My husband was a Pisces

About a month ago, it dawned on me that I forgot to write an obituary about Eric. It was probably a good thing.  I did not know how to write an obituary, but I would have insisted on doing it myself - doesn't seem like it's a task one would outsource. I would have to Google an example, but struggled incessantly that Eric would cringe on the formality.  I would bite more than I could chew.  When I told my dear friend Kevin about my miss, he said, "your blog and your posts were his obituary."  It was serendipity.  

I released some of Eric's ashes in Gig Harbor, Washington, from a sea kayak.  I picked a quiet spot facing the Puget Sound.  The sunny morning was peppered with lightning, thunder, and hail.  Maybe it was his excitement.  It started to drizzle as I released the ashes, as if it were a sign of his approval.  "'Tis a good spot."  The Pisces' ashes sank slowly with gravity, traveled with the current in clean, clear water.  Freely.  Gracefully.  "Finally," I smiled, "unconfined."  He had always admired and loved graceful movements.  I searched for the mental file where I keep pictures of him climbing, each step calculated, deliberate, unhurried.  It was dance-like, although the man honestly couldn't dance to save his life.  I had never seen Eric did anything in a hurried, uncontrolled manner.  Never.  It was maddening.  

That night, Eric came to my dream.  This was only the second time I had ever dreamed about him.  The first time being two months after his death, when he said he was flying me to Dallas for that month-long bad ass business trip.  I was certain he came to announce he was no longer in pain, that he was free to move.  And that I could rest assured.  This time, we were invited to lunch at our friend Judy's.  She made us Japanese ramen noodles - the real stuff, not the packaged crap - with Chinese preserved vegetables.  It was some seriously good eats.  He looked exactly the same.  Relaxed.  Dressed in his customary uniform: T-shirt and jeans.  And we slurped ramen at Judy's.  Unhurriedly.  It was good.  

I felt peaceful.  I was proud.  Of myself and my husband.  Grateful.  I felt brave and courageous, but with much humility and gratitude.  I reminded myself again that I live a charmed life with unexplainably good fortune.  

"It's good.  It's all good.  Keep on living."  He said.