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June 16, 2014

It's been a year now since Perry passed away and his memory still lingers around the house. I had to take his leash and his play things out to the shed eventually because seeing them was just too painful. I had thought that I would have been ready when he passed - but I still feel shaken from it, even so many months later. I know that I won't get another dog, but I knew that when Peggy passed, I just didn't want to believe it then.

Marjory made her way up to help me in the garden yesterday. Bless her heart, she heard that I was unwell and set off that same afternoon! I regretted that I hadn't made any progress on the last chapter, but she never even asked. It's been so difficult writing these last few weeks, my hands become sore so quickly and my head begins to hurt. I know Dr. Robert wouldn't approve but I've taken to laying by the window when the pain comes, just letting the sunlight calm my rushing heartbeat and waiting until I fall asleep. I sleep a lot these days, and the garden I planted so well this spring is starting to blend with the rest of the hillside. New weeds spring up every day, and poor Marjory won't be back until next month. Rusty tries to help when he can, but I don't like bothering him- not after he's done so much for me over the years. Last week the solar panel stopped turning and remained stuck pointing directly up, like it was talking to heaven. Rusty came and helped me pull it loose, but the next day it was stuck again. I didn't have the energy to call him back. Luckily it's light all the time now, I'll just have to make sure I repair it before fall sets in.



September 5, 2014

The sun has started to hang low over the horizon. I used to love this time of year, there was a thrill about knowing that soon the sky would be enveloped in black, and that I must make the most of each moment before then. I wonder if the pain is increasing because the sun has begun to weaken - now I can only sit at the couch under the dusky window and hope that the morning rays are strong enough to lift me from the night before. I've been using my solar block each morning to infuse the few, strangled vegetables I collected with healing energy, but still my condition remains the same. Marjory has not returned, I wrote her several emails in the last few months and all have gone unanswered. I suspect she is preoccupied with things in Homer, seeing at the state John left them in. It is a fickle thing, the responsibility of a family. I used to be content knowing that I had my sweet Perry and Peggy at my side, but now that they have gone away and I find myself laying on the cold couch each night, I wonder if I have done something wrong? I know that I could have never loved someone, giving up my independence and sharing my home would only distract me. I liked when we used to meet for writer's group each week, and hosting the occasional birthday in the neighborhood, but I am always in such a hurry to be on my own again. I see it in all of our eyes, the roamers who play the part when we can, but we are all anxious to get back to ourselves. Rusty has been spending more time with Sherry these days, I can sometimes hear his truck on the gravel when he comes home in the early morning. I hope they can repair things, it would be good for that old dog to not end up like me.

Writing in my journal has given me just the energy I needed to finally draft up my last chapter. I know Marjory will be happy I've finished the book even if it doesn't make it to her until the snow thaws next spring. I was trying to recount her story factually, using only our audio transcripts, but something struck me as I wound towards the ending- perhaps its the wild colors of the pain that have been pounding in my head for months, but I started to see it- the truth of this land. I hadn't noticed it before, the similarities between the boys who pulled her underwear to shreds and the wolves that tear the new fawns from their mothers. We have no roles here but the roles of the animals in the hills, so we mimic. We set out for ourselves like newly hatched birds and then call out across the expanse, wishing we hadn't wandered so far. I can see us all nesting down when I look over the valley now, no space between Rusty's cabin and the brushes where the Magpies hide. I wonder what spirit I followed when I chose this place all those years ago? Back when I wanted to be alone with it all, when I hated the sight of my own fence muddying the great fields of fireweed spreading in the spring. I couldn't hear it then - the way the tear of Rusty's tires on gravel sounds just like the wind in the leaves.