wednesdays at 5:35 pm

every wednesday around 5:30 or 5:40 in the late afternoon you can find me walking from 300 medical plaza across the street to the NPI to run my social skills groups. for years, this has been the routine. and this is the time i always called kyle or miranda. i had only a minute or two, but so frequently i found kyle. after his school day was over. before his work would begin. we'd only speak for seconds. a brief check in.

now, every wednesday. i have the same impulse. to press "contacts" and then "kyle" and soon we'll be visiting for a minute or two. like we did during when he was in high school, then more frequently during college. the wednesday walk across the street was my most dependable contact with kyle. for over four years. there weren't any other weekly rituals we shared so regularly.

it's starting to get light out now. there have been one or two wednesdays when i've walked across the street and it's no longer been dark. even more, it reminds me of kyle. last spring, early summer, the last time i remember this quality of light, kyle and i were having our short calls to catch up.

the walks across the street are longer and so much more silent.

Update: Ky's Little Protector

Flynn left this tiny pup on Ky's grave on December 15th. When I visit Kyle, I always expect it will be gone--picked up by the caretakers or ground up by the grass cutter trucks. But here he is. He's survived 2 months, now. Pretty darned good. And he's got that little 07 around his neck that Ky's cousin Dev left. So, in spite of Forest Lawns' policies and crack maintenance crew, it is possible to have a little individuality hanging out there. I believe Kyle would be all for it.

So if you visit Kyle at Forest Lawn--

at the eastern edge of Abiding Love
up the hill
between the prominent Mitchell statue on the west
and the four pine tress on the east
down 6 rows from the tree nearest the top
in between Mr. Lewis and Mr. Bacon--

if you do visit, look carefully for the little rubber bull dog. He should be safely in the corner of the marker. If not, look around for him, would you?

Kyle's Marker . . . and also mine

after all the sturm und drang of choosing a marker and ordering it and waiting months, gear and leeann and i met at Forest Lawn last friday and watched the workman lay the marker on Kyle's grave.

as you can see, it is beautiful. simple, elegant, dignified. no enamel paint. no fake leather texture. with the saying, that Gearey picked out, by Robert Louis Stevenson that fits Kyle's tragically short sweet life. we looked down at the marker and smiled and agreed, perfect.

it was a warm late afternoon Friday and even The Coyote came out to visit us--tho it was well over an hour before sundown. i told leeann and gear about my calling, "Kyle" a couple of times to the coyote the last time i saw him, and how the coyote stopped and perked up his ears. and leeann said something about all the people who must think this coyote is the spirit of their relative. yes, i thought. that's a lot of responsibility for one coyote.

looking at the marker, of course, you see the blank space. that's for me, for my name. because the top bunk in the grave is mine. a little spooky, but also calming, knowing where i will be. that miranda and my family will not need to make a lot of decisions. i've done the responsible thing, making plans, finally. and calming because i will be with my beautiful boy. in that beautiful place. with that very handsome marker.

i would really like to have a marker that says something funny. like the gravestone that said, "i expected this, but not quite yet." or maybe a real honest message like, "if there's an afterlife, this opportunist believer-come-lately will be trying hard to let you all know." or "next time, bring a travel glass, please, with a gin and tonic."
or "it's about time you dropped by."

maybe i'll have a contest. valuable cash prize for the most fitting saying. i really want something that will crack up those who--years and years, maybe centuries from now--wander about.

or maybe my marker should say, "To learn more about Cynthia Gayle Whitham--google me."

Can You Tell I Have Another Deadline?

okay, so things are clearly returning to normal. i'm not blogging. life has taken over my life. first it was Obama, and volunteering at the local Obama headquarters doing data entry, and getting all excited. and of course the continuing elections (wow what a super tuesday and way to go, Maine and Maryland and DC and Virginia). then i had emergency lazer surgery on my right eye (more about this soon, cause all you myopics out there need to know about this), and now i'm at the almost final moments of another newsletter deadline (the job that i do on Sundays and in stolen moments on other days and at night if i can pull myself out of stupor). more to come.

Women for Obama

well i'm off to Pauley Pavillion at UCLA where Michelle Obama, Caroline Kennedy, and Oprah Winfrey will speak at a GOTV rally. not sure if i'll get in but at least i have a parking pass and know the campus.

of course i should be working (sorry, Hayden) but we're trying to make history here.

Why the mailbox is dangerous

There's a whole lot about the donor world that I don't know. Obviously, there's no way to know about it unless you have been unfortunate enough to have a loved one die, but fortunate enough for that loved one to be young and healthy and die with organs intact--and for the death to be sudden but not so sudden that he cannot be rushed to the hospital and sustained on life support.

In my 6 months experience of being the mother of a donor, I know that there are two types of donations: organ and tissue/muscle/bone/etc. I get them mixed up. I get a newsletter every so often from one of them, with lots of information about grieving and what other families have gone through. And then, like last week, I got the wonderful gift of a recipient letter. (I've written back to him, BTW.)

But there's more: like the letter that came about an annual memorial to honor and remember the donors. There's one in March or maybe April up north in Hayward. Gearey expressed not being interested at all, definitely not wanting to become a part of some sort of movement. His grieving for Kyle is a very private thing. I'm sure to Gear it seems almost disrespectful to Kyle to meet up with a bunch of strangers. I don't know why, but I don't feel that way. I understand him completely, but I'm just different. Like on New Year's Day when I saw the Rose Parade float honoring organ donors and accompanied by recipients, I wanted Kyle's face on that balloon.

And then there was today. Another mail box surprise. I get a card addressed to Gearey but sent to my address. It's from the tissue & the eye bank people. It's a Save the Date card. For an annual donor remembrance. It says, "Invitation to follow."

Another event, I think. Should I bother to tell Gear?

And then I see the small calendar on the card.
There's a date circled with a red heart.
The event will be held on 13th of April.
Kyle will turn 23 on that day.

Except I'm supposed to say, "He would have been 23." We only count the years one actually completes, don't we. Yet I will have been his mother for 23 years on April 13th. His dying won't erase that. And he will be 23, except that he won't be here to party with us.

I wonder how many years I will be drawn to and fearful of the contents of the mailbox.

I just want my boy back.
I just want my boy back.
I just want my boy back.