Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Time Bindings

Little sweetheart, yesterday, your dad sent me some pictures taken at The Angel. Often, when lingering there to talk to you and say quiet prayers, some wildlife will amble up or saunter by. Sometimes there are wild turkeys. That's what the pictures were. Your dad sent a couple to me. There were several of them, their feathers spread wide like the paper display on a Thanksgiving table. They're a bit crazy. Once when I was there with a rental car, one of them caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection in a hub cap and started attacking it with his beak. Later, as I was driving away he chased after the car. Crazy!

Some of my favorite animals there, though, are the long eared jack rabbits that will hop up and past. And an owl who often begins hooting around dusk.

When I'm there in the late afternoon, I can't ever bring myself to leave until after dusk- I like staying and talking and being there - where I know your angelic spirit is not tethered but simply alights to greet and comfort and guide me. After it gets dark, I go back to the Nugget Market and get a candle or two and go back to light them and say goodnight. Whenever I visit, I always stop at The Nugget -just like you and I always did whenever you brought me to Davis, first stop Nugget, then to the house (or maybe Blockbuster to get a video for the night).

Now, when I go, I get flowers, roses if they have them. And when I bring them to The Angel for you, I save the rubber band that binds them and wrap it around my wrist. When they break or I only have one left, I know it's past time to get back to California.

Please be with my today, little sweetheart. Please help and guide me. And please take me to you the moment heaven will allow. With all my love forever. 

Monday, March 19, 2018

A Better Anniversary...

Of all the bitter days of March, little sweetheart, now remembered for the tragic events of 2011, it's so much more lovely to remember an earlier, happier one.

Today, March 19, is the day that you & I recognized as our anniversary as a couple, remember? And today is actually the tenth anniversary.

So, happy anniversary, my gorgeous girl, my beautiful angel. I love you with all my heart and soul. Forever yours.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Forever... (and Dream 3 video)

On this day in 2011, little sweetheart, you crossed over to The Forever, where I so long to join you. Tonight I assembled this video in honor and memory and faith - we'll be together again, soon and forever. Love you with all my heart and soul.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

The Soul Mate

Little sweetheart, I saw a wonderful painting this morning by a Czech artist, Max Svabinsky - one of the country's most prominent. It's called "The Soul Mate" and was painted in 1896. He lived until 1963! It reminds me so of how I long for and need you - my own soulmate - and hope to fly to you soon. With all my love forever.

My Light

Little sweetheart, last night I headed up to that little church I've told you about where on most Wednesday nights they hold a candlelight meditation with music and reflection.

I've gotten to know some of the people there and one or two were aware that these are the ten days that marked the time between your accident and tragic passing.

One of those dear ladies lost her own husband three years ago, that anniversary being just last month. She gave me a beautiful little book last night written by a man who lost his child and set down his thoughts about grief and mourning. It's written almost like a book of thoughtful poems and I'm very much looking forward to reading it.

Afterwards, one of the ministers, the first one I got to know a little, the associate pastor, a young gay woman with lots of tattoos (I think you'd like her, little sweetheart), came over to talk and pray with me. It's still very cold here, little sweetheart. It's mid-March but winter is hanging on, the wind blowing icily from the west off the river. And the old church is rather drafty, especially where I always seem to insist on sitting - in the back, near the side door leading out to West End Avenue.

Anyway, even inside, I was wrapped up in the beautiful blue and grey scarf you knitted and gave to me our very Christmas together. I don't wear it often enough. I'm always afraid it might get lost and you know how I can be so fussy about "saving" things. Instead of putting something lovely that holds such meaning to me to actual use, I tend to place it somewhere in the apartment where my eye will fall upon it in holy remembrance, setting it in a place of honor.

But sometimes I remember and hear your voice on a cold day, gently encouraging me: "you know, Michael, it's quite chilly out, today would be a good day to wear your scarf". So, I made a point of doing that. It's warm and lovely and long and I can wrap it several times around my neck and still have lots to also blanket my chest so that it blouses out almost like a robin's. It's really perfect - it's like I'm in your arms, as if you are embracing me. And I'm so proud to tell anyone who will listen that you made it for me! I told Barbara (the lady who gave me the book) and I told Jes (that young pastor) before she took my hand in prayer for you, that you are safely in God's care and that you may be near to help and guide me until I may be with you again and forever. 

Part of the service includes a handful of readings, both secular and sacred, and one of them last night was a poem, a poem I know and that we recorded with ambient guitar underscoring for Electric Hymnal. It's a poem by Charlotte Mew called "May 1915". Like so many things, it makes my thoughts fly toward and of you. It's in full, below.

