I've been trying to write a letter to you since you visited me in my dreams days after to you left this earth. With all of these emotions, I struggle to find the words to express what it's like to lose a giant. I worshiped you, in a way. God gave you to me before I knew I needed you. He knew and you knew, and it seems that now, more than ever, you cross my mind in infinite ways. Is this what losing a parent feels like? I don't desire to do this again, although inevitable. And I think about the mortality of my two remaining parents, and I beg God to spare me- to just give me a little more time to prepare myself for the kind of indefinite and sporadic pain I'm bound to feel. And these moments of grief cut so sharply, so suddenly... the unexpected tears flow and all I can really do is just let it rain. I rain for you. Even in the sun, I rain. And I'm embarrassed and ashamed, sometimes, to tear up in a bar or while walking down a crowded street or to just sob for you
The digital writing sanctuary of a storyteller, preacher, artist, educator, bourbon connoisseur and fermented grape lover. Eavesdrop on my conversations with (God) myself.