Where are you Dear Friend? I see you from time to time, but you go by so fast I have no time to shout. Are you weighed down in the mundane dealings of life? Have you reinvented yourself and found a new identity?
In my last writings I lamented about the travels of others while I was stuck here. Be careful what you wish for. I will be travelling this coming week. Not to an exotic island of far off land, but back in time. I will be going back to my birthplace. Baltimore. And I will be having a family reunion of sorts. My cousin/God Mother died last week from a car crash and we are all going for her "Celebration of Life". Tears will be shed but I also know there will be laughter.
When I found out she died I cried, but it was a selfish cry. An angry cry. And at one point I cried out, "I am so fucking sick of all the cool people in my life dying!" And I am. I sank into a fatalist depression realizing that the longer I live the more death I will witness.
I have known people in their eighties talk about death blythely.
"You hear Joe passed?"
"Hmm."
"Pass that orange juice over here."
Will death occupy those same feelings for us one day? Will it get to the point where we feel we are just in line waiting for the inevitable? Depressing thought really.
I decided to turn my trip into somewhat of a tour. My mother has called it the Greatful Dead Tour (spelled that way on purpose). I am going to stay an extra day and drive out first to my father's grave and then to Eric's.
I will be alone in a car with music, coffee, cigarettes and my thoughts, as I drive through the Maryland countryside. I will pay homage to those that I love that have died, but here is my little secret. I am loking forward to the time alone to pay homage to my own life.
Come back to me Friend and tell me where you are.
