I think I need to abandon any pretense that this blog is anything other than an attempt to communicate with you. I’d like to say it makes me feel better but mostly it lets me feel sad. At least that’s what I’m feeling right now.

The kids and I received a letter from the organ recovery agency. Your left kidney and liver were transplanted into a 39 year old male. He must have been in pretty bad shape. I hope the organs “took” and give him life. Your right kidney was transplanted into a 48 year old male. There was tissue recovery and another organ was used for biomedical research. I wonder if it was your heart? I hope so.

I went to the Millennium yesterday for the first time since your death. George is very kind and sweet. Bentley was there. Dena and Barry came after lunch from town. Rocque and Telli have been closed for their annual refurbishment. They are to have a grand reopening Wednesday. Oh, and Margaret came. Naomi stands out as a figure of youth against the backdrop of all us old people. Ken and Patty rolled in three sheets to the wind.

What news is there? I asked Bentley how things were going and he replied, “Terrible.” Oh, dear. I heard later that Bill’s competency status has been reversed. (This past Sunday Carole and he hosted a musical festivity on the bay at their home!) What this means for Consejo Shores I don’t know.

Dena and Barry were without generator power for over a month. They took a lightening strike that fried the mother board. After a month they were able to find a somewhat expensive, used motherboard, get it wired up and running. It’s only been cycling correctly for the last 36 hours. Their solar set up produces a trickle charge but is inefficient. Dena admits it’s been an ordeal for them. Daryl has been out at their house repeatedly to help them. (Sadly, he has resumed drinking to the point of stumbling out of the truck on arrival to work on the generator).

All of our mail was in Dena and Barry’s mailbox. There is a consensus that something should be done about the homeless man that sleeps under the awning near the post office boxes. The place is littered with food containers and reeks of urine. I don’t think I would mind if the area wasn’t filthy. I wake the poor man up every time I check my mailbox.

David, today is September first. I have been without you now for sixty one days. There are times when I still don’t know if I even want to go on without you. I miss you terribly. Everything at home is the same except it looks neglected. Weeds are grown up. The washer is dismantled and sits in disrepair. It’s been very humid and ceiling paint lies in large flakes on the floor when I wake up. Don’t you miss me going on about that? All last week I fantasized about moving back to the States. Today I am in the mood to remain here in this house. What I am trying to tell you is that I’m moving forward as of today. Be with me. Always.