Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate
A week ago yesterday morning, while I was working on the introduction to Paul Nelson's essay about Jackson Browne's The Pretender, wherein Paul wrote with stark exquisiteness about the 1976 suicide of Browne's newlywed wife, I received a call from my best friend telling me that, the night before, he had come home from work to discover that his wife of only a few weeks had taken her own life.
Since then, I've made several passes at writing something here that would in some way express how I feel, acknowledging how this terrible event has forever changed the landscape of my friend's life. But the words just aren't there.
Since then, I've made several passes at writing something here that would in some way express how I feel, acknowledging how this terrible event has forever changed the landscape of my friend's life. But the words just aren't there.