touched in the empty house was full of Sam. I cleaned out the lab a little and came across the mess from one of our last projects. Sam had collected over 600 Red Bull cans and had planned to cut them apart to cover a whole wall with them. We’d sawed up about 100 of the cans. It was nasty, messy work and left shredded aluminum all over the lab. I had hated doing the cutting.. now I’m looking forward to doing it. Gabe and I are going to make that wall for Sam.

   Around 2, my friend Pete showed up and the two of us went snowshoeing up behind the house. We talked alot about Sam… I hadn’t seen Pete since the day of the memorial service. He made the same comment about me looking/seeming better than he would have expected.. It is hard for people to know what to expect. Pete did get to see me breakdown when I came across Sam’s Gibson Les Paul guitar. Our friend Kevin had it out and I hadn’t seen it since Sam died. It’s funny, but I find I’m sometimes surprised how hard something like that will hit me even on a day when I’m feeling solid. I’ve heard several of Sam’s friends tell me that they, too,  are surprised that they are still needing to cry about Sam sometimes. I think we’re all learning that it’s going to take a long, long  time to heal.. and that’s really OK. .. we have no other choice.

   One thing I have to do before I go to bed tonight is complete my performance self-assessment  for work. It’s strange thinking about what to say… I know many things happened at work last year.. but I can only  think of Sam. I’m not sure what to write.. and the thought of doing it is making me feel agitated like I often used to feel about work. I need to find a way to channel some of the peace and mindfulness that the last 2 months has given me into my thinking about work. Can you help me out with that , Sam ?

-jc