The internet at my house has been down since Thursday.  Michael passed away on Friday.  Evening.  Michelle said that perhaps if we went home, that he might decide to go.  In the end, we found out that he had had many strokes, and there was really no place here where his consciousness could be, you know, no way he could break through.  So he would go away somehow.

This must be short, because I'm not having good luck with the internet here at this coffee place tonight.  I don't want to pour my heart out and then lose it in cyberspace. 

I didn't intend to be on Gaia at all tonight, but the stupid grading program to post grades for my students would not work, and I got curious about my old life.  The life I remember that I had before April 18th, 2009.  I couldn't load my gmail, which I can only assume has, like, 450 unopened messages, and none of them from Michael.  I sang that song to him, and that's all I'll write about THAT, as I don't need to cry in the coffee house. 

I tried to go to youtube to get Message to Michael, and of course something complex like youtube wouldn't load.  And of course, I notice that the first time I typed the preceding sentence, I wrote "Message from Michael."  It's easy to change what you just said, here in cyberspace.

Well, Youtube won't let me embed this, but hey, check this out!  Amazing!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4zciWBrs60

There is no way to express how much your comments, ideas, prayers, love, light, healing energy and patience, understanding and wisdom helped and are helping us here, as we learn to live without Michael physically around. 

I read all that you said, but managed to get back to almost nobody.  Please know that your thoughts helped, even if I didn't contact you yet.  I've got your phone numbers, those of you who sent them, and I'll call you when I can talk.  It might be a while.

With regard to the scholarship fund, it will take some research to set up, but i've already started.


Here is a picture I took during Mike's Celebration of Life.  There are musicians playing on the other side, behind me, and a crowd of people.  The sun is setting, and Gail and Pattee are dancing.  They are two of Mike's "Dancing Girls."  That's what I call them.  Of course, I'm one too, but certainly not among the most participatory.  I did...other things.  But I wore a long flowy skirt to the Celebration.  None of us Dancing Girls would do otherwise.  This place where we danced (I didn't dance) and made music for Michael is a place that emphatically evokes his spirit.  It is big and outside and open and raw and full of bluffs and hills and open desert.  From that place we could see the city, see where he worked for 25 years, where he went to college, all the places he loved.  One of the engineers he used to work with said, "Being here reminds me that when we worked at Motorola, we actually were a community, and it is that community that we lost."  When he said that, I realized that Michael's Celebration of Life was doing what it should do--creating a higher awareness, raising our consciousness around those things that were most Michael and that he most loved.  We were so lucky to be there together.  We did it.  Together we created it, and we were changed before we walked back toward the city together.

If

you haven't cleaned your

house

except, of course, like cleaning the bathrooms and kitchen,

but if, like,

you've got all these piles of stuff

that your husband told you to leave alone

and so you left them alone

for twenty years, or so,

then if he were gone

you'd probably want to clean house

somewhat

and so

256

stands for the number

of CD's that

I've found and catalogued

so far.

It seems to me so simple

to put something away.

But I'm not you.

I think there's a gene for that.

An "Oh, I could put that away!" gene,

And some folks got a "Hey!  What's that up in the sky?" gene

instead. 

And it's all good.

But someday

somebody comes along

with a bulldozer

or a determination to simply sort things through

and they wonder.  When did you stop showing me these things?

When did you stop sharing with me?

When did I stop sharing with you?

I remember why I stopped.  Why did you stop?

And what do I do with all the cool stuff you left?

How much happiness was there for you?