The wind came bustling though last night dropping the temperature from a very warm 78 degrees to 40 degrees. My attire started out with my favorite Tee shirt on and one blanket for cover. This morning I woke up with a gown on and three blankets, not that I remember any of this, therefore sleepwalking must be a new phase in my life. What has not changed is waking up with “Good morning, Freddie.” And thus my day begins.
The phone does not ring. I stare at the T.V. sometimes and plan to write. I do not write. Lost in a world I no longer understand.
The birds and squirrels are entertaining. They eat a lot and I find myself feeding them every other day. At this rate, I will be broke by spring.
I had two close friends to die. One on January 29 and the other on February 2. Neither was unexpected, yet the hurt came roaring in reminding me this would happen each time I shared a death with a friend or family. It seems death comes around quicker than usual these days.
No, The Town Crier did not announce their deaths. Other famous people died as well. We all know who they were. The Media now serves as the Town Crier.
I have written things on ragged sheets of paper. I do not know where those ragged sheets of paper are; nor do I know where I hid my checkbook. Some things, perhaps are meant to be hidden for a time. They will appear at the appropriate time.
Freddie’s clothes hang in his closet. I stare at them and wondered why I keep them. Yet, I am not ready to part with them, as yet. They remind me that he wore each garment; he was not much a trend setter. Bass Pro Shop shirts and boat shoes with shorts seem to suit him most days.
Space Camp has chosen the next recipient of The Frederick Joseph Bourgeois, III Memorial Scholarship. This young man will be the second recipient. I am told he is brilliant and their top applicant.
The book I am now writing is about me. Freddie’s story is one that can be found on You Tube; Google searches; Space Magazines; there will be earlier days remembered. I seriously doubt that it will ever be published. It is mostly for me.
My little book of conversations, between my dad and I, will be republished in a second edition. Perhaps I will reuse that format to write the beginning of Freddie’s life. I do not know. Perhaps nothing will ever be finished.
When my mother died I realized that all of us will die with things unfinished. There will be bits and pieces that will be thrown away…used toothpaste, soap, toothbrushes, combs, clothes….our favorite cup. This is the natural progression for those left; it becomes the task of moving forward by putting the things from the past into the past.
One day I will be able to do that.