year

It's been a year.

That doesn't mean I woke up feeling differently.  Mostly it's just a reality check for myself and anyone else who's marking this time...a reminder.  A year.  The reaction is usually disbelief coupled with refreshed sadness.  Time for me is generally irrelevant when it comes to the loss of Eileen.  It's another day, and I need to decide going forward how I'm going to handle this annual scab-picking.

I did a long hike out a Pt Reyes on Sunday, one of Eileen's all time favorite places.  I wanted to visit the spot where I proposed to Eileen back in 2006 and have some moments where I felt particularly close to her, and give myself an opportunity to spend the afternoon taking it all in....accepting it, and perhaps gaining some closure.  I guess you can say it was my idea of a funeral, 364 days after she passed away.

It was gorgeous out.  Perfect temps, no coastal fog, and a nice sea breeze.  The trail terminates at a rugged outcropping overlooking the ocean, where it meets Tomales Bay.  It's really stunning, but a sizable hike of about 10 miles round trip.  I was feeling fresh and my feet were in good shape for the whole trip, which was great considering my mild apprehension (I hike a ton, but never that much mileage all at once).

I had it in my mind that I wanted to visit the exact spot where we got engaged, and while you'd think I would easily remember where the spot was, the truth is; I hadn't been out there for a long while and things were looking a little different to me.  There's several boulder piles along one section of trail...way off on the ocean side of the path, and I tried to cross-reference the different piles with photos taken that day.  Strangely, while my gut was telling me it was this one, the photo reference sure didn't match up.  I know this is sounding a little obsessive (I felt that way myself at the time) but this puzzler was helping to keep a bit of distance from what I was actually doing out there: I was saying a final goodbye to Eileen.

Eventually I realized that it was more about this place and this experience than a specific spot.  I hiked closer to the cliff's edge and sat down to take in the view and have a moment.  Just as I sat down a murder of crows flew overhead and I had to laugh at the irony, recalling Eileen's disdain whenever seeing a solitary crow.  She wasn't superstitious except for that one thing; she believed seeing a lone crow was a harbinger of badness.  (I'd seen her angrily throw rocks at a crow once.)  With Eileen heavy on my mind, it just seemed like an awesome little in-joke between us.

I sat for a while taking in the sights and smells and breeze. I remembered all kinds of wonderful times E and I shared over the years and I felt so happy to have had the chance to be with her.  Eileen was incredible in every way and I miss her so much.  I took stock of where I've been, where I'm at, where I'm going.  I cried and laughed and stared at the ocean and soaked in the sun, and watched a turkey vulture catch updrafts along the cliffs.  It would come in real close and real low, so close that I could hear the wind moving over its wings.  For being such an ugly bird, it sure was beautiful.

After a while, I composed myself and got back on my feet.  I looked over to see a coyote not 100 feet from me.  I worried it didn't know I was there so I cleared my throat, but it hardly batted an eye.  It just gave me a quick glance and then went back to hunting.  I watched it pounce on a hole in the ground and come up chewing on lunch, then move on to another hole...creeping slowly with ears at attention. Really something to see so closely.  This day was quite an experience.

And tomorrow's another day.