[So many e-mails are coming in. Here is my response to one I just received from M, who I hope won't mind my reposting here, as it applies to all of you who have sent messages of care.]
I just walked back from the funeral home that will be handling Randy's cremation. My friends P & J, who live in the other side of the house, came along for support.
I've been trying to remember, but haven't actually searched yet, the Louise Gluck poem about thinking one is as close to death as possible--and then going closer. I think I would like to read it at the small solstice gathering we're planning.
It's all moving through me in waves. It's been 20 years since my first partner, David, died of aids. Randy's death was accidental, a horrible stupid error on his part, and so its suddenness compounded by my futile insistence that it did not have to happen on that day seem to be the keys that gouge me the most right now. The loss itself permeates everything, but feels oddly warm, laced through and through by the love I feel: his love for me which does not end, and mine for him, and the kindness and good regard of so many who are well-wishing right now. Thank you.
Priscilla Atkins: Drinking the Pink
2 days ago