This week, every year, stands out. It is the week, every year, that my dear husband spends THE WHOLE WEEK, INCLUDING OVERNIGHT at a river restoration conference that is literally only 29 minutes away (trust me, I’ve mapped that shit). And while I have come to see that maybe, maaaayyyyybeeee, he does actually need to be there for the whole time, because IT IS important, and IT IS very busy for him, it has taken me awhile to come to terms with all that (and to have kiddos old enough to make the week not all that hard without him).

But the real thing that makes this week stand out, is that in 2017, this is the week when I lost two dear friends – Jeff Douglas and Tom Standa, in.the.same.fucking.week – which was really hard. That’s actually the one year that the hubby came back from the conference for a night, because I was a bit of wreck. And so, inevitably, this week can’t pass without notice. In my head I hear myself saying things like “this is just always a hard week for me” as if the cosmos has somehow aligned itself to make that so.

This year, when the week arrived, I found myself wondering when a person dies, how long do you keep thinking of them? And then, of course, I realized there’s no answer. And, with guilt, I found myself thinking only three years in, Tom, and already I don’t think of you as much. God dammit, it wasn’t worth it.” Which, of course, has nothing to do with Tom.

And man oh man, I still regularly invoke the Jeff Douglas wisdom “it’s just TV” as a reminder to not take work/life/self, whatever, so seriously. And I wish to hell, that he could listen to what I’m doing now – and then tear it to shreds with feedback. And I would love to hear him laugh at how far I’ve come from that first day that I walked into his office at OPB. And if only I could ask him all the work questions that still prod me daily and make me feel like I know as little now as I did back then.

And so down this sad little rabbit hole I go until, before I know it, I’m here in my office, with tears in my eyes and wadded up toilet paper to blow my squeaky nose on (not to mention, an office-mate who I can only imagine is wondering what kind of nutjob she’s working with). But then this morning, I realized something new. I saw what a gift this week has become. Because year after year I now have a week, a ritual, of thinking about Tom and Jeff, their lives and their deaths – and how much all of that, how much these two men, will always be a part of me.

“at work” with Jeff.

striking a pose with Tom.