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“This photograph is my proof. There was that afternoon, when things were still good between us, and she embraced me, and we were so happy. It did happen, she did love me. Look see for yourself!”
- Duane Michals
Teddy Roosevelt’s diary the day his wife Alice died from Bright’s disease. He was 25, she 22.
UGH, GOOGLE, STOP BEING SO AWESOME, JUST STOP IT.
We visited the cemetary today and brought him three potted marigolds. They finished and set the tombstone and we weren’t notified, so it was really surprising seeing something there. It’s been almost-four months and I still think about it daily, though not particularly with sadness. After he died, I’ve realized I’m not so scared of the dark and the idea of ghosts and spirits, anymore.
Seeing the tombstone instead of a flimsy little marker was this indescribably heavy emotion I’ve never felt before. I don’t know how to explain it. I know he’s gone, but seeing his name engraved on the left half (saving the right half for my grandmother, though I hope to never see the day) made me feel it, and it was December 3rd, 2008 all over again.
Traveling the whole day tomorrow, and then spring quarter starts on Monday.
Today’s Sunny’s ninth birthday, where does time go? I wish I had more recent photos with me; I’m digging through whatever’s in my Flickrs, but no matter — she’s still the prettiest girl in the world.
My silver fox: “It’s not gonna happen. I’m a Wasp, I was raised to suppress my emotions.”
Grandma and me on an afternoon walk. It was very warm today.
