About the Universe and the Shape of My Heart

 

There have been so many unwritten updates swirling in my mind, and now that I’m in Germany — preparing for my mother’s funeral — they’re finally making their way onto “paper.” (Or whatever we call this digital confession booth.)

Coby has his own update in the works, but I’ve been itching to share my piece for weeks now, so… here I am again.

I arrived in Germany last Monday after the long “trek” across the Atlantic, greeted by snowfall and the warm compassion of old friends. Quite the contrast — from palm trees and coconuts to snowflakes and steaming mugs of tea.

Now I’m trying to simply be here. Of course, the universe has its own sense of humor about what “being here” means.

Before I left, the last days in the Knolls were… let’s say interesting.
Life’s fragility hit me once more — how what feels solid today can vanish tomorrow.

To chase anything resembling normality, I turned to my bicycle — my lifelong therapist, cheaper than any shrink and significantly better for my legs. Riding to work, running errands, or taking a “two-hour breathing session” up and down our -by now- muddy Forest Knolls hills, crushing the earth under my wheels — that’s where I find myself again.
Light. Alive. Home. And slightly muddy.

With that comes a deep, almost overwhelming gratitude: to breathe, to feel, to sigh, to be alive in spite of it all.

James and I rode our bikes to see our beloved Dr. Leah again in Point Reyes. The air was crisp after the rains, the sun soft and bright. We talked about James’ unstable episodes in Mexico, and as always, Dr. Leah’s compassion and calm steadied us. Lewy never gives clear guidance — it’s always a guessing game. (If Lewy could talk, he’d probably just shrug.)
But since returning home, James has stabilized.
Why Mexico brought daily crashes? We may never know.
Just good old Lewy being Lewy… and probably laughing at us.

The ten days between returning from Mexico and my leaving for Germany were surprisingly… what?
Easy? Calm? Sufficient? Somewhere in that neighborhood.

I felt held — truly held — by your support.
Because of you, I could book my flights.
Because of you, I could let go of one of my day jobs for that week to create a solid care plan for James.
Because of you, everything fell into place with a little less chaos than usual — which is saying something.

On our ride back from Point Reyes, we took a detour around Nicasio Reservoir. The sun poured over us, and I felt it again: We’re alive. We’re riding our bikes together. We’re doing what we’re meant to do, what we are good at.

And this is where your generosity shines so brightly:
That bright green Hopper recumbent trike you helped us buy has brought back a quality of life we didn’t know we’d ever see again. James and I lived on our bikes for six years on tour — and now, riding close to home, hearing him whistle his old tunes, seeing him smile when we pass each other — the world feels right again.

https://youtu.be/3pbmtkFbAJA

For those moments, the NOW expands to the size of life itself. Our connection comes rushing back.

Now here I am in Germany — the big goodbye.

Sifting through my mother’s things (and a few of my own old ghosts) in the apartment where so much life happened. I’m swimming through my past like a small fish in a very large, very emotional ocean — and it’s only my second day.

Thank you for being here with me.
Thank you for caring.
Thank you for giving a damn.

And remember: Life is happening to you while you’re busy making other plans.

Happy Thanksgiving from far and near.
I give thanks to you with all my heart — right here, right now.

With love,
Margit
(separated from James at the moment by that big old puddle called the Atlantic Ocean and a few rocks )

https://gofund.me/8cd7f757c