This week I’m in Hawaii, in Waikoloa on the big island. I’m surrounded by fabulous friends who love me, encourage me, lift me up and make me laugh. The trip was the fabulous Barb’s idea. It’s exactly what I needed, and I’m excited to share it with Paulette and Angie as well.

Just three years ago Bryan, the boys and I visited the big island. We had an excellent trip, with lots of sun, sand and adventure. We’ve been to Hawaii a few times (we’re very spoiled) but usually Kauai or Oahu. The below picture is from an early trip to Kauai, when the boys were fairly little.

In spite of my amazing friends, it was a little bit difficult coming here this time without Bryan. He loved visiting Hawaii, loved snorkeling, diving, beachcombing, golfing, driving around the island. On one of our most memorable trips, we went scuba diving off the south shore of Kauai, in Poipu, and we were surrounded by sea turtles. We knelt on the sandy bottom while the turtles danced around us in the crystal water.

Bryan and I had a travel ritual. When we’d go places we loved, we’d try to bring home a piece of art to remind us of our trip. We have a particularly beautiful colored handmade paper lithograph over our mantel of sea turtles, symbolizing the life cycle.

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When I lost Bryan almost exactly a year ago, symbols like that became important to me. I wore a small gold turtle pendant he’d given me on a chain, circled by his wedding band, on a gold chain for months.

One of the rituals I did to mark his passing was get a tattoo. It was my first one. (My only one!) I chose to take the piece of art we’d brought home from Hawaii, and have it translated to body art. I’m proud to wear it not only to honor Bryan, but also as a reminder to pursue adventure and joy – to dive with the turtles when I can.

Yesterday as we wandered Waikoloa, I fell in love with a turtle pendant. I got it for myself. For Bryan. It’s the simple, graceful sort of thing that I can wear most of the time, and probably will.

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I’ll probably do something else to remember him while I’m here as well – toss a lei into the volcano or the sunset surf and say a few words. Still, finding and wearing the turtle necklace completed something for me.

My good friend Shawn Powers, UCFer extraordinaire, husband, father, school technology administrator and Linux Journal associate editor, lost his family home this morning to a fire.

He, his amazing wife, Donna and their three awesome girls are ok, but they lost their dogs in the fire. They have their needs taken care of for the next couple of days, however, they have a long, hard road ahead of them rebuilding and putting their lives back together.

There are two ways you can help:

• Send donations via Linux Journal’s ChipIn page.

• Send donations directly to the Indian River Baptist Church, P.O. Box 217, Indian River, MI 49749, with a note that it is specifically for the Powers family.

You can follow Shawn’s story here:

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This is incredibly sobering; it puts the petty things of life into perspective. I sit here looking at my four walls, my roof, my (messy) kitchen, with an intense sense of gratitude. Give thanks for what you have! And give your pets an ear scratch today and send a prayer or positive thought to the Powers family in Michigan.

Last night I had a dream that completely drained me. I rarely have vivid or memorable ones, so this was unusual.

In my dream, I was in an airport or a train station, looking down from a mezzanine level, and I saw Bryan below. I was shocked and surprised, but my dreamtime brain told me, “He hasn’t died yet, you can save him, you can reverse it.”

As a fix-it sort of woman, I got moving and tried to get to him before he disappeared into the crowd. The escalator was broken and boarded off. The elevator didn’t come. I couldn’t find any stairs.

I watched, growing increasingly frantic, over the balcony railing as Bryan slowed, turned red, convulsed briefly, then collapsed onto the cold marble floor.

At that point I attempted the broken escalator, jumping the barricade and picking my way over the construction zone, while security men shouted at me.

By the time I made it to Bryan he was unconscious. I screamed, “Call 911″ at hurried passers-by, padded his head with my coat and elevated his feet on his backpack.

He stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating as I checked him, so I prepared to start CPR. Strangely, of all those rushing by, no one gathered around and no one offered to help, it was if, dreamlike, we were invisible.

