My running club

I have been running for nine years and in that time, I have had plenty of reasons to run, think time while I run, training calendars to follow, and miles to cover.  A few years ago, my friend and fellow runner Alejandro posted an online challenge.  He challenged us to offer the names of our departed family and friends who lost the battle with cancer. He would wear their names on ribbons on a flag he would wear during the race. He would also think of these people during his training.  While I did share a few names, this challenge changed the way I ran. My running club was born.
Inspired by my friend, I began to devote my training runs to those I have lost.  I honor those I lost to cancer. I honor those I lost to AIDS and suicide.  I honor those I lost to accidents and old age.  Every single mile is spent with one person.  I remember them and revisit the memories we shared.  Sometimes I do talk to them. I ask what they might do in a situation I am currently living. If I feel tired or unmotivated, their memory pushes me forward.  So many of my antepasados fought to their last day. Their courage inspires me.

Since my running club began, a few traditions have been established.  I always run with my grandfathers and my uncles who have died. I always run with my baptismal godfather. The first mile, so often the most challenging, is usually offered to someone who passed recently. In recent months, I have lost my Tio Mario, our host when we visited Peru last summer, and one of my mom’s best friends, Rosario Otarola. The last two miles are offered to two special people. The second to last mile is offered to Luz Nieves, my best friend’s mother. Mama Luz was a vibrant, beautiful woman and devoted mother. She cheered for my best friend and me during a few of our races; it was my best friend who first inspired me to run.  The last mile and therefore every crossing of the half-marathon finish line is devoted to Brett Haagenson, one of my dearest friends. Brett was a coach and teacher and he still plays those roles in my life.  Currently, I am dealing with workplace challenges so they are on my mind while I run. Thinking of Brett helps me smile and shake that negative energy away. 
I am truly grateful for the amazing people in my life. My running club has allowed me to stay close to those who have passed. 
I remember and honor these people and ask that you lift them and their families up in prayer.
Tio Mario
Rosario Otarola
Rafael Medrano
Abuelito Marcelo Calderon
Abuelito Rodrigo Urbizagastegui
Tio Delio Calderon
Tio Armando Villa
My nino Malaquias Mercado
Godfather Alex Loza
Charlene Brown
Keith Rodgers
Marco Ortiz
Father Bob Mathews
Remy Watson
David Villalpando
Danny Pastor
Donnell “Don” Grant
Luz Nieves
Brett Haagenson

Poem for a friend


I wrote the following poem in Spring 2011 as part of the “Poetry for Change” curriculum unit  in . English 11, Future Leaders for Social Change Academy
Four years and eleven days later
A villanelle
For Brett
We lost our friend so long ago. 
He left us before the summer came.
Our loss darkened springtime with woe.
Tainted cells grew, silent as snow,
Slowly smothered out his life’s flame.
We lost our friend so long ago.
There was no way for us to know.
In vain, all searched for one to blame.
The loss darkened springtime with woe.
We fell prey to its undertow,
Gave up hope, cowered in shame.
We lost our friend so long ago.
A robust warrior was brought low,
Disease became victor in that game.
Our loss darkened springtime with woe.
We lost him to an unseen foe.
Our lives will never be the same.
We lost our friend so long ago.
This loss darkens springtime with woe. 

A car just like hers

I knew somehow, even before the news footage confirmed my prediction, that the little boy’s toy car would look exactly like the one we have here at home. Primary color plastic of red body, blue wheels and handle for pushing, goldenrod yellow hood. I imagined little Carlitos Nava riding in that same car. And he did until Monday afternoon when the violence of Oakland streets took his life.

I took M to 64th Ave and International this afternoon. We each carried a rosary. M insisted on seeing Carlitos’ photo so one of the men at the makeshift altarcito moved a giant teddy bear aside. In the photo, Carlitos is not smiling but his deep brown eyes peer out in wonderment. M’s chatter subsided. I placed my hands on her little shoulders and tried to think of a prayer. Instead I read the handwritten flyers announcing a weekend fundraiser for his family and his memorial service.

On the drive home, I watched my daughter through the rearview mirror. I have been hard on her lately. She is going to sleep very late this week: 11pm Monday, midnight last night. I speak to her as if she were an older child. My expectations for her behavior rival those I had for my high school students when I was an administrator. She is my almost-three-year-old but she is still my baby. I think about Carlitos’ mother and how she can’t ponder whether she is doing right by/for her child.

