It was a better day, which feels somehow worse than the original awful. I want to feel better, but I don't want to lose the connection that I still feel. A well-intentioned but unthinking person sent his obituary to me at midday, which felt like a punch to the throat. It was as if I was getting the news all over again, just then. I had to get up and leave the building so I could breathe.
The worst thing about this is trying to explain him, and our friendship, to other people. No one really gets it, no one quite understands, and it feels like it fades with each paltry word that gets between me and the truth.
The best thing about this is getting to try and describe him and our relationship, to other people. Seeing some glimmer of appreciation, the right expression or sound when I've hit on the way to say it, to capture even a bit of what was there. What still is there.
He was my friend. A very dear, darling boy who treated me reverently. My brother, my child, my guru, my confidante, my wise old soul. My chef. My tech guy. My musical genius. My constant, constant companion. He sat in the dark with me, because he understood what my dark meant. He pulled me out of it, into the light. And he let me into his own shades, too, where few (if any) others could go.
[Edna St. Vincent Millay, 'Interim']