Please be with me today, little sweetheart. Help me do the right thing. And please take me to you the moment heaven will allow. With all my love forever.

Your Michael.

May 1915 by Charlotte Mew

Let us remember
Spring will come again
To the scorched, blackened woods
Where the wounded trees
With their old wise patience
For the heavenly rain
Sure of the sky:
Sure of the sea to send its healing breeze
Sure of the sun.
And even to these
Surely the Spring,
When God shall please,
Will come again
Like a divine surprise
To those who sit today
With their great Dead,
Hands in their hands,
Eyes in their eyes,
At one with love,
At one with Grief:
Blind to the scattered things
And changing skies. 

Monday, March 12, 2018


Little sweetheart, I've been listening to a new show on WFMU. It's on late at night, the overnight 3-6 Wednesday into Thursday, so I'm usually not awake when it's on and only listen back later on the station's archive. It's Olivia's show and very interesting not only for tracks she selects - a mixture of drone and experimental and pop and spoken word - but for the live sound collages she's mixes live on air. I started listening a few weeks ago.

Anyway, today I was really tired and sad and lay down for a nap. I had an earlier show of hers on and a song woke me. It was Fairport Convention's version of "Who Knows Where the Time Goes".

Little sweetheart, I remember you singing a bit of it when you & I were together in your room in Boston and it always makes me think of you. But honestly I'd never really heard it in its entirety - like heard the words. It made me cry and long for you. And also made me feel that you were near.

Please help and guide me, little sweetheart. And take me to you as soon as heaven will allow. There are so many things only you know and can help me with. I know you try as best you can to reach me. And I feel that hearing this today was another one of them.

Quietly napping, you woke me so that with no else to distract me I might know what you wanted to say and keep it safely in my heart.

I love you, my gorgeous angel. Forever.

Across the morning sky,
All the birds are leaving,
Ah, how can they know it's time for them to go?
Before the winter fire,
We'll still be dreaming.
I do not count the time
Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
Sad deserted shore,
Your fickle friends are leaving,
Ah, but then you know it's time for them to go,
But I will still be here,
I have no thought of leaving.
I do not count the time
Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
And I'm not alone,
While my love is near me,
And I know, it will be so, till it's time to go,
So come the storms of winter,
And then the birds in spring again.
I do not fear the time
Who knows how my love grows?
Who knows where the time goes?

Thursday, March 8, 2018

The True Way

Seven years ago, little sweetheart, I woke with you for the last time. You were curled up in my arms with your little feet around my ankles, your hot water bottle pushed off the side of the bed to the floor, warm enough now in an embrace. You kissed me and we lingered together for an hour.

A beautiful day, warm and glistening and filled with love and promise and adventures together, that ended in tragedy and left me forever broken.

I look for you everywhere and seize upon anything that might be a sign, a trace of you trying your best to comfort and guide me.

This morning, after saying our prayer and stroking the things that lay upon your pillow, talking to you softly, after texting your parents and just sitting inconsolable on the bed in tears, I rose and walked to the kitchen to make coffee and begin the day, however sadly, however lost. There upon the counter was an inexplicable ring of condensation. A circle of tiny water dots like a speech bubble in an illustration waiting to be filled in with some message. At its outer edge the sun glanced off the surface in a kind of arrow, as if to indicate directions.

I can't know the day. I can't know the hour. I can't even know why I remain. But I must listen quietly and simply have faith that someday, some hour, sometime (and may it be soon), I will be returned to you.

I've a picture of us, a selfie before people called them that, of you and I, our faces pressed together, your lips upon my cheek, standing within a stone circle at the edge of the world - the end of the Sheep's Head peninsula out beyond the lighthouse on our trip to Ireland.

Moments after it was snapped and we began trekking back to the village, we got lost, taking a wrong turn and losing the path. It was becoming dusk and I got worried. I ran ahead looking for a fork that would return us before it got dark and we were truly lost. You cried out, because I was walking too fast for you, and I turned. When I did I saw a sign - only visible from this direction, only able to be perceived because I was turned away from the rogue path, only visible because I was turned to face you - an arrow that showed me, showed us the way. The True Way.

And that way is you, my little sweetheart.

In all things, how you have saved and changed and guided me, from the day I met you to this very moment when I can't touch or see you, when I ache to do so, still you find a way to help me find the way. Ever grateful, I love you forever. And trust my soul, which is best equipped to hear you, which is itself half of your own, to perceive your guiding presence and lead me home. For home is you.

With all my love forever. Forever, Summer. Forever, my little sweetheart. Forever.