Another Busy Day

Today began with a drive over to Clarkston High School where I observed one of my student teachers from NMU.  When I arrived a young woman, paraprofessional, escorted me to the student's classroom.  On the way there I mentioned that I grew up in the U. P.  "So did I," she said.  "Where," I asked.  "Menominee," she replied.  "Me too," I said, "In Birch Creek."  "Oh my God," she said, "My parents live near Birch Creek, we go to Holy Spirit Church there."  "So did I."  Small world, eh?

Another nice day, so I played a little golf at Huron  Hills, just the front seven holes are open.  We all have to be somewhere, and there are worse places to be than on a golf course on a nice spring day.  Once again I had this feeling that Gwen was walking with me on the course.  I remembered when she was at Glacier Hills recuperating and I would stop at Huron Hills on my way over to see her.  It's so different now, no sense of urgency, still a little tad of guilt for some reason.  I don't know what the guilt is all about, it really doesn't matter; I could play golf from sunrise to sunset if I chose.  That's one of the hardest things to get used to with Gwen gone.  The complete and absolute freedom of not having to be anywhere or doing anything in particular.  One would think that would be enjoyable; it's not really, it's a weird, vaguely anxious feeling, like something's not quite right.  Of course, I know what it is, it's hard to go from being a care giver to being a carefree giver, or something like that.

It's Friday night; Gwen died on a Friday night.  It seems I'll never look at weekends the same way again; an awful lot got packed into that Friday night back in November. It's not necessarily all bad; it's just a lot of memories, some good, some not so good, all are important to the rest of my life.  Now I think I'll listen some Beethoven and then call it a day.  I'm going to get up early tomorrow morning and work on that poem about tears.