So yeah, more to say

It appears that I am not done with Bill Brent and my complex response to his death yet.

Right now it's mostly about slowly coming to realize that it's not exactly that he left me holding the bag, as it were, on the sex party stuff. He (may have) deliberately handed off the bag.

Still, what do I do with it now?

There are other personal ramifications and resonances to sort out, too. How to live and how to let go. Who exactly is my community. Stuff like that. Heavy stuff.

(A small voice says: Many hands make light work.)

Straight Through Sappy Into Sublime

Simone: "Why did you say 'shit,' mommy?"

Me: "Because I am sad that my friend died."

April: "I am sad too that your friend died."

Me: "That's sweet of you."

April: "But Tigery [comfort object du jour] can help you better. "

Me: "And that's very sweet of Tigery."

April: "Tigery can help feel better kids and grownups."

Me: "That's very helpful."

April: "And when people die, Tigery can cuddle them and make them alive again."

Me: "That's very helpful."

April: "Their arms and their legs and their eyebrows and their hair."