I guess right now I am having a difficult time with your death. Just before you died two years ago, I was about to go on the same trip as every year, but I had no idea where you were or how you were doing. I hadn't know for several months. You had stopped communicating with me and everyone. You were homeless, and I was always waiting to hear the worst. It is strange how I relive this feeling every year now like a theatrical dirge. It is a ritual of sadness that will lead to the anniversary of your death. I think back and cannot figure out how I coped as it was happening.
I have missed you for so many years. Your struggle was long and opaque. Mine is now enigmatic and lingering. I guess that's why I am writing so often these days.
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