“Mommy, are you crying?”


“Why are you sad?”

“I’m sad for the baby.”

“Did they hurt your feelings?”

“No. But they hurt his mommy and his daddy. It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not right.”

What is right in these situations? I can hop back in my hybrid, back to the weeknight farmer’s market, back to my suburban neighborhood, where every evening, after dinner, it is safe to take my daughter around the block in her toy car. I have no answers, only emotions.

NOTE: There will be a carwash both Saturday and Sunday at the market at 64th and International to help raise funds for the Nava family. Viewing will be Monday, August 15th, 6 to 9pm, Clarence Cooper Mortuary, Fruitvale Ave, Oakland.

Bad news

A former student of mine died today. It has moved me in ways I couldn’t have predicted, in ways I have yet to understand. He wasn’t a student I knew well or even one I liked very much. And yet I feel odd. As if the room is lopsided.

I had printed out a recipe for natural egg dyes. My daughter’s first Easter egg coloring. Why not be mindful of harmful dyes? Then I received the news, via email. So the recipe disappeared. I don’t know where it has gone.. I’ve searched my desk, my recycling bin, my book bag. Maybe someday I will find the printout and I will smile. Not today.

A few weeks ago, I was at my annual trip to a Catholic conference. I finally wrote down my list of 100 personal dreams. One of them was to blog again. I have so much to say. I am a mother, partner, daughter, friend, half-marathoner, teacher, former assistant principal. I was so ready to return to the written word, my old friend.

Not today.

RIP Donnell Grant: Some bad news on an otherwise lovely Sunday

I met Don at the Endup several years ago. I don’t quite remember why or how. I think Housewife and I were carrying on as usual, walking the runway or dancing the Hustle or hooting and hollering for the house music. In any case, Don found me amusing, all 4’11” of grin and crazy dance moves. We became friends instantly, sharing a cocktail or beer over gossip. Don had a lovely voice, one he was too modest to show off very often, and he loved to dance. He had hung out at the Endup since the days of disco and he knew a good groove when he heard it. Like the many men and boys of the club scene, Don was a familiar face, someone I could trust to keep me from getting jostled on the dance floor.

During the dotcom upheaval of the late 90s, Don took a job in Germany. That summer, I journeyed there, crashing at Don’s place. It was my home base as I took the train to Belgium, France, Holland, and different cities in Germany. Together with Don, I partied at one of the best clubs I’ve ever experienced and went to my first rave. I learned a few words in German and learned to embrace traveling alone. Once Don returned to the States, I drew away from the clubs as I dove into straight girl singledom but Don would send me Christmas cards and tell me about the ongoing club scene.

Today, the DJ gave me the bad news that Don passed earlier this year from complications from pneumonia. I am sorry Don is no longer with us but I know he is on that dance floor in the sky, that he’s probably chuckling at someone’s silliness, that he is gracing another place with his affection and good nature.

God bless you, brother.

Honoring a lost friend

I learned a lot from Charlene Brown. I met her at Columbia University in July 2004. We were roommates while enjoying a National Endowment for the Humanities grant to study the Renaissance. We became friends right away. We shared a love of musicals and plays, art, good food, and the marvel that is New York City. We were also comrades, the only openly religious members of the summer teaching institute, and therefore supported one another when anti-religion ideas were put forth.I will never forget Charlene’s smile and her gentle manner. I am sad to learn she has lost her battle with cancer.

One of my fondest memories of that New York summer was rushing back to Morningside Heights in a rainstorm one night after watching a show. We were drenched but laughing all the while as we ducked into doorways and hopped puddles. Our shoes were damp for days.

I never kept my promise to visit Charlene in the Central Valley. We kept in touch via cards and emails. The last time we corresponded, she was hopeful about treatment and focused on her teaching. I am happy to learn she kept teaching history throughout her battle with her illness and that her funeral was a huge celebration of her career and life.

Now I know she’ll never miss a show and she will always lift a prayer.


Farewell to a young star

10 Things I Hate About You wasn’t meant for an Academy Award. But to a young English teacher who wanted to instill a love of Shakespeare in her charges, it was a godsend. The 90s high school update of The Taming of the Shrew was an instant hit and remains a cult favorite.
It also introduced me to Heath Ledger. I liked him instantly. He had sparkling brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, a sprinkling of freckles, a lanky frame, a devil may care energy. Even though it was a teen romantic comedy, he shone.

