Samm

Hey friends.

Sorry for the long hiatus. I hope I haven't lost all my subscribers. I wish I could say I haven't written because I joined the Olympic Luge team, but sadly the reason I haven't blogged for weeks is because I had to fly back to California. Ben's stepmom, Samm, died on Sunday, October 5, two days after my thirty-fifth birthday, and Ben and I went home to be with her and with Ben's family.

Samm had been sick with esophageal cancer since the spring, but we were all optimistic she might kick it. We were optimistic, at least, that she might live another year, though if I admit it to myself when I said goodbye to her in San Francisco in August I knew I wouldn't see her again. And when I lit a candle for her in a church in Oslo a couple of weeks ago, the candle snuffed itself out before it had time to make it to the candle stand, and I think that really affirmed something I suspected. I'm not sure Ben had the same realization, because of course you never want to suspect you won't see your mom again. Samm was his stepmom, but because she had been in his life since he was four or five, she was a significant force in his life for a long time. They had this loving and teasing relationship, a really authentic kind of love for one another.

Being in California was surreal, as well as good, terrible, important, difficult. When we arrived, middle of the night Oslo time, exhausted, expecting cold foggy San Francisco and being greeted by Indian Summer San Francisco, we didn't know if Samm would still be alive or not--she was in the hospital with pneumonia, on oxygen--but when we got to the airport Ben's dad was there to meet us. She had died the night before, about six thirty in the morning, Oslo time, the day before, right when we were boarding the plane. So we went to the beach and took a walk, and I saw dolphins, and the sun was a long piercing tube, and that was neat and appropriate. And then we began a week of grieving, remembering, laughing, and working on a DVD of photos about Samm's life. Making it, somehow I felt better, because in the movie you could see that this was a full and amazing life, and that even though no one wanted to see her go you couldn't look at that life--as Jorin's mom, as Ben's stepmom, as Tim's wife, as a semi-nerdy mycologist, as a super-hip designer of clothes, as one of the first glass blowers in California, as a successful painter, as a cook, and above all as someone many, many people loved, or admired, or envied, or all three--and think it hadn't been full of wonderful things.

There can be a lot of joy when someone dies, mixed in with the sadness. I'd say some of us mastered that balance, and we had lots of nice moments dealing with Samm's stuff, laughing--large family dinners with various friends, where we laughed and gossiped and reminisced and talked about other things. But being in a house full of grief can be so tiring after a while, and I don't mean that to sound selfish. It just can be. Tiring. Exhausting, actually. I was so happy I went, and also happy to come back to Oslo, for a break from it, and maybe also to really be with myself and figure out what it is I'm feeling.

It's been a sad time; in the midst of it all there was this other thing, too, someone very close to me who was having a bad time that became much worse while I was in California and has become worse since. I can't really say more than that here, not now, but suffice it to say that I discovered that when you're an adult and the people around you are falling apart, you go to them, and you try to be strong for them, even if your own heart is feeling a little broken. Or a lot broken. And sometimes you just can't fix things, no matter how badly you want to.

So, in a way, I was happy to get back to Oslo.

And lonely to be here by myself, but honestly just a little. Ben is coming home on Thursday night and I can't wait, but I have been fine without him for a few days. I don't know what kind of shape he will be in, or if his jetlag will be as bad as mine has been, but I hope we can just settle in again and try to find our rhythm. Being here alone has been, in many ways, good. Of course I have been spending a lot of my time in the warm embrace of the Steen clan, I almost wrote "clam"--drinking wine with Kristin og Therese, having Sunday dinner. Yesterday I helped Eldri put her gardens to bed, snipping the dahlias, which are the bulk of her gorgeous, gorgeous garden. Being in the cold crisp fall air with clippers and a wheelbarrow--trillebord--was restorative, cleansing.

Oslo is at least an hour darker than when I last wrote. It gets dusky around 5:30 or 6:00 these days, if you can believe it. The leaves are down, and everyone is preparing for winter. I have no preparations to make, really, since I live in an apartment, but I guess mentally I'm trying to get ready for the dark and cold. It's a nice time of year to settle in, and part of me is looking forward to it.

I'll leave you all with a photo of Ben and Samm when Ben was a kid. He was so cute, and she was always very beautiful. It makes me smile to look at it. It's fun to think that Ben was ever that small, that Samm was that young. I don't know.



And here is one of the three of us in Peru.



Promise to be more cheery next time.