Sort of a mission statement?

I registered this domain less than a week after Stephanie died. At the time, my intent was only to finish writing her obituary for the newspaper, and then post it on-line, so old friends of hers and people who’d been out of touch could maybe someday Google her name and at least know that she’d passed away.

But after writing the obituary, there was more I wanted to say. And then, more still. Writing all of this is helping me. The word people use is therapeutic. I’m nowhere near done grieving, I miss her tremendously, and I have a lot more to say about her.

I’ve lived through something spectacular – all those years with Stephanie. Can’t imagine anything could ever top that, not in my life. I don’t want to forget any of the moments we spent together, the things we did, or the promises we made, kept, and broke. I want to remember absolutely all of it, but I am old and sometimes forgetful, and it’s not likely that my memory will improve with age, so I need to write it. All of it.

I can’t tell you everything about Stephanie, of course. I knew her less than half her life. There must be a million stories she never told me, and another million she told me that I’ve forgotten. I know next-to-nothing about her childhood, her adolescence, her first years of adulthood. I wasn’t there when she was creating herself, day by day and bit by bit. I only know that she got the recipe for Stephanie exactly right, made herself into a unique and wonderful woman.

My mission will be to describe absolutely everything I can remember about Stephanie and about our time together, in as much detail as I can recollect. After all the years, all the happiness she gave me, this seems like the very least I can do. Maybe that’s crazy or stupid or counterproductive to the assumed goal of getting on with my life. I don’t know; don’t know anything about dealing with any of this except that writing seems to help.

I’ve written earlier that I used to look forward to coming home to Stephanie every night, and then she was gone and there was nothing at all to look forward to. Driving home just felt like a chore, or worse, a chore done for no reason at all. As pathetic as this probably sounds, thought, I find I’m (at least slightly) looking forward to coming home at the end of the day again, because I get to spend time writing about Stephanie, for this website. When I write about her, it’s almost like I’m spending more time with her, or re-spending old times with her. Either way, that’s better than just moping around the apartment. So I’m sorry about the reading, which I’m sure is tedious as hell, but the writing helps me.

I am under no illusion that this site will be popular. Actually, I’m sure this will be one of the web’s least-read sites. Can’t say where it’s going or when it’ll be finished or whether it will ever be finished. I have enough rough notes already, to keep me busy with this website for a long while, and I’m scribbling or typing more notes numerous times daily. I need to spend this extra time with her, and I intend to keep writing about her until I am flat-out of memories.

I will promise, it’s not going to be all gloom and grieving. There’s sadness, of course, but it’s my hope to also convey some small smidgen of the joy of Stephanie, because she was a joy. I’m going to try to capture her indomitable, unforgettable, bright burning spirit — but nobody could’ve captured that while she was alive, let alone now, so it’s not possible. Can’t be done. There’s no doubt that I’m going to fail miserably. But I am going to try.

Also, a disclaimer: In case anyone’s reading this and worried about my mental health, I am aware that I need to do other things than write about Stephanie. And I am doing other things. I watched a movie yesterday, and read a magazine on the toilet this morning, so I’m not totally hopeless or nuts. Just mostly.

Posted 10/1/2018.

More about Stephanie.

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