What Keeps Me Going

 
February 26 I last came here, to talk about Curtis Loew, new light in my life. Curtis was all I felt like writing about, because everything else was so horribly grim. We'd been living in a whirlpool since Bill's diagnosis with stage IV pancreatic cancer on December 16. And the weeks between my last post and now are none that I want to revisit, save for the almost unbearably sweet time spent with family and friends, sharing love and music in our last days together.

My daughter humbled me last night, as my kids seem to do with increasing frequency, by posting on her blog about what it's like to be on the other side, without her dad. Her post is here  and it is a doozy. I've known since she was in middle school that she was a natural writer, and the surest evidence are that post, and the messages I got from her this morning. Because LaGomera is five hours ahead of Ohio, I get a little flurry of messages from her just as I'm waking up around 5 AM, which is one reason to be happy about waking up so darned early.

"I sat down intending to write something entirely different and that's what came out. I just have ideas pop into my head all day and I turn them over and polish them into single sentences and then if I'm lucky they come together."

Mmm-hmm. I know the feeling. 

"I feel so much better having written about Daddy. I didn't realize how much it was weighing on me that I never really said anything final about his passing."

If I were a cross-country coach, reading these messages would be the equivalent of watching a lean, gracile girl lope by, bouncing off the balls of her feet, eating up ground with every stride. I'm looking at an athlete. She not only wants to write; she needs to write, and that means she will write, for the rest of her life. And here's to more of that.

All blocked up here, with grief and the incredulity of Bill's leaving us so deathly fast and unequivocally. I keep trying to start a post and failing. After writing and illustrating Saving Jemima in a single year, failing at writing doesn't sit too well with me.  None of this sits well with me. But you  have to start somewhere, so I figured I'd start by telling you what gets me through each day.

The gifts that poured into our GoFundMe campaign, to help with all the expenses associated with our ordeal. I have been lying awake thinking about how I'm going to get all those thank-you notes written. Bill is birdwatching's Princess Di. The magnitude of the outpouring for him is overwhelming, and I have to learn to be comfortable with being overwhelmed. There are things I have to do right now, meeting book deadlines, taking care of Bill's accounts, and that's what I'm doing. Please know that we are so very grateful. Just to be able to pay medical and estate planning bills and to get Phoebe here when she needs to be here has been such a blessing. Thank you. You have made life so much easier, when it has been so hard. I'm gonna try to get to those thank-you notes. It could take awhile.

The incredible tributes that pour in for Bill. Here's a brick at the new visitor center at the John James Audubon Center for Art and Conservation in Mill Grove, Pennsylvania. Their sentiment is perfect.

Knowing our girl is safe on her beautiful island, seeing things like this every day,

makes me whole. And knowing she's got sweet, strong arms to hold her comforts me, too.  Go Oscar. You do your thing. And go Phoebe. Keep spreading your joy on your beloved hunk of basalt out in the Atlantic.

 

 Liam's been home the last two consecutive weekends. He said goodbye to his dad on the afternoon of March 24. We had no way of knowing Bill would leave us on the night of the 25th, but that's OK. It rolled out as it should, went down the right way. They got to say their goodbyes, as did Phoebe and Oscar, back on March 19. 

 I drove over to Morgantown to pick up Liam and cousin/best friend Gus on March 29, for his dad's beautiful interment ceremony for the family in our meadow. More, maybe, on that later. Or not. Too fresh. But it was amazing, and maybe I'll be able to write about it in time. I feel like I owe it to Phoebe and to the countless people who would have loved to be there in our meadow that morning to share that ritual, that gorgeous, heartbreaking sacred hour.

 

Curtis was there to catch Liam both times he came home.  Oddly enough, the cur is showing up in Liam's art now.

 Empathy: a Curtis Loew specialty.

It makes me happy to know that there was someone I could bring into this equation who would make it so much sweeter and better for everyone. This dog truly seems like a gift from God or Heaven or the Universe or whatever higher power you pick.

The first bluebird egg in our driveway box, April 3, 2019. Still warm when I found it. I was so sad and sick when I took this photo I hardly felt anything, but I'm glad I shot it anyway. I had come down with a wicked respiratory infection just as the last of my funerary duties was discharged Saturday, and it's still got me. Look at the deer hair in that nest. This gal used deer hair last year, too. Good plan to insulate well if you're going to be laying your eggs the first week of April, my girl. Crazy. It could still snow, you know.

 

I spent some time repurposing week-old funeral flowers into new, smaller bouquets, my faithful pal by my side. 

I believe in bluebirds, flowers, and dogs. 

 

 

  

Curtis will walk up to you and press his forehead into your chest and stand there, tail wagging, for as long as you want to love on him. It's one of the most endearing things he does, and he does a lot of endearing things.

 

photo by Liam Thompson

I'll leave you with a little video of Curtis, doing what he does best, which is healing hearts. Honestly, I think if it weren't for his wonderful friends at WVU, Liam would be home every durn weekend, soaking up this good dog stuff. In the video, Liam makes a reference to Curtis' shoulder hurting--he wrenched his left shoulder while hunting in the woods on March 24, and it's only just gotten better. Now he's running like the wind again! Enjoy this little gift, all you cur-lovers. xox jz
      
            

Liam is 17!