In my dream I don’t remember actually administering CPR, just knew I’d done so, and the paramedics did not come. I just remember giving up and admitting he was gone. I laid down beside him and held him on the chilly marble as he grew colder.

I was neither able to get to him in time nor save him, after all, in my dream; so much for changing history.

Tonight, dream gods, I’d like Tahiti, a sailboat and Mai Tais, please?

Over on Facebook, one of my friends became a fan of “Staying in your PJs all day”. I don’t know if I’ve done that very often, outside of being ill.

As a frequent telecommuter, one of my goals is to get up and showered and ready to go in the morning. Morning swimming helps with that goal! I don’t do anything fancy with my hair, and often wear sweatpants and a t-shirt, but I’m clean and dressed. Not being so before I get on conference calls feels pretty slimy, even if no one can actually see.

I actually have a very personal experience in that area that strengthens my resolve.

As many of you know, the morning I lost Bryan, he had gone into the office and I was working at home. I did not get up and shower that morning; I was working in the den in my pajamas. Nice PJs – flowered drawstring pants and a henley t-shirt – but PJs nonetheless.

When the knock on the door came at about 10:15am, I tossed a sweat jacket on over my PJs to cover up my lack of, err, proper undergarments and answered the door. Of course, I had no idea who was there – it could have been UPS, or a neighbor. But it wasn’t.

The whole time the officers were talking to me, telling me about Bryan, I was dreadfully, inappropriately self-conscious of the fact that I was sitting there in pajamas, without a bra. Craziness! It was the assistant coroner, for goodness sake – he works with the dead – he doesn’t care whether we survivors are wearing pajamas, jeans or business suits.

As soon as he stepped out to get death certificate paperwork I ran upstairs and changed to jeans and a sweater and brushed my hair. I think perhaps my brain was clinging to odd little details like pajamas, like flotsam in a flood.

Last night’s visit from the police, of course, reminded me of this earlier, more tragic one.

So now, every morning, I make it a point to be up and dressed before starting work. On weekends, I get ready for the day before fixing breakfast. I’m sure it won’t prevent another visitation from bearers of bad news someday, but at least I’ll have to find a different, distracting focus if it should ever happen again.

This Thanksgiving, I reflect on how very, very blessed we are.

Yes, it’s been a hard year, a year of terrible loss, grief and pain. But it’s also been a year of rebuilding, of adventure, and of the most wonderful inpouring of love I’ve ever experienced from my family and friends. I could not have gotten through this year without those I cherish, and this Thanksgiving, I think of them.

My awesome sons and I are healthy, thriving, and successful in our chosen endeavors. We have become closer and more supportive of each other, and they have helped me out with running our household and matured beautifully. I’m very, very proud of them.

We have a beautiful, comfortable house, reliable cars, and everything we need in our pantry and our closets, and can share that with friends when we see need. We also have both preventive and acute medical and dental care when necessary.

We have high speed Internet and more technology toys than we should; we’re all geeks. At the touch of a finger I can research pygmy marmosets, order flowers for a hurting friend, or watch the news from Afghanistan.

Those, though, are only material things. What we no longer have in our home is a father and a husband. While I miss Bryan intensely at times like this, I’m coming to terms with his loss. He’s in a better place, whatever that is, and he’s with us in spirit on Thanksgiving and every day. While I’d planned to grow old with him, I’m still so very, very grateful I had twelve beautiful years by his side; he loved us very much.

I also remember my father each Thanksgiving with love and honor. He left us ten years ago, 1999, on Thanksgiving day, and the world is a smaller, drearier place without his ideas, intelligence and integrity.

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance
      ~Garth Brooks, “The Dance”

I’m thankful for the dance: the precious years with Bryan, but also for the unmarked future, on my own but surrounded, supported by so many I love.

I wish you all a peaceful and meaningful Thanksgiving, filled with love and laughter.