One of the strangest things about death is the finality. The things you take for granted are just gone. Its unsettling as it should be.
When we arrived here for my brother-in-laws’ funeral I pulled my laptop out to check email. I couldn’t get online so I asked my nephews for the password. Neither one of them could remember it because it had been so long since they first entered it on their machines. My brother-in-law had taken his password to the grave. My nephew retrieved it from his keychain.
We were renewing the downstairs bedroom, the room that Ken spent his last days in. My east coast internal clock woke me before anyone and I sat in his home office, surrounded by his pictures and books, while the sun came up. Was this whole section of Bel Air Road wiped out in an earthquake in the thirties or was it a brush fire? And where did these antique wooden floors come from again? He was full of life, inquisitive, sharp as tack, so much fun to talk to and joke around with and now he’s gone.
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