Permanent Record

6.25.2013
LAX to HNL. Wore the copper-colored wig to the airport, through
security, and throughout the flight. Sandra came with. We grabbed a
gross preflight lunch in the food court. More TVs tuned to CNN, still
showing Ed, and still surreal, which is the new real for everyone, I think.
Got a text from Agent Mike, telling me and Sandra to come see him at
Gate 73. Really? He came up to LA from San Diego? Gate 73 was roped
off and empty. Mike was sitting waiting for us on a row of chairs. He
crossed his legs and showed us he was wearing an ankle pistol. More
macho bullshit intimidation. He had paperwork for me to sign in order
for the FBI to release Ed’s car keys to me in Hawaii. He said two agents
would be waiting for us in Honolulu with the key. Other agents would
be with us on the flight. He apologized that he wasn’t coming
personally. Ugh.
6.29.2013
Been packing the house for days now with only minor interruptions
from the FBI, coming by with more forms to sign. It’s torture, going
through everything. Finding all these little things that remind me of him.
I’m like a crazy woman, cleaning up, and then just gazing at his side of
the bed. More often, though, I find what’s missing. What the FBI took.
Technology, yes, but also books. What they left behind were footprints,
scuff marks on the walls, and dust.

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6.30.2013
Waipahu yard sale. Three men responded to Sandra’s “take it all, best
offer” Craigslisting. They showed up to rummage through Ed’s life, his
piano, guitar, and weight set. Anything I couldn’t bear to live with or
afford to ship to the mainland. The men filled their pickup with as much
as they could, and then came back for a second load. To my surprise,
and I think to Sandra’s, too, I wasn’t too bothered by their scavenging.
But the moment they were gone, the second time, I lost it.