Clifford's cabin

A month after we moved from Boulder to Ridgecrest, back in 2009, we learned that our next-door neighbor and best friend, Clifford, had lung cancer that had metastasized to his bones. Six months later, in September, we flew out to say goodbye, and he died while we were there. And then we learned what we had already suspected: we were his heirs. Some money went to a niece, his car went to a good friend, but we got the house and the cabin and everything in them.

Immediately, this was a problem, because we were living in Ridgecrest -- and already owned two other houses (both also inherited) in Colorado which we did not know how to take care of long distance. I could write thousands of words about the problems that ensued, but I won't, because it's boring. Anyway, we're back. New chapter.

I knew that when we came back I would finally have to face up to Clifford's death, really think about it and process it in a way I couldn't when we were in Ridgecrest. That process has begun, but it is not going exactly the way I thought it would. I am starting out with Denial.

It's funny how I can write that, but still go right on Denying.

I think it was the first night I spent back in our house that I found the money. I needed to look something up in the phone book, and the only phone book I could find was on a shelf in our office. It was 10 years old and had Clifford's writing in it, so it was obviously something Rocket Boy had salvaged from Clifford's house when we were getting it ready to rent. It also had an envelope in it, with $200 in 20-dollar bills. I called Rocket Boy in Ridgecrest and said "Did you stash $200 in an old phone book of Clifford's?" He had no idea what I was talking about.

I mean, what would you have thought, if you found something like that? Wouldn't you have at least considered the possibility that Clifford was still around, in some form, and had put the money there for you to find? Well, maybe YOU wouldn't have, but he wasn't your friend. The money set me off, and I have been walking around talking to Clifford (mostly mentally) ever since. I'm sure he's here with us.

Rocket Boy had also brought some of Clifford's furniture over to our house, and of that, I have claimed his old desk. I do not need a desk. We already own six desks and do not have room for them. But it is mine now, because it makes me think of him.

Then there's the cabin, which we visited today. I hadn't been there since the fall of 2008, when the boos were tiny.

The cabin is an old A-frame outside of Alma, Colorado (elevation 10,500 ft). We had been concerned that there would be a lot of snow, but there wasn't -- except on the mountain peaks that surround the area.

Clifford liked to keep the cabin rustic, even though new mansions go up every year on the road that it's on. So here's the "driveway":

And here's the cabin itself:

We were a little concerned that something might have happened to it. As far as we know, no one's been in it since September 2009, a few weeks after Clifford died, when Rocket Boy and Clifford's nephew went up to close it down for the winter.

But it was fine. A little musty inside, but it looked pretty much exactly as it always did.

We'd brought some things for it, notably my papasan chair that you can see in the photo. And we made lots of notes about what else we need to bring up, tools and miscellany. We'll probably bring our extra twin bed up, and a bookcase, and an end table, and a bench. But the whole time we kept saying "Clifford will like that," and "We'll fix it up for Clifford," and similar things. I tried to correct both of us, changing the statements to "Clifford would have liked that," but finally I gave up. It may be ours legally, but so far we see it only as our responsibility, not ours to do with as we wish. Part of the problem is that even when he was alive we sometimes came up without him and fixed things. Clifford may no longer be physically present, but there are other ways of being present, and the cabin is clearly still his.

I plan to get past this stage eventually. Rocket Boy and I already have too many dead people whose things we're looking after (all our parents, for starters). But I've decided I'm going to let the grieving process happen at its own pace. The thought that Clifford isn't here, that he's really gone, that we have to live in Colorado without him, is too sad to face up to. So for now I'm going to keep bringing him along on our trips, and at home figuring that I can just barely see him across the back fence, puttering around in his yard.

We planned to eat dinner at the Fairplay Hotel, but they said they weren't doing Friday night dinner yet, it's too early in the season. They directed us to the Italian restaurant a block away -- where we'd eaten with Clifford back in 2008. The babies were a little easier to deal with in those days.

I miss him so much.