Breakfast at Spruce Cafe with the Tillitts. Darling spot. Under other circumstances I would notice the details and have interest in the menu. I’m here, but I’m not here. I can only process simple thought. I snapped and lashed out. Idle chatter cluttering my brain. I am overwhelmed and need a moment to walk alone. All 7 of us over to John’s to pack the boxes and pack the truck. It has to be done today. Our friends with a moving company have a truck rolling through Boulder heading to California today at 3:00. A huge relief to us, but it comes with that deadline. Super emotional and stressful. All John’s worldly goods in boxes, labeled out on the sidewalk with his bike, his bed, his golf clubs and skis. We can’t handle it. Too many memories. Too many shattered plans. Shelby, standing alone in his empty room, weeping. Vacuumed trails neatly crossing the carpet, like he had never lived here. How can I help her? How can she help us? How can we make it through this?

A long afternoon break suddenly became a matter of life and death. Shelby and I retreat home to chill, eat, catch up and work on stuff. Karen, David and their daughter Kenzie dispatched to do all of our “to do’s”. Did I even make eye contact with them as they left? Did I say “thank you?” They are off for supplies for the memorial service. Kinkos, sign board, terra cotta container, clothes line, clothes pins, pens, glue. David, multi-tasking. Making lists while coordinating with the videographer. Karen trying to feed us. Paul and Matt take the U-haul to the next town over to meet the moving van. They help put it all in the truck to California. I pick up a message from the mortuary. “John’s remains have been inurned and are ready to be picked up”. Stunned. Immobilized. Did I really just get that call? I’ve received that call before about my dad, but this is not the same. Sad and natural for my dad. This feels like a huge chunk of me just died. Next thought, completely incongruous. “Well, it’s convenient for Paul and Matt to pick him up on their way back from dropping John’s stuff at the moving company. .” A metaphor for my brain function/lack of function.

Regroup. Matt and Shelby are done. Finished. Emotionally drained beyond any previous life experience. They can’t function. They can’t help. They can’t think. They can’t speak. They need comfort from their friends, John’s friends. Each other. They go.

Karen, David, their incredible daughter Kenzie, Paul and I drive up Flagstaff Road to the Lost Gulch Overlook. Details that elude the younger generation need to be attended to. They haven’t done this before. They don’t know how much needs to be done.

How long does it take to get up the road? Mileage markers and distance need to be communicated. We need to set the stage for the memorial. Where should the speakers stand? We juggle into various positions testing them out. Everyone needs to hear and see. Can everyone find a place to sit on these rocks? Which way to we face? Where should the video camera shoot from? How cold will it be tomorrow at this time? We should remind people to bring a jacket and wear sturdy shoes to navigate the rocks. The laundry line of John’s tee shirts should be strung from which trees? Do we have enough laundry line? New idea…let’s bring the photo boards up here and hang them on the last five trees, then take them to the reception after.

A quintet of sorority girls arrive. Athletic, fresh faced, laughing. Snapping photos with their phones. Posing with the view that defies description but ends with Rockies and clouds and sunshine filtering through like a sympathy card in the drug store. We timidly ask them and the Goth couple smoking cigarettes how they would feel if they arrived and found a memorial service in progress. Faces turn somber. “Oh! No problem. It’s all about respect up here. It’s a beautiful place. There are other nearby spots to go see the view. Yeah, people would be cool with it.” Hugs. Silent and awkward. Beautiful eyes and skin embracing me… One after another. “I’m sorry for your loss”. Through the tears Kenzie exclaims, “Look! A rainbow!” We looked. It intensified for a moment, and then it faded away. John approves.

To the Lazy Dog roof deck to finalize the reception. Home, change, dinner at Pasta J’s . Exhausted beyond belief.