Nocturnal Wenchy

Dear Timmy,

This year I thought I had it down you know. I was just gonna be. The day would just pass. Chill.

Yeah,  you right.  I’ve never chilled.  Okay maybe that night we drank too much and sang “Amazing Grace”.  Remember that?  You,  me,  Bee… She died too. Yes… cancer. I made a point of not noting the date. Her daughter was 11. Knowing my history, you can imagine how my soul felt. You know I drive myself crazy with stuff like that. Being 11 when my father died.

I miss her very much…and you, and my father and my grandparents.  It’s like chunks of me that got torn off. It did not grow back.  Empty holes.

Anyway,  I never cared much for St Patrick’s Day… but you kinda made sure I cannot forget the day you left. You didn’t say goodbye you know.  How could you hey? Not like death gives one a small reminder…. a nudge… a warning.

16 years. It’s feels like you are a distant memory and other times I swear I still feel you here. Cheering me on. Like you right here. In a good way,  not in a “I see dead people kinda way”. No Holy water just yet!

We will be 42 this year.  The meaning of life you said.  Well, I will be. 42 that is.  You will always be 25. No meaning of life for you. Forever young.  Very James Dean, en so ….and I? I will probably see you in a crowd for the rest of my life. 

“Death has no sting” se gat.

Forget it.
W. 

PS.  The dolphins are not ruling the world yet and I eat pizza with my hands now.  You’ll be so proud.

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