not past losing stephen. i realize days and weeks have passed, and every day my sister seems to move her expressions into kindness and consideration, but i just think that's too high a cost, and completely unfair.
nothing is the same. it never will be.
every day she goes and sits in session while her good friend daniel puts one of the many cassettes she's brought in for him into the deck for playback, to transfer to disc, and they sit for eventually hours, listening for some snippet of conversation in among the electrifying, totally devastating beauty of his music, and hope for some piece of thread or wooly fuzz that might turn out to be something that will place him here on the earth where we can see him, in a red button up shirt and jeans and a pair of cowboy boots- something that makes his death less consequential. so we can eat dinner. and she can take a shower.
fuck death, man. i've had it.
meantime, we are dreaming up a dream garden for the new place, and already planting (altho anyone familiar with the western gardener's manual would know, you DON'T start planting these till later in the fall): squash, rutabagas, hellebores, rhubarb. roses.
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