A couple of nights ago I had a dream. I was in a park on a sunny day, joining a meeting of colleagues from Geneva who were sitting at a long picnic table. We had a nice time, doing whatever work-related thing we needed to do, and then parting ways as the sun went down. People dispersed but my old boss Jo and our colleague Staci ended up sitting on some small bleachers with a railing along the bottom. I stood against the railing and we talked a bit, and Jo said something about being gentle. For whatever reason, the word "gentle" in the dream made me think of Jack and I started to cry. Not sobbing, just letting tears pour quietly down my face, turning toward my arm, which was braced against the railing. I woke up and without thinking checked my cheeks to see if they were wet.
Since soon after Jack's death, once we started talking about having a memorial service in the spring, I had it in mind to recite one of his poems or raps as a tribute to him. Over the last couple of days I've had a different thought. So much of his rapping at least was about pain and fear and drugs. Even his triumphant moments were about survival and overcoming really dark experiences. Those were part of his life -- a bigger part than for most people -- but he had joy and happiness and contentment and generosity, too. I want to focus on that. Lots more time to ponder and reflect, of course.
Since soon after Jack's death, once we started talking about having a memorial service in the spring, I had it in mind to recite one of his poems or raps as a tribute to him. Over the last couple of days I've had a different thought. So much of his rapping at least was about pain and fear and drugs. Even his triumphant moments were about survival and overcoming really dark experiences. Those were part of his life -- a bigger part than for most people -- but he had joy and happiness and contentment and generosity, too. I want to focus on that. Lots more time to ponder and reflect, of course.
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