Today marks the 8th month since that horrible day. I don’t know about anyone else, but it seems like I’ve been in a time-warp. 8 months?! How is that even possible?! The words fail me today, so I will leave you with some of Dave’s own words.
Back when we moved to NYC, and both Dave’s and my English was pretty poor (I was 14, Dave was 11), we entered a beautiful school in Brooklyn Heights that allows students to pursue whatever interests they can dream up. Dave decided he wanted to give pottery a try. Well, due to a little language mix-up, what he saw in the course listing turned out to be POETRY not pottery – a big surprise on that first day of class. Regardless, Dave must have liked it, because he ended up staying in that poetry class from 5th grade all the way through High School.
Dave wrote many, many poems during that time that we recently rediscovered. Dave kept his writing to himself, so I hesitate a bit to share this. But, just as Dave was good at getting me out of my comfort zone, I was good at doing the same for him. In his thoughts about fragility and impermanence, I see March 1st.
The trees were shaking.
Then I hear thunder.
I looked outside again.
Now the trees were shaking even more.
It was a scary sight, something so
Powerful, so big, so strong.
And yet, shaken up so easily.
Or should I say,
Broken so easily.