Dan Gisvold at Bear Creek

Friday, May 20, 2011

Closer to Farewell

I am sitting here trying to work. It ain't workin'

This next weekend I will be in Camp Nelson. I will be saying goodbye.

I don't want to.

I have found a nice, dry place to ignore the pain and the loneliness. I go to work, I talk to my daughter, I sing, I take care of my dogs and my husband. I have a "usual" life.

I can pretend that Dan is just gone for awhile. I don't actually say that to myself. I know the thought is silly. I know he isn't in his truck where there is no cell phone service. But I sorta, kinda pretend that is the case. I just don't let my brain say it.

It is nice and dry here. There is nothing spectacular to tell Dan, nothing out of the ordinary to share with him. So I don't need to call. I don't need to hear his voice. I don't have to think about it. I don't have to feel anything.


Somehow I think that arriving at Camp Nelson will bring rain. Big, huge drops of rain to my dry place. I think I will have to listen to the voice in my head that says "you CAN'T call, you CAN'T hear his voice."

And I don't want to go there.

I want to go to Camp Nelson and see him there. I want to know that this was all a big joke of some kind. I want to know that he is still part of this planet in a very concrete way.

This is gonna be very, very hard.


  1. I want to tell you it'll probably do you a world of good to go through this.

    But I can't, because I'm too busy lying awake in the middle of the night staring at the ceiling wondering how I'm supposed to deal with my sister's family visiting us this summer without her.

    I've got nothin'.

  2. Rain or shine, next weekend I'll drop the passenger pegs on my bike and take a ride in his honor...

  3. It's going to be good and horrible all at the same time. Try to remember the good times. The denial will come back after the weekend, life is just too hard to live without denial. I'll be thinking of you.