You'll be missed. You were the golden retriever of Reno. I can't even begin to explain to you how much all your advice and talks meant to me. You were the one who always cheered me up when I was being crazy and embaressed. You would always tell me not to give a fuck. You were my Reno rock. I love you and I will miss you. 'There is no grief which time does not lessen or soften' - so said Cicero, a man so often right; a Stoic, those for whom all life presents a lesson to be learned from, and then, to move on from..
But I wonder about all this: is grief ever lessened or softened? Is it not, perhaps, overlaid in our so various ways?
For some, grief framed and falsified to ease that grief;
For some, like hyacinths and crocus bulbs, left in a dark cupboard in the autumn of our grief to respond to time, and become at last themselves?
gently, gently, the covers pulled over the loving bed, the true, the pure, the lovely painful grief, the memory deep cherished, gently, gently, folded into the cupboards of the heart
there to be known, without the door disturbed until the time - 'a grief ago' as Dylan wrote - the cupboard opened only for love's sake without grief...: those carefully folded memories brought out and loved and lived a while...
not grief, not grief...but the pure memory of grief