Unable they that love — to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity.

Out of the nothingness of sleep,
The slow dreams of Eternity,
There was a thunder on the deep:
I came, because you called to me.

I broke the Night’s primeval bars,
I dared the old abysmal curse,
And flashed through ranks of frightened stars
Suddenly on the universe!

The eternal silences were broken;
Hell became Heaven as I passed. –
What shall I give you as a token,
A sign that we have met, at last?

I’ll break and forge the stars anew,
Shatter the heavens with a song;
Immortal in my love for you,
Because I love you, very strong.

Your mouth shall mock the old and wise,
Your laugh shall fill the world with flame,
I’ll write upon the shrinking skies
The scarlet splendour of your name,

Till Heaven cracks, and Hell thereunder
Dies in her ultimate mad fire,
And darkness falls, with scornful thunder,
On dreams of men and men’s desire.

Then only in the empty spaces,
Death, walking very silently,
Shall fear the glory of our faces
Through all the dark infinity.

So, clothed about with perfect love,
The eternal end shall find us one,
Alone above the Night, above
The dust of the dead gods, alone.”
? Rupert Brooke

“You’ll get over it…” It’s the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because ‘it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never loses. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?”

~ Jeanette Winterson (Written on the Body)

… whose only crime was go to Europe on a backpacking vacation and turn his cell phone off. Nevermind that he TOLD his girlfriend this several times before he left. She wasn’t listening.

And just ask Kyle. His crime? Forgetting to get his girlfriend a gift for Valentine’s day one year.

One year when I was about five or six, we were at a family friend’s house for Easter. They had hidden eggs all over the spacious back yard and I was among about a dozen kids there that day for the Easter egg hunt. I’m no slouch. In no time, I had retrieved nearly all the eggs. The other children didn’t have any — or maybe someone had one or two. But I had the vast majority of them. Not because I was particularly fast, I just got lucky where I looked.

It was at that time that my uncle called me over to him. I got up in his lap with my basket overloaded with eggs. He pointed out to me that I had nearly all the eggs and the other children didn’t have any. And wouldn’t it be nice if I put some of them back and let the other kids “find” them? No, no it wouldn’t. I found those eggs; it’s not my fault the other kids couldn’t find them. Ever the capitalist even at that age, I would not relent. My uncle didn’t make me put them back. He — and my mother — let it be my decision.

Would I do the same thing all over again if I knew then what I know now? You better believe it.

You see, I loved Barbie as a little girl (what little girl DIDN’T?). I had them all. Two or three different Barbies, including the Twist-N-Turn Barbie (with the bendable legs), Midge (her sidekick), and Skipper (her annoying little sister). And my Barbies all had great wardrobes, not only “store bought” Barbie clothes, but my mother also sewed clothes for my dolls. And my favorite uncle, Herbert, who lived with us, and who doted on me, was not to be outdone by doll clothes.

Nooooo. Every year at Christmas he would buy me the latest coolest Barbie item: either a new doll, clothes or a doll house. One year it was a ranch style home (see the picture). And it was this cardboard dollhouse in 1966 that caused all the grief. He managed to assemble each and every piece of teeny tiny and oh so trendy Danish modern furniture. But the doll house itself, that was another story. The cussing started early And lasted for a few hours while my mother and I had breakfast. For some reason, he was never able to get the thing to fold up like a suitcase, as it was supposed to. So my doll house sat fully open, and fully furnished, in all its glory, on a card table that my mother dragged into my bedroom to house the behemoth house. It was great fun as it was always open. But it also stood as a shining testament to my Uncle’s perseverance in trying to put the damn thing together, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, swearing while inserting Tab A into Slot B so my squadron of dolls would have a place to park their plastic asses.

I miss you Uncle Herbert.

A friend called me tonight and invited me to a New Year’s eve party she and her husband are throwing. I kind of want to go; they are a great couple and we so seldom get to visit, but there are two things holding me back. (1) I dislike driving at night now unless I have to because my eyesight has gotten so bad, but more importantly, (2) I know myself and I know that when people start counting down to midnight, I’ll be remembering all the New Years Eves Roberto and I counted down together and I’ll probably cry and spoil it all for them, and I really don’t want to do that. She knew Roberto too, so I may just explain to her that I am not staying to midnight, but want to come and have a short visit. That way, we can catch up a bit, and I can go home and marinate in my sorrow.

One of the best Christmases we ever spent was post-injury. In 2004, Robo’s sister invited us up to her Hill Country home for the weekend and most especially a home-cooked Christmas dinner. As we always did, we brought our cat, Sunny, with us. He was a great traveler and the perfect house guest. The dinner and companionship of Robo and his siblings was something Roberto remembered every year thereafter.

New Years Eves … will Robo and I seemed to do those up well every year. One year, when we still lived in San Antonio, we snuck up to my office building, into one of the partners’ offices on an upper floor of the highrise overlooking the San Antonio River, and watched the fireworks display. Another time, right after midnight one year, Robo jumped up from the sofa and told me to pack a bag, we’re driving to Louisiana to go gambling. That was when he still did all the driving. I threw some underwear and a change of clothes for both of us into a duffle and we hit the road. Ay, Robo. I sure will miss you come New Years’s Eve. Even more than I do right now.