I am writing right here. Right. Here.

Four friendships lost: Carmen died, and even though the break between us was because of things she did, it is only my fault we never made it up and there is no going back because she has died. When I finally got around to searching, I found only the notice of her mother’s death and it listed Carmen as among those predeceased. I did try to make it up with Pat and Denyce but they are still not speaking to me. Knowing how the break-up happened with women I once corresponded with near-daily does not help. That there was nothing terrible about the break-up from my point of view (we did not betray or steal anything, and I never stopped caring) does not alter the fact that they will not respond to me. I find it is my failure.

A fourth best friend from First Grade moved away when we were little. We shared a love of horses and she had horses. She was in high school when she moved back to the PNW and took me to watch Tennessee Walkers being trained. I was so upset by this cruelty that I did not speak to her for decades. We tried again a few years ago, but by then human rights and politics separated us. I find no loss there.

I find the ocean is beautiful in every weather, and endless source of interest. I watch the storms come in, I admire rain on the horizon, the roll of fogs that sometimes stands offshore, the lights of fishers, the first whimbrel onshore the other day.

I feel the loss of my brother, who often counted among my best friends but then suffered a series of mental health issues. His fear of “being controlled” and unwillingness to admit to any weakness led to argument. It was only after repeated police engagements—domestic disputes—and an ER doctor turned him in that he was confronted with diagnoses of agoraphobia, depression, brief hospitalization, Borderline Personality Disorder. I was asked to “have patience” with him, but our mother was dying and he had called me a liar and “the most dysfunctional person” he knew. He said he would treat all attempts at communication as spam. So that happened. I found I could not forgive him at first. And when I did, he only attacked and accused and hid himself.

I have found pieces of sea glass most days I have looked. Greens and blues, yellow and palest pink. One bit of opaque red that was once a bead. Another Japanese 500watt light bulb this morning—the one on the right that is complete. I had to scrub it for ten minutes to get off all the sea growth.

I lost my unfailing courage when a young man from out of state followed me closely on the beach threatening to “f— you up” at the top of his voice, often right into my ear. It went on and on—the threats and screaming, the horrible words. Did I call the sheriff? No, I could not do that when the nearest officer might be on highway 30. I stopped and turned at one point. “Go ahead,” he said, “hit me,” and I realized if I did hit him that he would hit me back harder and he would destroy me. Bigger, stronger, thirty or forty years younger.

I found more than a dozen Bic Lighters on the beach last year, and this one might have made a dozen this year, but I left it.

My mother’s five years’ dying dissolved my sense of humor. She would not move into our home. She would not follow health care officials’ advice, recommendations, or requirements. She lived longer than she expected and fell in love with a Republican, so perhaps her doctor was right about dementia at the start of her decline, and I was wrong to deny it.

The bat found its way to our front yard the other evening.

I lost hope for my writing.

I have found interests I did not know I had, students I taught, and wonderful books and people who make books and art and who make the world better in any number of ways. Kindred spirits.

We lost dogs we let go, and the ones we kept and loved: Ann Ann, Onika, Manny, Snowbird and Bowzer, Aagah, Taidi, Spot, Bosco, Indy… and Yeti, the last. Four cats in fifty years. We lost our ability to survive the death of another pet.

We have found rusted metal and plastic bottles of urine and syringes and toothbrushes on the beach, the filters of cigarettes and sometimes the whole butts still wrapped in paper, the plastic mouthpieces of those ridiculous baby cigars, the remains of balloons and coffee cups and takeout sandwich packets. So many plastic water bottles and blue bottle caps. But for three weeks since finding the sanitary wipe above the tideline, we have lost the will to collect trash from the beach. I emailed SOLVE Oregon to let them know we had stopped collecting trash, but the impulse remains and Gary picked up the pieces of a huge floodlight bulb this morning. We have not lost our fear for the feet of people and dogs.

I lost my habit of early morning runs that for more than twenty years were my greatest solace. I find walking not nearly so satisfying. I lost my job when I retired but I do not know how to stop teaching.

I find the love of my husband every single day, the sound of him breathing when I awake in the middle of every night and listen.

I lost the amethyst stick pin and other things too—objects and opportunities—and none of that matters. I have lost my temper too often, which is a terrible thing.

I lost my father in law and my father both to lung cancer. I lost my mother in law to disease contracted from a transfusion. I lost my aunt when she was just a few years older than I am today, and the distant cousins I have never met were lost to family differences of nearly a hundred years ago. My mother’s death made me the oldest of my family. I find I do not like that position very much.

I have lost respect for some otherwise decent people who lied and used me to achieve their own selfish goals, and ultimately lost self respect because I kept trusting them. I never lost my optimism about people, not really. By default I trust people which is why I continue to be disappointed. I have not lost surprise at little betrayals. I have not lost my determination to do the best I can. I have not found faith that my best is ever good enough.

I have found that people do not automatically do as they should because they should, even when they know they should. Medical institutions fail to provide their employees with proper medical care. Public schools sometimes address the needs of the powerful over the public. Banks and other institutions fail their customers because they fail to know their business. My OB-Gyn failed to come to the hospital when I came into labor on his day off, but the ER doc who had just completed a 48-hour shift and showered at home in the next county did come. That should give me faith.

I found writing as art, when art had always meant what I could create with my hands. I found it is bigger than that. Our children grew up and married and have children of their own. They live on the other side of the Coast Range, but I do not know when we will see them again. We are proud that they survived us and have built useful lives.

I have lost and found and gathered and let go.

Yesterday, I found the rainbow.