I sit by myself thinking of him, almost on the verge of tears or the threshold of a long and hard screaming cry, more in the past six months then in the past 16 years. As if I’m waking from the anesthesia I realize how horrible and painful how real…how it can never change or go back. Everything changes in the after. When I go over the circumstances of his demise, I wonder how a person can be expected to go on after watching the spirit of a man die and his vessel leaving the earth. I never had any chance at goodbye or see you…he was taken. I think of him all the time the stuff we will never get to do all the things we will never discuss, all the things I will never get to ask, hear his laughter, an impassioned monologue, or even the sound when he was complaining about, debating, or rebuffing something. The art we will never see, the food we will never taste, the news we will never get to say ‘did you hear about that?’ Get to talk of the books and films I watched that he had watched before because I am finally old and mature enough to read and understand. There will be no travels around the world, no more great writings out of him, no projects we could have created, no animals to rescue, no room that we planned to be just for drawing, painting, art. There are no more stories. It’s over. I think about him all the time anyway but now my mind might be in sync with his death, that he is dead that he has passed, and not just disappeared to never reappear again there is no mystery just craters… So quickly and briskly in six months didn’t miss a beat or birthdays… I only had 13yrs. I am in my third lifetime already at 29, in the after.