The perfect means to cheer, thank you everyone

One of my dearest friends, S, who I've known for thirteen years now wrote me yesterday morning and said this: "Doll, screw that ole bag Alice Munro.  You should be winning the Nobel in literature this morning.

You should read the Philly story in the Home and Garden section of the Times today.  I miss Philly.  Life is just so easy there.  Not hard like New York.  I think you need to do a piece and ruminate on your Philly days.

BTW, Sandra Bernhardt lives on my street and said to Macho last night on our walk: "Aww, cutest fucking dog ever."  What a classy lady."

I swear to god I haven't laughed this hard in ages. S (his nicknames include Stoli, Doll, Shawnie-Shawn-Shawn), I love you. And to all of you out there who have reached out to me with such love and support and kindness and thoughtfulness, thank you. Thank you so very much.

The best-laid plans

I slept in the basement last night to "get some real rest." At 1:45 this morning, the power went out, the battery back-up (in the storage/HVAC room immediately adjacent to the guest room) for pretty much every computer component in our house went berserk -alarms beeping, the printer printing as if it were consumed by a lunatic spirit- and I was up. This happened three times so I finally made my way back upstairs and into my own bed. Oliver came in at 4 complaining that his clock was blinking and because "I sleep with my eyes open, it's bothering me." Good god. I sent him back to bed but he returned just before 6. Then Jack came in. Then the cat. I feel like I've been hit by a truck, it is dark as night outside, still raining and I have a loooot to do. Also I slept in a funky way on my pillow so now feel creaky and achy and must look like the hunchback of Notre Dame. When Jack got home yesterday, I asked him how he was, and he said sadly, "I wish you'd stop reminding me. I miss Nanny." I asked if he'd want to go to Lake Charles with me for the visitation and funeral, and seriously, y'all, your heart would have burst: he looked at me with relief and love and said, "I would like that so much." So I bought the two of us tickets and we leave first thing tomorrow morning. I think it will be a good experience for us and certainly a time of closeness and connection.

As Tom made our coffees this morning he noted that Silvia, our espresso maker is nearing 11 years old. She was my first present from Tom; he said he gave it to me with the belief that it would be ours, rather than just mine, in the near future. We did the math on the not-going-out-for-coffee-each-morning and think we've saved nearly $30,000. Isn't that insane to think about?! That's before minusing out what we spend on coffee beans, but still!

A peaceful goodbye

Nanny died just before 7am this morning. Her daughters and some beloved nurses were there, and her passing was a peaceful one. I feel extraordinarily grateful for the way things came together at the end. Mom was helped at every step of her journey home from Greece, so that she could make it. The flight attendants charged her phone for her and brought her fresh fruit plates from first class; one even used her credit card to pay for Mom's call to Nanny because Mom's own card wasn't reading. Can you believe the unbelievable kindness that can come from strangers?! They ushered her off the plane first, and she spent a good twelve hours with Nanny before laying next to her as she took her final breaths. I think this is magical really; at the very least it's amazingly ideal. As far as deaths go! We are just all so happy that Nanny is not suffering anymore, that she is at peace. When I told the boys this morning, tears began to stream down Jack's face, and he said, "But Mom, I promised Nanny that I would see her at Christmas." Can you believe the presence and beauty in that statement?! I was overwhelmed and just held him tight. He is such a special person, and I am lucky to be his mother.

I do not want death to be frightening or mysterious to the boys. I want to teach them that it is simply the final aspect of living, that our own finality makes our time here all the more meaningful and special and because it isn't bottomless, we should appreciate it. I don't believe in Heaven or any such afterlife, and I'm utterly OK with that. Immortality, in any form except memory, sounds wretched to me; I want to live well and then make room for others to do the same.

And so I just held my darling tight and we called Mom together, and life pushes on.

It is such a rainy, grim day here, and so I am looking forward to the date I have with Oliver after school today (Jack stays for comic book creation): we are going to find some satin gloves to accompany the Cinderella dress. As I said, life pushes on.