I got up and out of the house early. The clash with Tommy signaled the late-warning signs of a mental breakdown regardless of the earlier 122/77 BP measurements. (Boasting). I just wanted to get the hell out of dodge before more shit flew. I'm beyond fried. I feel like I'm suffering from PTSD, and my focus seems to be avoidance of the greater realities. I can't fully comprehend that the mother of my children and the woman I was married to for 15 (20) years is dead with complete awareness and conscious embrace. That I sat and watched her breathe her last breath with our children. How does one comprehend that? For them at 18? I think it's hit Tommy harder than he's willing to admit, while Lauren's perspectives are likely more balanced for her views today but will still be subject to the evolution of adulthood. And to have sat and watched her body lowered into the ground, to have walked about the open pit to gather and throw roses into her casket before leaving, with continuous detachment, seemed totally and uncharacteristically detached, almost inhumane. Is it a coping mechanism? I think so, yet the realities are too in her family's validation of my own experience over the years. Kathy and I met for coffee. This is at Starbucks near Panorama. I discovered that the affidavit required 40 days after death before the sale for the pilot's sake, which pulled the run out from Tommy's otherwise aggressively rushed desire to get some capital out of the possessions. Kathy continued to share familial insight and observations into her character and needs that drained others and me. I also found and started reading through several journals that hit a nerve. Linda was a wonderful writer. Far better than I can ever expect to be. I wish I had recognized that sooner. She journaled for some time, from late high school through her early adult years, and what she wrote resonated with an era, youth, self-discovery, and introspection. I wish I had lived with a greater appreciation of this, but it was overshadowed at the time. It was also distilled. What you write about at 19 is more detailed than what you share in a conversation at 37. That's the case for all of us, I expect. But OMG, what a treasure to find these amongst bins of cards, letters, and notes. the woman kept EVERYTHING. I reached out to her friend Debbie, and she replied with enthusiasm and an address to which I'll be mailing her a collection of saved letters she exchanged with Linda in the early 80s during her stay in Paris. I also reached out to the Saratoga Library, a founder of which was her relative Sheldon Pharis Patterson. I'll be meeting with them next week to donate some historical books that'll be displayed with Linda's name as the donor. I can't emphasize enough how good this feels because I want to ensure her name and legacy are carried on in her absence. Why? I've written about it elsewhere – it's a simple gesture of honor and respect for the person. Her sister and I discussed and agreed that what was at her core, as far as intention goes, was overshadowed by whatever drama and damage occurred that fractured her security early on. Abandonment, anxiety, fear, depression… biological or psychological or both overshadowed what she could focus on and make happen. It's ultimately tragic and heartbreaking. Especially when reading her earliest writings and recognizing a core baseline intention that I think we all had in our youth in that era. We worked out the logistics with Gardner to hold on to the sale until we resolved the mandated processes. He's fine with it. Tommy's been moderately more engaged since our blowup last night. Lauren's been working all day, 1st at Vasona and then Yogurtland. Jen and I went to Pano, worked through the remaining bins, and sorted out all the possessions to the point where we were 90% ready to segregate what has value. Little does. Even fancy antique plates won't fetch more than $5 at best after fees, and that's not even allowing for time spent packing and shipping. I think the optimal win will be to post a 1-day estate sale with a tight 4hr window and a two-week lead time to build up interest… then show up, accept offers, and clear things out without dealing with the rest of the mess that is selling things. It's just not worth it, and we need to move on. The volume of 'artifacts' i have thrown into the recycle bins is awful, but the hard reality is that nobody but her cares about the every-single-Christmas card. But I am very proud and excited about what we DID retain - key letters with character insights throughout her life, childhood homework and more. We've weeded out a 'best of collection that my kids will be grateful to have in Time, as I was to have met and learned so much about my father from his 1st wife. Tommy's at Grant Ranch with the scouts tonight. Jen and I did sous-vide steaks and enjoyed the 2nd half of the 2017 Sangiovese (2 down, 12 to go). Firepit time until it was too cold for her. I've made the most of the freedom while anticipating a need to be aggressively PSMF tomorrow to prevent a gradual creep continuing in the wrong direction. I'm honestly sincerely feelign that previously mentioned PTSD. I am gradually realizing this is all real, the past year has been real, and all I've gone through getting to this point led to the conclusion of her life. I said once, early on in this whole situation, that her passing was the closest to me that would not be personally devastating. Perhaps the scope of the devastation is wider than I acholowkedge at that point. Like everything in my life, there's a lot I would do differently if I could go back. And that, though, makes me wonder what I'm not doing today that I'd do differently next year. Being this introspective can be torturous.
📊 seven-day averages: ⚖️ 160.4 lbs,❤️ 62.1 bpm, 👣 6094.5 steps, 🧘🏼10 min, 🛌 5h:2m
📊 seven-day averages: ⚖️ 160.4 lbs,❤️ 62.1 bpm, 👣 6094.5 steps, 🧘🏼10 min, 🛌 5h:2m