These past weeks and months have been difficult to write. These past days with my family are also difficult to put down. Some events and feelings have the ability to short circuit language and metaphor for me. I can describe an occurrence but lack the skill or objectivity to convey what it means for me.
Mom and dad and I visited Lee in St. George. She's doing surprisingly well: working two jobs, living in her own apartment, running, and taking yoga several times each week. We went for several decent jogs, a yoga class, and a hike up Snow Canyon. We went to a movie, and celebrated her birthday and Thanksgiving early. In the evenings, mom and dad showed us the digitized 8mm films they'd made of my infancy and early childhood. It was a peculiar sensation for me, but particularly difficult for Lee who didn't have particularly functional nor protective parents when she needed them.
So it was no surprise that she talked a lot about the way I stepped in and raised her. She still thinks of me as her mother. I suppose that I was her mother in nearly every way that counted when she was young. And now, I think I love her more than I love most people. I'm glad she's off the drugs and doing alright.
Dad needed time to go hiking and biking with me. Which was fine, since I like to do these things and I like him. We hiked up Rattlesnake Ridge, and he found a "short-cut" down the mountain. Two days later, we took J's boys up Big Cottonwood canyon for a hike, too.
I spent a lot of time with the boys on this visit: reading stories, rough-housing, playing make-believe, and tucking into bed. In the evenings, after a tuck-in, I stayed up with J and we chatted.
I took Mom shopping, and we bought a bicycle trainer, to get her healthy.
I've taken things a day at a time. And today was my last day. I'll miss them.
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