I followed Ledger’s career as he co starred in The Patriot, led the fluffy A Knight’s Tale, then really showed his acting chops in Monster’s Ball. My bro dismissed him as a pretty boy. Then he starred in Brokeback Mountain. And the world realized what I had known for years, that he could break our hearts as only a gifted actor can.

Heath Ledger is dead at 28. Accident or suicide, the facts are not available. But we have lost a great talent.

Happy birthday Play Brother!

“On that morning when this life is over, I know I’ll see your face….” Faith Evans with Puff Daddy, “I’ll be missing you”

My Play Brother would have been 35 today. I know that he is still with me, sending good people my way, still laughing and joking.

So long, sucker!

Ike Turner passed away, still adamant that he did not abuse his ex-wife, Tina Turner, still convinced he’s made some amazing contribution to music. So he was talented. Creative. He launched a new sound and a bright star. But he was an ass!
I have no sympathy for him.

At last, the tribute to my Play Brother

Over 40 days have passed since Brett died. Over twenty days have passed since I spent a day remembering him. 7 hours translated into approximately 2 hours of audiotape, 17.5 longhand pages of word for word transcription, 3 hours of editing and word processing, and approximately 7 typed single-spaced pages. What follows is an edited transcript of that day.
The morning of June 1, 2007. I will be spending the day memorializing Brett. Brett was born December 17, 1972 and passed away the morning of May 9, 2007. He was a good friend, teacher, coach at SLz High and C. College. He was a good man who lost his five month battle with liver cancer.

I hope to spend the day as if it were the first day I found out about this loss. I plan to spend some time in a Catholic church in front of the Blessed Sacrament, doing a rosary in Brett’s honor. For the Morning Prayer, I plan to do the Office of the Dead and do some praying before the altar I have here at home, to pray for the repose of his soul. I’m going to tour important spots in Brett’s life in Hayward. I hope to do some ceremony. I may have lunch at Val’s and/or have a drink in his honor at Buffalo Bill’s.

I’m always going to remember the good times and the times when I’d go to his classroom for moral support, whether I was upset at work or in my personal life. He was always there for me. It’s difficult to accept he’s gone. I counted on him. He was a constant. He was someone who got birthday and Christmas gifts from me. We didn’t spend a lot of time together because he was your typically busy Sagittarius. He meant a lot to me. Besides my brother and the guys from Cal, he was the only male in my circle that I truly trusted 100% and pulled into my confidence. I called him Play Brother, Cutie Pie, my cousin, my homie. This loss is huge and has left a hole in my heart.

