A physicist might call it inflationary. It germinated for almost 25 years and then sprang forth in the final weeks. Two to be exact. A unity in adversity. Three uniting as one. It was their mother’s final wish. She worked on it sporadically for 25 years. I tried to infuse impetus in the final few months. Nothing. A little. Nothing, nothing, nothing, a touch, a tad, nothing. And then it was there, full blown. Two brothers and a sister: a team. They united for a future. They allowed their mother to go in peace. But, as she knew, they needed a fourth. She would be gone. They can’t have, don’t need, and certainly don’t want a foreign father, especially when they shakily share a French one. An uncle, wise in the practicalities of France, a necessity. The best fourth she could muster.

Of course they hurt. It was their mum, their mummy, their only mother for all their life – and a very special one at that. They couldn’t know how protected they were, because it still hurt. If you have never known real pain the first pang is an awesome thing. And she insisted they live their lives as normally as possible right up to very near the end. It was her last gift. Still she worried about their mettle. The youth of France lead a very, very sheltered life; through their teens, through their twenties, sometimes deep into their thirties. Cradle to grave is sometimes literal in France.

To be sure she was concerned about the modes and mores of current France. She and we, both of us, preferred straight talk and substance to the meandering locutions that signify almost nothing today. Talk is worth a tuppence over here, and overpriced at that. Still, we older folks always worry too much. Things usually tend to work out. Another 25 years and Bang! Presto!! Then they understand – a new generation takes over! And, finally, we get the respect we are due today.

07/07/2008 / May 31, 2008 – The Three that is Four / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 724, © 2008 / CIP May 31 / SHE

Thrice now I have built a world. Once in the hell-hole of America that is Los Angeles. It was an inauspicious beginning, but it built the only thing that still endures. My primary family – it has splintered, but still strongly endures. I rebuilt my world once in the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. It was a very good milieu for me. When I left that universe I was sure my third incarnation would be my last. I knew, or thought I knew, I would be the one to die first. It didn’t happen. She did.

In the immediate aftermath, I envisaged just retiring upstairs, with occasional visits down and out. Mostly I could just wait amongst things familiar, two floors up from where I had known true happiness. I had hoped I could simply watch the starlings cavort in the cool of the evening over the Paris skyline. Gradually though, the language, culture and generation differences proved too much. I found that, without Minou, I did not fit. Without Minou I couldn’t fit in Paris, nor in France, nor in this family. She was the fulcrum that made those three circles possible.

Now her children must build three separate but intertwined spheres. She did everything she could to build the individual bases. She worked hard to unite them as a unit. Just towards the very end she saw real success, and she rested. She was, she is, and she will be proud of her children. Each time they hear an echo of her words and are guided by them she will be proud. Each time they act as a united whole, she will be pleased. More than that – every time they strike out bravely on their own she will be delighted. She loved life, she loved freedom and she loved individuality – all within the supporting matrix of a unit. That is all she wants for each of you.

Perhaps one last thread connects us all. The game still holds some promise and allows for the small possibility of fulfilling one of your mother’s and my last hopes. I believe that in the beginning she worked on the game for us - a joint project that could build her and I as a unit, and it even had some real potential. In Colorado she worked on the game to support me and my dreams. In Paris she began to work on the game again because she saw some family potential, but in the end I think she saw it mostly an avenue for Eve. I believe Albert and you boys owe it to your mother & Eve to leave room for that. Allow her, if she wishes, to seize the ball and run.

As for me, time will tell – for certain I am super glad that I went on the journey with your mom. Threads have a funny way of circling back and encompassing worlds. Maybe in the end we will all learn to honor and respect each other – despite the differences in language, culture and generation. Let’s drink a toast, French wine of course, to three new worlds, and a fourth.

07/07/2008 / June 5, 2008 – Building Worlds / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 726, © 2008 / CIP, July 7 / SHE

It’s smaller now but it has become a badge of honor. It was angry and black, and almost all encompassing the first time I noticed it. I don’t know when I got it. One day, very near the end, it was just there. I saw it some days later. Perhaps ¾, maybe more, of the big toe nail. Black, pulsing, horrid! I remember one day, three or four days before the end, when she fell again. I had caught her a hundred times before, but this time just barely, and she bumped horribly. That is an ugly, ugly day when you are not strong enough to fully support the woman you love. To catch her, and hold her, and protect her as you are meant to do. To save her. Maybe it was that day. I don’t know. It is still there. 3 ½ months later, it’s smaller, maybe a third of the nail now. A badge of honor to trying. She tried so hard she deserved the world she left.

07/07/2008 / June 5, 2008 – The Black Toe / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 727, © 2008 / CIP, July 7 / SHE

Could I paint a picture of her? No, the hues wouldn’t be bright enough. The foreground deep enough. The lines distinct with clarity of purpose, the shadows playful with a tinge of humor. No, I will take the photos. Rembrandt couldn’t do her justice, and I couldn’t do her at all. But the camera caught some of her facets exquisitely. Axel did it once. I was lucky once or twice. Karen the most consistent. Minou’s mirror reflections frequently worked. She often also did superbly with simple shadows. I may have a thousand, certainly hundreds I love – now they are my treasures, all that is left – except the memories they invoke. Thank you my Love for the thousand photos that launch me, and allow me to “slip the surly bonds of earth.”

07/07/2008 / June 6, 2008 – The Pictures / Minou / Mixed/ AFW, 728, © 2008 / CIP, July 7 / SHE

Let’s flash back about six or seven hours, because that is the official beginning. That is when I left. Decamped, abandoned, fled from our apartment building. Minutes after the ambulance left, I left . It was somewhere between 9:00 and 10:00 AM; the ambulance was scheduled for 9:00. The hearse, for indeed it was a hearse, though it was called an ambulance, left from the 6th floor, I left from the 8th. No one saw me leave. No one yet knew I was gone. It was the beginning of the end.

For clarity I suppose we have to go back to the day before, actually the year before to even begin to comprehend the next 30 hours. I lived the lifetime and still don’t really understand it. In the previous year we had had many recurrent conversations. One of the most frequent started out: “If you ever leave me, I will die.” Literally I had heard those words, or some variation, 50 or 60 times, maybe more. I believed her. It was one very good reason for never leaving. Another was I loved her – deeply, deeply loved her.

In the early days there was raw panic in her voice. Just as I could feel the dread when she clutched my hand and held so tight whenever we ventured out, even just across the street. Gradually the terror subsided. The full realization that I was not going to abandon her seeped in. Now the voice was less insistent, somehow calmer. Still, late at night when we snuggled just before sleeping, when I always rocked her, she would occasionally repeat the phrase. “I will die if you ever leave.” By now I knew it was true. And yet I left. A half hour after she left, I left. Six or seven hours later I was shivering.

The preceding day was about as tough a day as I had ever known. For the past 30 plus years I had always said the day I lost my kids was the worst day of my life (lost them to their mother, not to death). This day was worse. It was building for six weeks, perhaps 6 months, even 16, but since the first of the year the truly ominous signs were multiplying virulently – almost like a cancer.

07/07/2008 / February 22, 2008 / Thirty Something Hours (2) / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 725, © 2008 / CIP, July 7 / SHE