September 25th, Errol's birthday. He would have been 74.
I thought back on the last really lovely day we had together, at the end of January 2015. Doctor's appointment at UCLA for Errol, then a visit with our dentist in Westwood. Afterwards we walked, hand in hand, through Westwood village, where UCLA is located.
We came upon a Farmer's Market, browsed the stalls, maybe bought some fresh veggies, I don't remember. What I do remember is everyone smiling when they saw us. It's a lovely memory, people smiling, us walking, browsing, and so not knowing what would soon come our way. A few months later, Errol was gone, I was alone.
Somehow my life went on in a good way with my dogs, my friends, new things to learn and participate in.
Even when 202o came with the unprecedented challenges of a pandemic, isolating in place, and feeling more vulnerable than I ever have before, I have not been unhappy.
I feel terrible about all the lives lost, about the politics, the mismanagement, the confusion, and all those things. But on a personal level, I'm doing fairly well.
Of course I miss Errol, but by now I can remember him with a smile: his ways, his cooking, his huge veggie garden, all the dogs he saved and loved so, his love for me.
Errol lived his life with his arms open wide.
Loved by so many.
Loved so very much by me.