I found out about Brett’s death on the morning of May 9th. I had gone to work as usual. I was coming off a high from the wonderful day before, when I had gone into the City to hear Don Cheadle, one of my favorite actors, speak out about Darfur. I was excited and motivated. It was a Facing History and Ourselves event which got me back in touch with my roots as a teacher and activist. I had finished a great phone conversation with Soldier in which I told him I’d be visiting Nashville in early June. The weather was beautiful and I had walked all the way up Nob Hill. I felt so happy with everything. I felt untouchable, invincible, healed. I have been struggling with depression since January and that particular Tuesday, May 8th, I felt 100% better. When I went to work the next day, I was oblivious because I was loving life.
At about 8am, my Principal called me on the Nextel. I had already begun the AP in Calculus and I didn’t want to be interrupted. I felt wary. We had been dealing with difficult situations the day before. I’m always nervous when she calls because I’m a new assistant principal and I make mistakes. In my heart, I knew why she was calling. Why else would she interrupt this important examination? She insisted on sending a counselor who came down in a few minutes. I walked outside and the Athletic Director was there. At the time, I thought it was a coincidence but I now believe she asked him to be present. I said, “I don’t know why she is calling me. I hope I’m not in trouble.”
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I’m really scared because you know exactly what I’m thinking. I always think the worst.” Around this time, Brett had already taken a turn for the worse so we had not been able to see him and were giving each other updates on his status. We knew he was dying but just did not know when. He repeated himself and walked me up to the office. I walked in, ready to close the door behind me. Instead, he followed. She looked at me and said, “I need you to sit down.”
“No, that’s okay.” I tried to keep things casual because I knew full well what was about to happen.
“No, I need you to sit down.” She put her hand on my shoulder when I was seated. The Athletic Director put his hand on my other shoulder. I knew.
“I’m really sorry to have to tell you this…”
“No, no…”
“But Brett died this morning.”
“No, no” probably exactly how I’m saying it now. It was one of the saddest moments of my life. I have not felt a death so acutely. I lost my godfather to leukemia. I lost my grandfather to old age(which was very hard on my father.) I lost my uncle to emphysema. I lost a friend to AIDS. I lost a friend to gang violence. But this is a situation in which I went through the process of watching someone get ill, get worse, and then to have to be told they had passed. It was awful. I broke down crying and sobbed.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
My boss cried with me. Then we pulled ourselves together. She said I had permission to go home and I said I wanted to stay for the AP exam. The kids needed me. They were worried and had jokingly said, “Oh my God, you’re in trouble.” I wanted to be there for them. I knew they would help me.
I went back for a few difficult hours. My boss made a beautiful announcement about Brett’s life. I was able to talk to the kids about his cancer and the times I had visited him. I carried on until the test ended. As more adults came to check on me, I got very angry. I wasn’t ready for my anger and resentment. As I headed back to the main building, I saw my colleague approaching and I didn’t want to see him. Two other colleagues and a former secretary, who was visiting from out of state for my boss’s retirement, also came. I was so mad. Q, our student assistant, had come to the AP exam to get my materials and give me a hug. He was the only person I allowed to comfort me. Everyone else kept offering support but my response was, “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to talk about it.” With Q, I could. He was in front of me, carrying my testing materials box, and I said, “I can’t do this. I have to leave right now.” When I saw all those adults, I became another person. My colleague offered to buy me lunch or a drink but I replied that I didn’t want anything. My former secretary gave me a hug but I recoiled. She said, “Honey, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I don’t walk to talk about it.” I walked away.
Mingles walked by and said “How you hanging in there?”
“I’m not!”
“Yeah, well…”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” I walked away. I was a wreck. I went to the Main Office, told the Office Manager I would be leaving, and went to my office to try to wrap up. I told my secretaries I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. At one point, one of them entered and gave me a Reese’s Pieces.
“I didn’t want to see anybody! What are you doing in here?” I was full of rage.
I went home for the rest of the day. I wept, felt angry, processed, and contacted my loved ones so they would know. I had told my brother, my sister in law, Ade, Lisa, and my mom in the morning. I called Fernando and he called me back later. Everyone I’m close to was there for me that day.
I feel like all I gave was half a day. I went right back to work. I went back to it all, the numbness and other emotions. But I feel like I haven’t been dealing with my grief.
In addition to the other plans, I want to leave time in the day to do some writing, probably longhand, some kind of eulogy in which I honor him, and eventually put it on my blog. This is not the best day to go online so I won’t.

