When I watch people play video games it looks like their character is doing a lot of running around on screen searching from the answer. The person at the control knows the resolution but isn't exactly sure how to get it. As a result, the character looks chaotic, making lots of static movement. When the task at hand gets resolved, it doesn't feel like success-least not to me.
That's what it feels like grieving my friend, Bill. Lots of chaos and static, some resolve, but no REAL success. I will always miss him, it will always hurt, and there's not a whole lot I can do in the process except accept the inevitable rush of tears whenever or wherever they happen and try not to let it set the tone for the rest of the day.
I woke up missing him something fierce this morning-the permanence of his death ringing like a car alarm in my head. I pulled the sheets around my head and shut my eyes tightly. I'm not exactly sure what I missed. I think it was his general presence, and his laugh above all else.
He reminds me of a time in my life where everything felt effortless. The slow rock of finger docks and the wake of ferry boats in the summer. He's tin mugs and grey wool costumes. He's Huey Lewis and the News.
He's the cry, the laugh, and the cry again. I was very lucky to have known him.
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