My Reader

Very often when I'm writing something here, I will be thinking in the back of my mind 'What will my son Holden think of this?', for he always read my blog and would often have some comment or another the next time we talked or corresponded via e-mail. And then I will remember that Holden is not here any longer. It's an empty, lonely sort of feeling, as if my writing anything at all had been purposeless, like writing a short story that you know will only go into a dusty cabinet when you've finished. Anyone who has lost someone knows what I'm talking about. The force of life is so strong that it persists forever in remembering itself despite death--and not just remembering--being. Love itself does not pass away. It lives.