I’m in a low energy chapter. My oil pan of liveliness is leaking badly, leaving drip marks of sighs beneath me.

The sighs are exhales of sorrow. Four friends, each of whom I’d known for decades, have died since Christmas: Pat, Rosemary, Michelle and Gary.

ONE: One look at Pat’s smile and twinkling eyes and I’d think, whatever the source of that is, I’d sure like some, too. Pat laughed easily; gave warm hugs, and made life seem disarmingly straight forward, though I doubt it was any less full of curves for her than it is for the rest of us. She had a strong, rooted presence, grounded in the moment. She loved and adored Trev. Watching them together it seemed like they fell in love again each new day.

TWO: Rosemary, the matriarch of the richly individual Houha clan, delighted in her family. She had the great gift of making space for personalities, drawing out uniqueness and complimenting it.

During the difficult chapter of being let go by the company I’d help start, while I was starting “Bucks for Butts”, she said to her daughter Ellen, “Bring Chelle with you next time you visit. I want to tell her what a great job she’s doing handling things.”

THREE: Michelle’s Christmas shopping started early. A generous chunk of that shopping was for people she’d never meet. One year, we bought a twin bed for a teenage boy. Michelle talked her work group into buying the same bed for his mom, elevating them both a little bit.

She’d buy full sets of pans and I’d buy full sets of bath towels. If we were shopping for babies and toddlers, we’d go to the Carters outlet. I’d lean over and hold the hanger of overalls just off the floor and “walk” it around. “Look how cute they’ll be!” She’d laugh and add it to the cart. When we reached our budget and headed to the register, she’d add four more sets of pj’s as we walked by.

FOUR: Gary was my therapist in Tacoma, a dozen odd years ago. We’d start sessions with a cup of tea (in real mugs, with honey.) We’d end with dessert: fifteen minutes of relaxing hypnosis.

It took a couple of tries to get on the same page with hypnosis. Traditionally the cadence is very slow. I could think an entire paragraph before he said the next word. I opened one eye and said, “Oh my gosh, pick up the pace, I’m bored out of my tree top!” He laughed, as he did a lot, and we tried, again.

The fourth attempt was better paced, but classically linear, down the lovely garden path. I opened my eye, again. “No, I can’t visualize the yellow tulips, or green grass, nor see a path in front of me.

What do you see?

Nothing. I can’t visualize and what I do visualize is inaccurate. One time a friend who was coming to visit asked the color of the house where I had a mother-in-law apartment. Red brick, I said. Knowing how I am, I went outside to verify and called her back. When I said red brick, I meant brown siding.

Eventually, we nailed it and it was better than ice cream. Deep relaxation is always scrumptious. Deep relaxation when battling intrusive thoughts is a gift from the gods, with extra fudge sauce.

<sigh> All four are gone. All having left so many, many drops of love. Good bye dear ones. Good bye.