The other day I heard Emily’s voice on a recording and it broke me. While I can now look at pictures of her without breaking down, videos and hearing her voice is incise my heart. I listened for less than 10 seconds before I was on the bed convulsing, missing her so deeply my bones hurt. In that moment, I realized another thing: I was beginning to forget her voice, what she sounded like. I will never forget her essence – I talk to her all day long and she responds in a clairsentient way (a new word for me to explain our communication I did not previously have a name for), but her voice, her movements, the way her long fingers so gracefully held a pen, tapped heavily on her computer, played the violin, set a volleyball, held my hand, relaxed as I massaged them, those little moon finger nails with dark undertones: those things are beginning to fade.

This morning, with a bright blue sky, on the reclining chair in the living room wrapped in my “I love books” blanket given to me by my dear friend Deborah, I began my morning ritual. Usually, I do it in my office, but the chair leg to my perfect little chair is being epoxied so I needed a new spot. From here I can see my red poppies still blooming, the silver aspen still now, after days of wafting in strong breezes, my succulents settled on my front porch, soon to be brought in for the winter, and I can hear my sweetheart’s breathing from the next room. I’m comforted with my coffee and the coziness of my indoor space, filled with such color and tapestry and warmth and wood, and inspired by my picture window’s view. My morning routine involves the Wordle, a bit of contemplative reading, and then some meditation time. When I opened my computer to do the Wordle, I saw Spelling Bee was up from last night, another NYT’s word game I will often do throughout the day. 

I remembered that Emily and I often did Spelling Bee together and she would be astounded by some of the words I found and want to know their meaning. She would also type in ridiculous combinations of letters and we’d laugh or occasionally be amazed that her string of letters were actually words. Emily admired my way with words and wanted to learn from me. Sometimes she’d ask to do the NYT crossword puzzle with me as well, something I have loved doing since I was a child. Over the last year or so before she died, we started doing the short puzzles together and she was enjoyed learning the cadence and trickery of crosswording. 

Doing the Spelling Bee this morning, I not only felt my Emily, I heard her comments and laughter and ridiculous suggestions and her awe at how quickly I could spot words. And it was her voice. And her sense of humor. She was her right here beside me. We were puzzling together. We laughed. We focused. I felt this wonderful flowing connection with her that gave me such joy. It was play. No serious talk about the universe, no comforting or reassuring, just this pure focused fun that I actually shared with my daughter while playing a word game on my computer on this bright day that promises gardening and doing some more art on my driftwood cottage, which has become a tribute to Emily. 

There too, as I am affixing driftwood that I’ve gathered from the beach, I am in this zone with her where we just kind of merge, and I create and barely think; I just place and affix, picking up each little stick or larger chunk or oddly-shaped piece of wood and somehow know exactly where to set it. It’s a peaceful place, this cottage at the back of our property, that Emily would so have loved to have designed and built and created herself. So I am doing it in her honor. 

I didn’t know this when I started. I was just inspired by this “shed” across the street that our neighbor wanted to get rid of. I knew that I wanted it in my backyard, and Don thought I was crazy. Another structure needed to go down in order to place it, it was unwieldy and would involve taking it apart in order to put it back together on our property, it was unpractical and an awful lot of work when there was so much other practical work that needed doing in the early days of our tenure here. But I persisted. And magically (with a lot of work on the part of new friends we have made who are helping us with all manner of things), this cottage found its way into our backyard. From moment one, I called it the driftwood cottage, though I didn’t know why. It’s name rung clearly in my my mind, though there was no driftwood in its structure. 

Ever so slowly, with no foresight or planning (the same way I write), I found myself collecting random pieces of driftwood, some larger, most small and tucked them beside the cottage, playing only with the inside – finding a thrifted rocking chair, unearthing an Indian sari as a cover and a Miao embroidered pillow from China along with a lovely little carpet we had in the camper van, a collection of teapots, some tiny Hindu gods in framed aluminum we had had since our travels in India pre-children and where we had a spontaneous wedding in Rajasthan (our first of three – quite something for a gal who never wanted to get married) – and some bits and bobs I knew Emily would have loved or already did.

And then one sunny day about a month ago, I found myself outside with a strong adhesive from Home Depot, a caulk gun that did not work, a pair of scissors and a butter knife. Don’s family was visiting and they had all gone out on their separate ways: Kal to ride bike, Ellen and Don and Bridget on a little hike, and Bernadette with a book in the living room. And that’s how it started. Hours passed – six, in fact – and it felt like mere moments. I was mesmerized and somehow transported to a place of just pure focus and vibrating energy: a place where Emily was with me. I have many more hours left to bring our driftwood cottage (mine and Emily’s) to completion and I rather hope it will never be done because it is a door to meeting her where she is at, rather than her meeting me in my sorrow. I love it there.

The Spelling Bee this morning? Another kind of pure positive joy – feeling my girl, hearing exactly what she would have said and is still saying. This perfect communion with my daughter, doing something familiar together. I am going to go back to it now, and see if we can find a few more words. How perfect that I can return to this with her many times throughout the day and that we can do it every day. I will take every opportunity for connection that I can find. I am so delighted that here is yet another. What a gift.