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Oh my - it's the little things.


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The smoke detector in my bedroom starting beeping at 11:30 p.m. last night. You know, that very loud, incessant beep that won't be ignored?

I got up, finally found a used 9 volt battery in an alarm clock, got a chair, took down the smoke detector, changed the battery, and spent the next 45 minutes trying to screw it back on the mount. I finally gave up with sore, tired arms and just laid it on top of the tall dresser in the bedroom. Who do you call to help put up a smoke detector in the middle of the night?

I cried. It was 12:30 a.m. and I miss him. It hurts.



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Peggy, I am so sorry. Amazing how a silly smoke detector can make you miss Don so much.

But then, I was truly impressed by your resourcefulness. Using the clock battery and the chair! If I lived closer, perhaps the 2 of us could have gotten it screwed back in? Or, we could have just sat on the floor and cried together.

I was using one of Jim's big steel tape measures to measure the length of the garage floor. When I finished, the little steel tab on the end of the measure had stuck in a crack on the floor up against the wall. Couldn't budge it, and I tugged hard. Left the tape measure in it's new home on the garage floor and then I cried too. Fast forward 2 weeks - My sister was visiting and I told her that the tape measure had a new home and could only be used now to measure the length of the garage floor. She went to the garage and lifted it right up. Moral of this story - I bet Mike can screw that puppy into the mount in 5 minutes flat. You may have just needed a trigger for a good cry. Now your heart's reservoir can fill back up again.

I wish I could give you a huge cocoon hug.

Take care of yourself Peggy,


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I know it is not about the smoke alarm.

or the battery

or the chair

or the fasteners (Maybe I need to send you some Textron Plastite® Fasteners :wink: )


I ache for you.

I understand.

Brian and I care and I love what our Bunny Girl said.........we are all here for you.

Much love


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Aawww, Peggy. It does get a bit easier, it really does. It's that "time" thing though, and the stages you'll go through as time passes.

I remember that when my dad died, as if we didn't have enough stuff to do and to worry about, we had a little Siamese kitty - Peanut - who was HIS cat. Here was this "gruff" man on the outside, who we thought would never tolerate a cat in the house for long (he was a dog person!), who took up with this kitty almost immediately. By this time, she was one of 3 we had, but she loved him fiercely, and he loved her back. She would sit in his lap when he was reading and cutting out interesting clippings from his newspaper. He would brush her, talk to her, and in general, just doted on her.

When he died, she truly mourned him. She'd go from room to room and yowl in that Siamese voice of hers. She'd catch his scent from his clothes still in the closet, so probably thought he was still there somewhere. Then one day, she went outside as usual in the early morning and never came back. (This was before we stopped letting our cats outside - early 1976) To this day, I'll swear that she went looking for my dad, and however long she lived, she never stopped.

Today, one of the things I treasure most is a photograph we took of my dad in his overalls, sitting in his chair, cut up newspaper in hand, and little Peanut right there in his lap, peering out from underneath the ragged edges of the newspaper.

How I miss them both. But time does help with that.

I'll also never forget how my mother picked up the ball and ran with it when he died -- she had always worked in the home, never wrote a check - her "job" was taking care of the house. Soon after he died, we opened a bank account in her name, she got a job, and never looked back. To this day, I'm still very proud of her for being able to do that after 43 years of depending on him to take care of things for her.

Take care. You'll make it through this. Promise.


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My dear Peggy...I know exactly how you are feeling! You're right. It is the little things that really hit home. I still find my self trying to remember how Dennis fixed this or that or what he said to do about it. I'm so proud that you had it together enough to tackle the job but I also know, all too well, how bad this hurts!

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