Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Home and the Kitsch That Builds It

I've had my new home here in Billings now for 20 days. Boxes are slowly opening, and their contents march to their homes on shelves and small tables. 55-degree days are punctuated by snowy ones (I hear that this weekend will be no different), and old pictures taken of and by Josh smile happily when I pluck their frames from their newsprint packing material.

I listen to Moxy Fruvous. I listen to the words. "Your mother made you cry when she told you about the womb, and how people die."

The photo of Josh at Larrabee hangs in my studio. The photo Joshua took of my wife and me stands poised on a shelf above my favorite books.

I am reminded every day now that my house is less of a home for the loss of his presence, and that the photographs are a cold, vivid loneliness in comparison to the companionship I have enjoyed all these years.

Acceptance is a bitter, bitter swill. I miss my friend.

4 comments:

  1. Rick,

    I know where you're coming from. I have all these little reminders of Josh around me. A picture here, something written in his hand there. Everytime i come across one of these things the sadness and realization that i will never see him again hits my like an ice cold punch to the heart.

    I miss him too. We all do.

    I'm sorry he won't get to see your new place.

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  2. I actually laughed out loud while recalling one of those little things Josh and I would say to each other....

    then I remembered that a moment like that will never happen again.

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  3. Josh's impish smile and mannerisms seem to be appearing still in our lives...that's nice...and very sad at the same time.

    Maybe someday it will be more of a happy feeling, than a sad one. Time will tell...

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  4. Thank you for another "Josh" moment...I sincerely hope many more folks will share theirs as well. The stories certainly help my heart...

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