sailing without wind (09/14/07)

 

I've buried 3 of my parents in the last twelve years (my two adopted parents and my bio-dad), none of that easy at all.

And yet Q's death seems to have affected me even worse that those did. He was the keeper of the flame, the spark that ignited us, the source of our laughter and, apparently also, the keeper of my optimism. Who knew?

But it's clear that, before his death, I remember having some; every day was filled with moments of "what if?" and "how about?"; and now, every day since he up and left us, I'm suddenly and chillingly aware of the absolute certainty of my own end and, for whatever reason, it seems so much closer than ever before. He was so so full of life and for someone like him to die ... well, it doesn't really bode well for the rest of us, now does it.

Knowing I'll never see him again makes every day that much less exciting, knowing I'll never perform with him again makes the prospect of performing again that much less appealing. And yet I know, were he to read this, he's be mightily pissed. So, if for no other reason than that, I go on.

But, do me a favor Q... haunt me, taunt me, do whatever you wish but please, blow back this way a bit of that wind you took with you.

Thanks.

 

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