It started innocently enough, on November 8, 1999. A momentous day then, as it is today. There was suddenly 7 pound, 2 oz. newborn in a monkey onesie, where there never was such a thing before. 

Before long, he was sitting up and smiling, dialing the Fisher-Price phone, calling up his Grampa Dale with fingers and face.

He'd zoom up and down the extra-wide sidewalk on his trike.

Somewhere in there, he got to give honey to a gentle tamadua. 

He'd go eye to eye with a yellow-throated warbler

and spend long hours on the deck and living room floor, configuring the perfect train track

When trains were all he could think about.

He grew, and so did the bonsai trees he's known all his life. November 8, 2005. He's six. Wish puppy Chet had been in the pic!

November 8, 2016. He's 17. Same trees! Chet: almost 12. 

There was a slightly awkward phase, to be sure...we all have them, before we figure out what to do with ourselves, our hair...wait WHATARETHOSE????

and for figuring such things  out, we look to our big sister, who has always had all the answers. Little did we know then that the ocean would someday call her far, far away.

There would be some T-ball games to endure (those periods in between chili dogs and at-bats). 

But not too many. If it isn't fun, maybe you should be drawing instead.

There would be Harry Potter books to fall into 

and funny faces to make

and your mama's sore neck to rub, whether you wanted to or not. Oh, stop sniveling.

All the while, you'd draw and draw and draw. 

 There would be throwing lessons from Dead-eye Daddy (ongoing to this day)

first days of school, with a tissue pack in your pocket

and long jumps to make

and a sister (who sometimes smelled like peaches) to see off to dances

And of course, there would be a lot of dreaming to do.

You'd be the quintessential American kids.

You'd grow until you took your mama's breath away

just looking up and catching her eye

playing an effete, sparkly vampire 

Or, just as often, from laughing until she choked.

How lucky can you get, to have miraculously produced a pair of comely creatures who tower over you, are working their hardest to outshine you in every way

Liam's latest drawings.

Give him a follow on Instagram, lht_artwork!

and who love each other so fully and sweetly. 

What a delight it is to watch you blossom and excel. 

Happy 17, William Henry Thompson IV! You ROCK. So hard.

Liam is 16!

We get to watch them grow up.

We get to see them change, metamorphose from wee soft grublets to angles and bones.

Always going for the laugh, that kid, and getting it. Hog Island Audubon Camp, Bremen, Maine, in the fateful June of 2012. Phoebe doesn't yet know she's in love. Liam's already trying to impress the boyfriend to be. I think it's working.

I look at this photo and all I can see is my Dad. "I'm a pie man, m'self." Miller's Fried Chicken, Athens, Ohio.  Don't be fooled by the Styrofoam plates. It's really good. Liam is rarely happier than when he's consuming good food. He's happy a lot. Such fun to cook for, so appreciative. He considers a nice dinner out to be a fabulous birthday present.

His Granny Elsa treated us to The Buckley House in honor of Liam's 16th birthday. Liam ordered Surf and Turf--filet and lobster tail. Lobster! And he loved it!

I found this precious photo of Phoebe's Cross Country friends Alex, Natalie and Hannah working on Liam's hair before his first dance. They're all sophomores in college now, and Liam's got a few more dances under his belt. I drove him to his high school's Homecoming dance last month and decided to wait for him in the parking lot, home being 45 minutes away.  I'd no sooner get home than I'd have to turn around and drive back to pick him up. So I planned to wait for him.  Being (not so) fresh from a 31 hour trip from South Africa, I laced my fingers together across my chest, reclined the seat and fell sound asleep, in best limo-driver style. He texted me around 10:15 to say he was done, bored. Then failed to appear. Twenty minutes later he came vaulting out of the sweaty gym, bouncing like a Superball, begging for another half-hour. Someone pretty had asked him to dance the rest of the dance with her. "Mom. I'm REALLY having fun now! Can I stay a little longer?"

Who was I to say no? He radiated joy, and testosterone. 

Not many people know that Liam loves to draw. If he's not at school, 

running,

 or in rehearsal for a play, 

emoting,

or vamping,

he's drawing. 

He's a huge Dragon Ball Z fan.

These are all drawn free-hand, no tracing for Liam. I'm particularly impressed with the symmetry, foreshortening, and the hands he draws. 

Lots of action!!

A sentimental favorite. One of the first fancy drawings he did.

Needless to say, some drawing materials befitting his potential will be in his little pile of gifts on November 8.

If you're an Instagram person, and want to see his art as it's produced, please follow Liam at 

https://instagram.com/broskizzle/

That will be good! Very good!

Dude got ahold of my phone today and left his inimitable impression.

Yes, we get to be here to watch him grow up. 

 January, 2014, Canaveral Seashore

To see what becomes of him. So far, so good. He's a long tall drink of water, passing 6' without slowing down. The hair, staying platinum. Surfer boy freckles and pianist's hands. Sometimes you get lucky, and you get a boy like Liam. Happy birthday, best boy. The whole world is in front of you.