He's still gone.
Isn't that terrible? I haven't yet woken up and discovered (to my delight) that it's all just been a bad bad dream.
I haven't written many things that need to be written. I haven't written about memories of him. I haven't written about the funeral. I haven't posted a lot of pictures.
I thought I'd do all that today, but it can all wait.
Instead, here is a George Santayana sonnet a friend sent us.
With you a part of me hath passed away,
For in the peopled forest of my mind
A tree made leafless by this wintry wind
Shall never don again its green array.
Chapel and fireside, country road and bay,
Have something of their friendliness resigned;
Another, if I would, I could not find,
And I am grown much older in a day.
But yet I treasure in my memory
Your gift of charity, and young heart’s ease,
And the dear honor of your amity:
For these once mine, my life is rich with these.
And I scarce know which part may greater be—
What I keep of you, or you rob from me.
Love you, Brentie B. Miss you.