I haven’t written anything for two months… it seems strange but I was sort of avoiding things, I guess. At one point, I realized I’d been standing in front of the refrigerator looking at your picture for at least five minutes, convinced that I could call you to go and see a movie. I walked around in a daze after that.
I haven’t been able to go to your grave for awhile now.
I want you to come home. Why can’t you come home?
1995-0710