The New Year, Our Hearts Open

Dearest friends

Everyone's support and love have helped us get to this point, where we feel like the hospital doors are closing on us and we are being discharged to go heal on our own. to continue the strained metaphor, our triage was a few week's in our friend Travis and Meredith's yard, our operating room was our trip to New Mexico, and our post-op was ourtrip to Hawaii. Visits in the form of emails, FB posts, calls, cards and our own returns to Gainesville all helped us feel nurtured and ready to live again.

The new year turned, we've changed all our routines, moved to a new house, and here we are going forward. We no longer sob every day, and we recognize that we can't bring her back. Though we no longer busy ourselves with tending to her needs, we dedicate all our actions to her, and to her future brother or sister.

We keep our hearts open to spirit, to you, and to our world. Thank you, again, for all your love and support.


In the interest of a sort of spiritual transparency, to satisfy all kinds of curiosities, and also to share in the way that I have been shared with (stories and thoughts and feelings of people who have gone through similar troubling events helped me so much), I will begin posting some of my raw writings and pictures from mid-November onward, as I try to form them into some sort of final, presentable shape. Stay tuned. Have to get the internet turned on, and get the computer fixed and get the computer talking to the camera...



Rosalie's Play

Dear friends,

Leela and I were remembering tonight Rosalie's best joke: "Uh oh, eea dahhhk." She'd say meaning, "Uh-oh it's dark!"

She'd say this when we'd arrive late to the house via bike, or if she'd wake up early before the dawn, or when the lights would go off in the car.

She'd vary it in so many ways: Uh-ohh eeaaa daaahhahahk, Uh-oh eaaah dahk! Dahahahak..

It was the first she was doing this kind of thing. It was a dance with her throat, and a dance with our reactions. She was messing with us.

Just a day or two before she died, she started with imaginary play. She'd hold nothing in her hands and bring it to us and say "I got one!" to which Leela would say, What color is it? and Rosalie would respond: Blue!

What kind of world is this? This heavenly time, when her mind is expanding, growing, becoming so socially alert, so clever, so playful, and this time now is frozen forever. We will never know Rosalie beyond these behaviors, a Rosalie whose cleverness is more sophisticated, whose language is precise, a Rosalie who isn't childish. It's a lovely, perfect time to have frozen, I suppose, but who would want that?