That’s what your phone said. “Remember there’s a thin veil”…from a former client of yours on your phone. I hadn’t looked at your phone in weeks. Not plugged in – it was dead. I plugged it in and there was a text… to your phone for me from Maureen… Wishing me Condolences.

I answered back… honestly…in my current state. All the water being sucked down the drain. My emotions are sucked dry and I feel lost. REALLY LOST. You are gone my dear. Almost 1 year and 4 months.

Are you really behind a thin veil whispering love and guidance to me. Like Maureen text… WELL SPEAK UP. I can’t hear you. I can’t hear myself. I’m spinning down the drain my dear…

This week I stood on a pier high over the ocean and wanted to join you. Wanted to be with you. NO I wouldn’t act on that… but just that thought show’s me/you/myself where I am.

Dublin and the loss of LIZ – To really see she is evaporating from a decease that taunts her, like a mosquito – memories – then clouds – then fog – tethered to the world if a family member is there. 10 days I was in the care taker role, cheering on, listening intently, leaving be, consoling, but constantly aware – my ears attuned to a change in the weather of her mind, and in that second or milla second I swerve to bring her back – pull on the life raft to bring her back to me to life… Honey – I realized I had to say goodbye to her there… Good bye to the Liz i knew and love what is left, the remnants, the books, the paintings, the humanistic questions, the love of family….there I stand on the top of the building watching her walk the buildings edge – remarking about the weather – how nice the workers are – what a lovely garden I have – the “please take something, there’s way too much here”…

So Honey here I am… walking on the precipice of the 62 story building… You far below, Liz hanging on the side of the building… I’m not catastrofizing… but that’s what it feels like… Liz was my last link to a world that thought, read, and was based in a reality of history… a history that for you and I my dear has come to a physical close but emotionally continues on in grief.

What to do… to entertain myself, calm myself, restoration… like I’m the Sistine Chapel…An ancient painting that dirt, wax, living dust has obscured and I need someone to gently dip a Qtip in linseed oil or some gently diluted soap and water and slowly, 1/16 of an inch at a time clear away the dirt and grim to reveal what is underneath…

I am an artist, You were an artist, Liz is an abstract expressionist… and the rest of the world goes on in it’s mundane sameness that doesn’t exist…

My dear love we are both the same age right now. 62. Next year I will be older that you. Something had you lived and thrived would never have been or even conceived. Age was a fact.

You would have loved the front garden…. Pushing all intruders who dare to pick the living flowers and throw them away – pushing them into the thorns of the rosaragosa bushes…And we would laugh, raise a glass of bourbon to the monarchs, moths, and fireflies that dance amongst the blooms and blood. As those learning a life’s lesson run away.

Is that you whispering to me from behind the thin veil? Or have I embodied you?