I’m going to begin with a prayer service. On my altar, there’s incense (smells like cinnamon), a rock my Puente kids gave me as a reminder of Schindler’s List and strength in the face of adversity, a heart I got at an Angeles Arrien retreat that says “humility” which Brett exemplified. The Serenity Prayer: serenity, courage, and wisdom are qualities my friend had. A Vatican rosary which reminds me of John Paul II, whom I also mourned. Seven candles: white, blue, Virgin de Guadalupe, St. Jude, a Chinese candle, Christ at the Resurrection, one large white votive and one small white votive. Seven is an important number in most Judeo-Christian religions. It is the number of the Lord. Figurines of the Virgen de Guadalupe and St. Martin de Porres. Pictures of Jesus as the Divine Mercy and Jesus with the Sacred Heart. An origami bird and a butterfly which I think is appropriate because it represents new life. No fresh flowers but a silk sunflower and daisies and a small American flag. For today, I’ve added the incense holder and the only picture I have of Brett in the house. My framed picture is at work. It watches over me. This picture is a school portrait, when he had shaved all his hair off, which he loved to do. He had beautiful hair but he always did that. I’m going to light all the candles.
I’ve lit sage, a sacred herb for Native peoples, which cleanses and lets spirits know peace. I’ve made the Sign of the Cross and I’m also going to bow to the four directions in honor of my own heritage as part Native and Hayward’s heritage as part Native. The Ohlones lived in Hayward. Brett was a Hayward native, born, raised, and stayed all of his life.
I ask you Lord to look out for my friend, Brett. I’ve prayed for the repose of his soul and offered prayers but today is special as I will not be able to do this on Sunday. My friend was not religious but he did believe in God. He valued my faith. The last few times I saw him, I shared with him that I had been praying the rosary(that’s when I was still with the Legion of Mary) and that my church friends had also been praying for him. He said he felt our prayers and that they meant a lot to him.
We open these prayers in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
(Reading from Joyce Rupp prayer pamphlet)
I come before you today, Lord, to offer a prayer for my friend Brett that he may be resting in you, that he may have strength, youth, and happiness once again, that he may be free of pain wherever he is.
(Easter reading from the Holy Gospel according to St. John)
I’m now going to offer an allocutio (brief talk.)
It’s fitting that my friend passed during Easter. It is my belief and the belief of my faith that Easter commemorates the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is the cornerstone of my faith that death is beautiful, not the end of life but the beginning of a new life in the Resurrection. My friend became ill during Advent as we awaited the birth of Our Lord, suffered during Lent along with the passion of Our Lord, and was taken away to the Lord during the Easter season. My friend has become like Christ.
He would probably laugh at that because he didn’t believe in organized religion. If he had had to choose, and he wouldn’t have because he didn’t like commitment, he probably would have been Christian, given he was part Irish, had Catholic friends, and had a lot of respect for Catholics and for all faiths.
In his death, he is like Christ because he has helped all of us come to a greater understanding of what it means to be a good human being. Hundreds of people have said beautiful things about my friend, what a kind, giving man he was. His whole life was about giving to others, helping other become the very best they could be, whether it was a as a high school English teacher, football coach, good friend, son, brother, and partner. He was generous and loyal to a fault.
There’s a line in Scripture where Jesus says there is no greater love than a man give up his life for his friends. I have full faith that at the end of his life, in those moments when he looked around the room at the people he loved the most and wanted at his side on his last day, that he had accepted what was happening and that it was his time to go. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. He wouldn’t have wanted to sacrifice any of his loved ones. He was a good and noble person and would have realized that he was the one that had to go. He would have done it for us. He would do it again. As ugly as cancer is and as painful as it had to have been, he was such a good man that I believe he had accepted his illness and death.
He would look on our grief and be humbled by it. He would want us to continue his legacy, to look out for young people and athletes. He would want us to live a life o integrity and humility. You don’t have to pray the rosary and go to Mass all the time to be a holy person. You do things the way Brett did them with simplicity and honesty. I never knew a more straightforward person. He was a prophet in his own way. He drank, partied, had bar fights in his youth but at the time of his death, he was a faithful husband. He was committed to his partner for eight years and he was more married to her than many married couples I know. He was committed to his parents and spent every weekend with them. He was committed to his brother. I know this hurts him so much because he and Brett were best friends. I look at that relationship as the ideal of sibling love. He was a wonderful friend to dozens of people. It didn’t make him any less of a friend, whether it was to me and T. who are more solitary and independent or all the athletes and students he knew. He was a person who knew hundreds of people. I know that place is going to be filled because he touched many lives. What we’re all going to agree on is the goodness of this man. He didn’t have to quote Scripture to be holy. He was a man who reached out to all, gave his all, a man who put others before himself, and a man who truly lived the gifts God gave to him, without drama or complication, with bravery.
Brett was my brother. H was my friend and will continue to be. God bless and welcome him. He joins a host of angels and saints because he already is an angel and saint. I’m happy that he’s gone home.

(Traditional prayer in Spanish for the souls in Purgatory)

Lord, please accept of Brett into your arms. Lead him and all the dead that gone before him to your heavenly light.
I want to say out loud the names of the dead I want to honor: Marcelo Calderón. Malaquias Mercado. Ricardo Barreda. Danny Pastor. Aaron Olivares. David Villalpando. Lew Hedgecock. Keith Rogers. Fr. Bob. Mathews. Lupe Contreras. Mariana Ferreira. Michael Cambra. LaTonya Miller. Isaac Fanene. Brett Haagenson.
I’m now going to extinguish the seven candles. For the nation’s and world’s leaders, that they may bring about peace and not death but promote life and mercy.
For the church, the Catholic Church, all Christian churches, and all faiths, that we may lead people to make good choices of peace that promote humanity toward others.
For all who grieve, all family and friends who have lost a loved one, may God console you in your time of need.
The next candle is St. Jude. For all those suffering with disease, both physical and emotional, especially for those suffering with cancer and depression.
The Virgin of Guadalupe candle is especially for Brett’s mother, who has lost her child. For all mothers who suffer because their own children are gone or are overseas in wars. May God give them peace.
The Buddhist candle goes out to people of all faiths who have lost loved ones. May their prayers for their dead be heard.
The last of the seven candles is the Resurrection. May everyone who believes in the Resurrection, or doesn’t, be filled with God’s love.
I am now going to share a few moments of silence with Brett. I have one final candle burning.
The incense has burnt. I spent time reading Scripture. I found the original blogs I wrote about Brett in 2003. At the time, he was a brand new friend to me. Even then, I could tell he was going to have an impact on my life. We close this prayer in the name of Jesus the Lord. Amen.

