Beloved Jim,
Oh dear god do I miss you. I am bereft at the loss of you. I hope dying was not something you were aware of. That the morphine dampened the oxygen starvation. That you were not too cold or too hot. I hope you didn’t feel alone (but you were). Your covid death has instigated a maximal Trump grudge beyond the wazoo.
Nancy, Stephanie and Jack have been very kind. Phil and Marjorie acknowledged your memorial gift. I remember how important Phil was to you, even from New Orleans times.
When my dad was in his eighties, he became very emotional (never anyone to hide his feelings anyway) and cried easily. It seems I have that gene and it activated early. Because my life now is veiled in tears.
With you always.
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