Today marks two years since Jack died. I'm in London, so the time to mark is 6:50 PM (1:50 PM Eastern time), although, because there weren't any witness that I know of, that's just an estimate. M, D, Linc, and I checked in this morning for about fifteen minutes, just going over what each of us was planning to do today. M seemed to be feeling the most fragile, she started to cry a couple of times during the call. She and D are going to Sugarloaf Mountain -- to scatter ashes? something we'd discussed, but they didn't say for sure -- and she's cooking dinner for a childhood friend of mine who just had a baby. Acorn squash, something Jack liked to eat. Linc is going for a hike. And I've reopened FB for the first time in nearly two years, to look first at what I wrote about Jack in the days after his death and then to look at his profile. Later today, we will talk again at greater length, focusing on things we loved about Jack and happy memories of him.
I opened Blogger for the first time in ages just now, as well, and of course it brought back a lot things I hadn't thought about in a while: dreams I had of him -- that's something we all had very intensively in the months after he died; reflections on trying to write about him; poetry that touched me. I'd been reading Faiz, whose poem "My Companion, My Friend" seems even more poignant now than it did at the time I first encountered it. Wonder why that is. Maybe I'll read it tonight. I should also go get the collection Klein gave me in 2018, Black Aperture, down off the shelf. It's poems about a guy who killed himself, by that guy's brother. Close to home.
Something I'll bring up again on the call, as well, if I remember, is the idea of writing a biography or at least oral history of Jack.
I'm feeling okay today. It doesn't seem like the most important anniversary to recognize: two years ago today I still had no idea he was dead, and wouldn't for several more days. Blissful ignorance. The tenth, early morning, is the moment I will never forget. And of course his birthday, to be commemorated as Word Games Day forevermore. But the exact timing of an anniversary like this is beside the point, the point is to set aside time and space to remember, and ponder, and feel. I have too much work to do before class starts next week to spend a whole day on that. But I'm doing it throughout the day and looking forward to tonight's call.
I opened Blogger for the first time in ages just now, as well, and of course it brought back a lot things I hadn't thought about in a while: dreams I had of him -- that's something we all had very intensively in the months after he died; reflections on trying to write about him; poetry that touched me. I'd been reading Faiz, whose poem "My Companion, My Friend" seems even more poignant now than it did at the time I first encountered it. Wonder why that is. Maybe I'll read it tonight. I should also go get the collection Klein gave me in 2018, Black Aperture, down off the shelf. It's poems about a guy who killed himself, by that guy's brother. Close to home.
Something I'll bring up again on the call, as well, if I remember, is the idea of writing a biography or at least oral history of Jack.
I'm feeling okay today. It doesn't seem like the most important anniversary to recognize: two years ago today I still had no idea he was dead, and wouldn't for several more days. Blissful ignorance. The tenth, early morning, is the moment I will never forget. And of course his birthday, to be commemorated as Word Games Day forevermore. But the exact timing of an anniversary like this is beside the point, the point is to set aside time and space to remember, and ponder, and feel. I have too much work to do before class starts next week to spend a whole day on that. But I'm doing it throughout the day and looking forward to tonight's call.
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