With hope; love should end with hope .
Oh, dear god. Just as I was preparing my own tribute, one month to the day after Heath's untimely departure, Geoffrey Chaucer one-ups everyone, and laments the death of Sir William Thatcher.
What a pleasure, to have tears of delight instead of sorrow.
". . . He chaungid hys sterres, ros out of lowlinesse,
Bicam the man that fyrst did make me thinke
Our dedes nat our birth bring gentilesse -
And when ich was depe in the dice and drinke
He bought my pants ayein, it is no nay
May hevenes blisse repay that charité!
For blessed on erthe are al who had the chaunce
To walk the gardyn of his turbulaunce."
Blessed were we, indeed.
For my part, Tuesday night, I had a dream about taking over an imaginary high school with my lab partner, a mad scientist in training who looked like a 17-year-old Heath Ledger. It was a great dream, especially the jock-kicking machine, but it was sort of depressing anyway, once I awoke.
One month, and I am still upset. It's not as painful as it was, though it still gives me a good wrench now and again. I did not believe it was suicide, so the revelation that it was nothing more than error was no surprise and no comfort, but I felt better once I'd heard he was going to be cremated. Ashes to ashes my ass. It's flame to flame. William had a phoenix as his coat of arms.
Better, too, seeing his family and friends after the funeral, playing in the surf. Seeing them smile as they stripped to their underwear and just plunged in. It was freeing. It is summer there, and not winter, like here. Somehow that was comforting, too. I hope that those close to him are hurting less. I hope they'll be okay, for whatever value "okay" has when you lose someone you love.
Such a terrible acident.
I can see him from here; he's still on the back of my folder. I think he'll stay there for a while longer, reminding me that I might chaunge my sterres.
"It is strange to think, I haven't seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. . . . Hope guides me, that is what gets me through the day and the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight, it will not be the last time that I look upon you."
What a pleasure, to have tears of delight instead of sorrow.
". . . He chaungid hys sterres, ros out of lowlinesse,
Bicam the man that fyrst did make me thinke
Our dedes nat our birth bring gentilesse -
And when ich was depe in the dice and drinke
He bought my pants ayein, it is no nay
May hevenes blisse repay that charité!
For blessed on erthe are al who had the chaunce
To walk the gardyn of his turbulaunce."
Blessed were we, indeed.
For my part, Tuesday night, I had a dream about taking over an imaginary high school with my lab partner, a mad scientist in training who looked like a 17-year-old Heath Ledger. It was a great dream, especially the jock-kicking machine, but it was sort of depressing anyway, once I awoke.
One month, and I am still upset. It's not as painful as it was, though it still gives me a good wrench now and again. I did not believe it was suicide, so the revelation that it was nothing more than error was no surprise and no comfort, but I felt better once I'd heard he was going to be cremated. Ashes to ashes my ass. It's flame to flame. William had a phoenix as his coat of arms.
Better, too, seeing his family and friends after the funeral, playing in the surf. Seeing them smile as they stripped to their underwear and just plunged in. It was freeing. It is summer there, and not winter, like here. Somehow that was comforting, too. I hope that those close to him are hurting less. I hope they'll be okay, for whatever value "okay" has when you lose someone you love.
Such a terrible acident.
I can see him from here; he's still on the back of my folder. I think he'll stay there for a while longer, reminding me that I might chaunge my sterres.
"It is strange to think, I haven't seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. . . . Hope guides me, that is what gets me through the day and the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight, it will not be the last time that I look upon you."