Carrie called last night. She’s way the hell and gone up in Telegraph Creek, but she’s going to try to make it to the memorial service. She never got my email and found out from my blog (Gott in Himmel) and had basically been crying for days. We were young and pretty together; our first children were born within three days of each other; we both loved John although we had damned strange ways of showing it sometimes. Carrie was married to John for a couple of years and she did date him twice after they broke up. I had issues with Carrie, sure, but that was a quarter century ago, and now we get along fine, and her last visit was delightful. I know for a fact Paul would love to see her, or whatever emotion you can feel when you’re alternately numb, bleak and limitlessly sad.
Paul and I and the kids had supper together and then Paul and I just cried for a while. Keith and Kate are both grieving in their own way but grimly sticking to their schoolwork. Katie says she’ll be in better shape after the memorial… I hope so. Keith is talking to his dad about it, not me, which I think is a good thing. There’s no timetable or cut sheet for grief.
I had John’s Fender resonator out of the case last night. It was in tune… in E minor.
Paul is remembering that the last time he spent time with his brother they played guitars. They hadn’t been alone together and playing guitars in more years than Paul could remember.