In praise of kind people and a patient dog on another hard day.

It was another hard day: the birthday without the birthday person.

I tried to write something clever and catchy, some witty May the Fourth be with you snappiness. He would have liked that.

Mostly, though, I reached for tissues and talked out loud to the dog, who knew by the tone of my voice that I wasn’t asking who was a good dog or who wanted to go for a walk. He gave me his You’re no fun today face.

Doggo was right; I was in a mood.

I’ll go for a walk on the beach, I said. But I didn’t.

I’ll invite a couple of people over for sunset, I thought. But I didn’t.

I’ll post the pics of the bench with his name on it, I can do that. But I couldn’t.

The grief-cloud is predictable, in an unreliable sort of way. This is just a day like any other, I told myself. And it is, only more so. It’s like the others: his absence is so present. But May 4th - that’s his day.

How do we celebrate the person who’s not here? How do we say Thank you, you brought such joy! when we feel so broken?

I wanted to go for ice cream. With him. Or a boat ride. With him. I wanted to plant some new things in that big empty pot on the back patio, and I wanted to do it together.

Some friends called, texted, checked in on me, delivered a card, a flower, a hug, gave me space for memories and tears, laughter and tears.

Thank God for the tender friends who hold healing space for fragility and tears, watering the seeds of healing with gentle grace.

The old live oak tree across the street from the Pat Conroy Literary Center is over 200 years old, and from beneath its sprawling branches you can look across the bluff to the Intracoastal (we just call it the river). My agent (who was Pat’s agent and has a long history with Beaufort) found photos from 1864, showing troops from the Connecticut 29th mustered there. She worked with the county to create a small park space, and with a garden club, and now it’s a Witness Tree, where groups can come and learn some of the history and watch the river.

When it was time to place benches, she asked if I’d like to put Tom’s name on one. “They’ll all have space for a little plaque,” she said.

I looked through his old notebook, full of quotes, and there was Isak Dinesen: “The cure for anything is salt water.”

Almost anything. But not everything.

Given his love of history, books, and salt water, it seemed like something he might like.

*and in a happy coincidence, a bird house and feeder are close by.

Oh, I planted some salvia in that big planter out back. I think he’d like that too.

Happy birthday, Tom. You are a force, still with me. If I could sing, I’d belt it out:

Like a comet pulled from orbit (like a ship blown from its mooring)
As it passes a sun (by a wind off the sea)
Like a stream that meets a boulder (like a seed dropped by a bird)
Halfway through the wood (in the wood)
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better
And because I knew you
Because I knew you, because I knew you
I have been changed
For good

From Wicked, For Good

Thanks to the kindness of tender friends, the patience of an old dog, the power of memories and tears… I survived a hard day.

And I’ve been changed for good.