7 Months later...

Greetings to all who followed this blog,

Unbelievably, it's been 7 months since Dan'a death. Before writing I reread a bit of the last posts--just snippets, since it's not the healthiest of activities to read and re-read some of those days. I was surprised at how I described things as if they were happening in a movie...how my writing was somewhat detached in order to remain communicative and functioning. The truth is the way I felt then and feel now is both physically and emotionally intense--at times overwhelming.

To relate it to another experience, I was in a rollover car crash when I was a kid. For some reason I was totally uninjured, so as soon as I was able to get out of the car, I started trying to figure out what to do about the situation: how were we were going to find someone to help us in the middle of nowhere? Is my sister ok? How damaged is this car? I remember distinctly that a bunch of Cd's had flown out of the car and were scattered everywhere. I started picking them up and putting them back, as if the act of restoring order would make it all OK. It was a needed distraction which prevented emotional chaos. On a completely different level, that is what I think happened after Dan died. Pure shock forced me into clean-up mode...and just like post-car crash, when the shock wears off, the picture becomes clearer and one feels more keenly the effects of reality. This is where I am today.

Now, as I sit and write in the tiny village of Cannon Beach, Oregon, the sun is shining (it's been an unusually "hot" they say) and summer is going and going...although not gone! For those of you who don't know my connection to this place, my mom owns a small motel in this touristy coastal town. My sister owns and operates a boutique. I have been alternately playing maid (indentured servant) and "lotion intern", helping them both during this busy season. It's been a lot of work, thankfully, and since I actually love physical labor, I've been mostly happy to pull weeds, make beds, and generally sweep up sand off of everything!

This is also the place where Dan and I were married on October 23, 2004. The dreamy picture on this blog was taken steps from my mom's place. The ocean is amazing, vast, and humbling, so every chance I get I run out there to walk on the sand or catch a glimpse of the sunset. It often makes me think of a poem Dan wrote--I think after his first visit to this place in 2002.

The Ocean cannot be convinced.
Its tide moves
In and out at will
And when
We recklessly try to change it,
It won't.

But this inevitability
Almost comforts me,
For I can count on
The rocking of the dock,
And a vast eternity
Of foaming sea.

A lot of people look for signs of the person they have lost or have dreams where the person visits and it's so real it's like seeing them again. This has not been my experience. I often imagine what Dan might do or say at a certain moment and I am always thinking about how what I am doing or saying is different because of the 11 years we knew each other, the difficult fact I face is that there was a past, but this present and future goes on without Dan. Sometimes this makes me angry, sometimes sad...a lot sad. I long to talk with him, to laugh with him, to brainstorm our lives together, but I can't. It's an impossible, unbelievable fact, but it's reality, and life is best lived in reality.

Something I started doing the day after Dan died was writing down specific memories--things he said or experiences we had; inside jokes and Dan-specific philosophies. Maybe I watched too much "Little House on the Prairie" as a kid, where the children always said things like, "I'm starting to forget ma..." but nevertheless I was in panic mode trying to preserve every last detail of Dan--somewhat as proof of how wonderful/unique/brilliant he was...but also to keep him alive to me. I scanned fragments of unfinished novels, pieces of character sketches, poems and letters he wrote to me...anything I could find--into our really slow scanner. Most of the time I did this late into the night--just as long as I could finish before I moved.

I have a perhaps irrational fear that people who never met Dan will think I am exaggerating or pulling a "hindsight" manoeuvre when I describe him, but as a wise friend of mine pointed out, even if that's true, it doesn't and cannot matter, since everyone had their own personal experience of Dan to begin with. Some knew him as the board game organizer; some as the 10-year-old boy who played the viola his grandfather bought him; some the intimidating and tall blond guy from Texas. I think of him as the best of the best of humanity. I think of myself like a person who won the jackpot but then lost it in a cruel bet with fate. But my experience of Dan...anyone's experience of Dan, cannot be diminished or taken away. We each own these experiences and they are indeed great gifts.

But all of this inspired talk does not take away from the fact that I miss him terribly and constantly and I wish I could have done something to have changed this outcome.

As in the past, I really appreciate anyone passing along these updates or the blog in general to friends, family, and even acquaintances. I have been so pleased to hear how deeply people have been affected by Dan's words. It's my hope that we can all share thoughts and memories about Dan here on this blog or delivered to my email address: susanmfritz@gmail.com, where I can work on a new compilation of sorts.

One more thing...if anyone out there is uncertain about whether or not to call or write me, please don't hesitate to do so...I am out here in the wilderness with the elk and raccoons, but I do love human contact! I'd love to know what YOU are up to, too, as I come closer to deciding what I will be up to next.

Much Love,
Susan