We formed a receiving line to greet those who were at the service. It was unbelievable to see the multitude of people who came to pay their respects to Norm and the family. It seemed as if the line would never end. Mrs. Griffin (Kathy) brought me two glasses of water during the reception to keep me fairly cool. Nevertheless, I sweated profusely; by the end of the line, my hairline was soaked and I was thoroughly fatigued. It seemed that many found my writings meaningful; moreover, doing so was quite beneficial to me. Many desired a copy of it, so Rev. Hess said he would make some copies and put them in the office. I hope no one will use any part of the homily for another service; I wrote that for Norm.
Steve was good to return to the church after taking Kim Segura home. I rode to his house after the service, electing to forego the trip home in the black limousine. Once home, I went to my "old" bedroom to lay down. I couldn't actually sleep, but the rest itself did some good.
The house was crawling with relatives until after supper. Little by little the crowd gradually dispersed, leaving the comparatively small group of the Johnson's, Todd, Debbie, and Mom and Dad. I once again stayed up rather late. We needed to talk.
Jan. 29, 1984… Today in the afternoon the Waterloo threesome (Todd, Debbie and Bonnie, Debbie's mother, plus the canine, Bandit) were the first to depart. Todd drove my little red Swinger; I hope he will keep it looking nice. I must simply let go and guard my sanity; it is not worth tearing yourself into emotional rages and tatters, however, I've never been able to rationalize having nice things if one doesn't care for them. Sharon seemed to need to stay a while longer. She was upset over so many concerns accompanying a loss of such consequence. I hope she will be able to find peace within herself. Perhaps it is easier to do so in her own home.
Nights always bring out the spooks which I conjure up inside my brain. I decided to lightly illuminate Norm's room to allow the shadows to disappear. We also decided to leave the door to the upstairs open; I'm frightened of noises sounding like gasps or snorts of air, as they remind me of the way in which I was alerted to Norm's predicament. I'm not afraid of his spirit, but rather of the nightmares which might evolve from the trauma of finding Norm and the inability to help.
Jan. 30, 1984… In the afternoon I ventured outside and mailed a few thank you letters. It had snowed about 6 inches last night and I woke up to a beautiful landscape. I walked down below the house a ways, not going into the woods because I have difficulty climbing back up even in the summer. The new snow left a track which could easily be followed, leading me to think that an individual could never truly be alone when traversing a snow laden landscape; he could easily be detected even if solitude was what he sought. Once inside, I attempted to write a poem about my thoughts, beginning with this.
A solitary foot path…
Solitary Footprints
A solitary foot path
Upon the fallen snow
Betrays the quiet secret
Of whither I might go.
Through spring's bouquet
His footsteps passed,
And summer's veil of green.
He watched the autumn leaves
Sail down
And winter skies
Shed cloaks of white.
His path, each day,
The snow betrayed
While strolling through
The woodland brush,
A hoard of prints
Which marked a man
Whose spirit melded
With the land.
Taken in the grasp of night,
The man no more
Will trod the snow.
I searched by day
To find his path,
So quickly did he steal away.
But nature masked
His many tracks,
As winter oft will do,
And I remain
To softly ponder
Whither he has gone.
The steadfast essence of the man
I carry in my soul,
But mine shall be the only prints
Upon the winter snow.
Lauren Isaacson
January 30, 1984