It was the end of the day, a day away from the end of Feb. 05. I was strolling home though the bitter cold and slush and sleet. Countless, colorful, rippled lights from street lamps, store fronts and automobiles zig zagged their way, slicing electrically through the veil of falling snow like lazy, crazy celestial lightning bolts, reflecting in the slick and, crystallizing into an all encompassing mass of spiny paradox and prickly oxy-morons. From Caprini’s hospital of last resort, I made my way home. My head was swimming in vast pools of what mortality may now mean as I struggled to make simple sense of out of one of life’s most definitive and final themes. Grappling with what good bye would really mean this time, I could feel his last breath and sense his last spark vanishing into thin air. I imagined standing in the path of the universe reclaiming his life’s energy and force. Eric’s death seemed moments away. I thought to my self while slogging the icy, bitter bluster that he might be dead before I reached my door step.
