This has been a year of funerals, it seems. Even before Tom died, we had lost 8 friends or spouses of friends since March. And then Tom died and my mother died.

It's been a rough year -- and certainly not just for me.

The "good thing" about going to Milwaukee for my mother's funeral is that I will get to see some elderly relatives (and friends of my mother) whom I didn't think I would see again. And get to spend some time with my sister (and with my brother and his family, though less than with my sister).

A friend who lost his wife earlier this year (one of those 8 friends Tom and I lost) had a life-changing experience when he and his wife read "Immortal Diamond" by Richard Rohr and has been passing out copies of the book. Took me awhile to start reading it; at first after Tom's death even while reading a lightweight mystery, I'd read the same page 3 or 4 times while talking aloud to...who? Tom? the Universe? myself? the cats? Then I got so I could concentrate a bit while reading, but nothing too heavy. Just started "Immortal Diamond" earlier this week. Despite it being marketed through some Christian websites and Rohr being a Franciscan, it is not what I'd call a "Christian" book -- thank goodness. I've been thinking I was a religion of one, that there was probably no other person who shared my particular religious/spiritual beliefs. (And there may NOT be an exact match...but who cares?) Anyway, what I'm finding in the book are so many of my beliefs articulated.

I believe in the continuation of life, that we existed before we were born and that we will exist after we die, transitioning from our current existence to another one. I also believe that quantum and particle physics and the existence of an infinite number of parallel universes is where science and religion come together. (I have no idea if Rohr makes any allusion to any of this; I'm not that far in the book.) Tom may be in another universe. Tom and I might be together in yet another universe. Tom and his first wife might even be together in another universe. Infinite probability and infinite improbability. (Oh, yeah, and the answer is "42"...)

Friends brought their very wise three-year-old to the hospice on the day Tom died. She'd danced a goodbye full of symbols at the funeral of that other friend's wife earlier this year. Anyway, the next day her father told me she had said a couple things the previous day. One was "Tom Hall loves me." Simple statement. (I don't think Tom had ever really spoken to her; the Press Room is no place for conversation during a session.) And then, just after Tom died, she asked her father, "Where did Tom go?" Steve said, "Well, where you you before you were born?" And she replied with a profundity I've not encountered from many adults. She said, "Right here. I was right here." I get goose bumps every time I tell that story.

I know that Tom has continued on his journey. And I know, too, that he is "right here"... (I'm crying again.) But I'm missing his physical presence...being able to read to him (and reminisce about things the reading reminded us of), of telling him about the eight turkeys walking down the middle of the road when I came home the other day, of the fog in the trees down the hill from the bathroom window, sharing dulce de leche ice cream, agreeing that some singer-songwriter being played on the folk show can't even sing...

I've got to get away from the computer and get a few things done.

Linn