Can`t believe, a year passed since you did the same.
If dying is something one does, actively. Doesn`t death just befall one? Like being born or falling in love, it occurs rather than being an act. And bam, there you are, or else, there you are in love with someone or there you are no more. And while these non-acts shape your own existance, they also shape the ones around you.
The fact, that you are no more, is still incomprehensible to me. And so sore. This blog here was/is mainly silent, because of it. “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.”
I spent most of last night trying to find some reason, any reason. Or consolation. Or peace. Or sleep. The latter, at least, was granted for a few uneasy hours… thanks to the spirits of a good measure of single malt distillates. Oh, do I envy religious people with their connection to other good spirits and hopedope. It would be bliss to have some such to hang on to. Us heathens, we have to deal with the abyss straight on.
Since I can’t sing you alive, as was requested by your family, I searched for words instead. After all, they were your main tool, too. Last night, Naomi Shihab Nye helped me out:
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
That is so in tune with your last good advice in the long row of great advice you always provided for me: “Emotions are just what they are: emotions. It`s what you make of them, that really counts.” I’ll try my best…