Two Twelve Oh Seven
I’ve taken away Michael’s blog. Given it away. I have now given away his medical paraphernalia, his paperbacks, his tools, his sweaters, his shirts and ties, his clothes and his furniture that doesn’t fit in my new home. Clearing out is painful, long, sad and necessary.
A year ago I wrote that I was going to end this blog. It's seemed fitting; the right thing to do. I couldn’t do it then. I probably can’t do it now, and may regret this tomorrow. Now, however, I know that I have to.
I no longer can write about Michael. He is dead. He is gone. I always was drawn to the numbers and it is not lost on me that I started this February 14, 2005. A Monday. It is now February 12, 2007. Two years. A Monday. It is sad and painful, but I have to go.
A year ago I wrote that I was going to end this blog. It's seemed fitting; the right thing to do. I couldn’t do it then. I probably can’t do it now, and may regret this tomorrow. Now, however, I know that I have to.
I no longer can write about Michael. He is dead. He is gone. I always was drawn to the numbers and it is not lost on me that I started this February 14, 2005. A Monday. It is now February 12, 2007. Two years. A Monday. It is sad and painful, but I have to go.
