An ocean of good byes, a wave of hellos

Today Dan and I drove over to the coast and down a good long way to Navarro Beach where a funeral was held for my dearest male friend James Rogers, American painter.His family was there and a few friends and us. I have to make distinctions between male and female friends, because there "are" distinctions between male and females relating to each other. We became friends about the time a friendship with a woman was ending its active nature to a hopefully dormant for only a small amount of time phase and he filled a gap that was a raw aching wound. We met through my writing and his love for it and then we became closer as we shared who we were in the world with each other. I have found that I cannot really, yet, accept that he is dead. That I can't call him up, write him a long letter, (oh I wrote him some long long letters). He promised to come back for another visit this summer so we could walk his beaches that are my beaches too.

His family had his body cremated, the idea being we would place his ashes in the Pacific Ocean in Mendocino because he said that was his real home. He was only living in Palm Springs because his mother, at 83, lived there and wanted him close. As I began emptying my little plastic bag of ashes into the sea, a rogue wave came up all the way to my crotch, wetting my long voluminous skirt, long underwear, (it's still winter-ish here) doc marten shoes and my once warm wool socks. I stumbled back onto the sand and it was only later I realized there was a bit of ash left in the bag. I am going to plant them under the buddha statue in my garden that James loved so much. When he was discouraged he would write me, "If only I could sit in yr garden and have a bit of a smoke, I could puzzle it out, Sensei." (I hope you don't mind, Debra.)

I had such a hard time accepting his titling me Sensei, but he sent me his poetry often, asking me to edit it, 'teach me how to write' and thus he said I had become his teacher. When we first met, I was a teacher of high school students: he knew how much I loved it, but how much I wished I could retire because my body is breaking up faster than I ever thought it would. I never saw his death coming. I was so sure I would go before all my friends and family. When one is sure of something, it is a shock when the opposite happens. It has made me aware, so very aware, of not assuming anything ever again. The good I have learned is to love yr daughter; it seems we will be fast friends if we aren't already. She has become my wave hello.

Dear James, you gave me so much. I never had the opportunity to tell you exactly how much, because of course I thought we had all this time. I have learned that time is an elusive creature that is skittish and reluctant to come close to anyone, even those who stand quietly outside with a palm open and filled with food to entice it to stay, to come close and snuggle up. I don't know how or why you died. I don't know if you knew how close to death you were or not. I hope you didn't know, I hope you didn't feel pain, I hope you had time to greet God with a welcoming smile, because I know He welcomes those who love and you were a Lover in the full sense of the word. You greeted each day looking forward to what you were going to paint next, but James, what am I going to do with a six by eight foot portrait of myself? I live in a caboose.

I love you , dear friend. See you in Heaven