Now Playing -
Now Eating -
Now Feeling -
Now Tweeting
- Melanie
I keep having these...spasms...paroxysms of grief that wrack me and turn me inward, leaving me gasping for breath. I can't believe that he is gone. It's like the bottom has dropped out of the world I know. I haven't done this, this mourning in almost twenty years, half a lifetime ago, and I'd forgotten, buried inside how much it hurts, how rubbed raw you feel. The pain is always just below the surface.
I said to someone Saturday at the theater, someone among the hundreds of people (and there were hundreds) who came and went and laughed and wept and held each other and spoke and wrote their love in paragraphs that began "My dearest Brent," and "My darling papa," that life will become a series of firsts for us, the first this without Brent, first that without Brent. Without.
As we drove home Friday night, Stephen asked, how's it gonna be? how are we going to get through that first "Where's Brent? He should be here."? And the thought that hung unspoken in the air as we drove through the rain, as we passed the turn to his house, and kept going...
was that there it was, it had already begun. Without.
But he would be the first one to say that the shows should go on, that the parties should always go on, and on. So that is what we'll do. It will all go on. It has to.
It is the finest testament to him.
~^ would you like to
leave word? ^~
2
of you lovely people have left word so
far
~^ what
was ~ what
will be ^~
~^ randomize me! ^~
a very fine cat indeed - Friday, Jan. 17, 2014
happy new year! - Thursday, Jan. 24, 2013
this is where i am - Saturday, Jun. 30, 2012
this is how it is - Friday, Feb. 24, 2012
a very late last year's wrap-up - Wednesday, Jan. 18, 2012
~^
^~