I’m moving on to the tour.
Traveling down Bockman Rd. This was the site of the Iron Gate Bar and Liquor Store. It’s now an empty lot which is going to be converted into new homes. The Iron Gate was the first bar we went to on our “team meetings.” We started this tradition because we were an English 9 team and needed to plan curriculum. So we decided we would do it in local bars, the diviest bars we could find. The Iron Gate was where Brett almost sold me off into being an old man’s wife. That’s a great story and memory.
Turning onto Hesperian Blvd off Bockman. That is the site of the Village Plaza, another meeting site, across the street from the McGonaghy Estate.
Cruising down Hayward. Passing The Hollow Leg, which we never visited as a team, but was a favorite place of Brett and his brother in their college days. We’re now passing C.College where Brett was assistant football coach. He was a student and star football player who led the team to a championship back in the day. The mascot is Gladiator which fits Brett’s personality, not in that he was overly aggressive, but he was a warrior in life, illness, and death.
The Sleepy Hollow area of South Hayward. This is where Brett grew up. He has a home in this neighborhood that he purchased with his girlfriend a couple of years ago.
Passing Kaiser Hospital in Hayward where many East Bay residents were born. In a few minutes, we’ll be passing Brett’s alma mater.
Passing the intersection of Panama and Hesperian, Mt. Eden High School, home of the Monarchs. He ran track, played basketball, baseball and football. He loved all sports but football was his passion. Hopefully they’ll retire his number. There’s talk of dedicating the football field at Mt. Eden on behalf of his graduating class of 1991.
Turning onto Industrial Blvd headed to Mission Blvd to the Chapel of the Chimes Memorial Park and Funeral Home. This is where he was cremated this past month. It is also the final resting place of my godfather, Malaquias Mercado so I’m happy I’ll get to say hi to my nino.
It has been difficult because there has been no service at which to mourn Brett. His ashes were scattered his parents’ cabin in the Sierras. His partner has the rest of his ashes. It would be nice to have a place to visit him but at least I can be here where it happened.
This was a worthwhile trip. I spent a lot of time here. My godfather passed in 1997, 10 years ago. It’s been a decade since he passed so he’s fully a saint. I know he is helping Brett with his transition. I’ve asked him to do so.
Now in downtown Hayward. Cruising B St. and Mission. Passed Buffalo Bill’s BrewPub, one of our favorite spots, a place we often came to lunch and dinner. It was one of the last places we went before he got sick. We also came to the Bistro at the corner of Main and B St. once. Down on Main and C St. is the Hayward Area Historical Museum. There was a retrospective on the 70s with lots of clothes, toys, and games, which we were fond of, having grown up then. Great fun.
Back in the Washington Manor area, where I live. We came to Schelly’s, which is popular for district employees and has quite a reputation for folks that have grown up in the Manor. We had a great time there.
I will go to St. Felicitas for Adoration. From there I’m going to a place that’s become special to me, Shoreline Park in Alameda.

I’ve made it to Shoreline Park and it’s breathtakingly beautiful. It is sunny and so clear I can make out the boats on the piers across the way and all the buildings in the Financial District. I didn’t want to bring a camera because I wanted this to be a private moment. Brett must be hearing me because it is so gorgeous. I’m going to look at the ocean and the City and reflecting. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the rosary, if I will leave, bury, or throw it in the sea.
I spent a few minutes at the seashore, talking to Brett. I sat on some rocks. I found some sand and some shells so I buried the rosary and said my goodbyes that way.
I’m headed home to write a final letter to Brett which I won’t tape. I’ll put it online and just have for me to keep.
This concludes the day’s celebration. I feel that I’ve dedicated this entire day to his memory and to my grief for him. This has been an important process for me. It’s taken me on a journey.
God bless Brett.