Where's the Beef?

Captain Beefheart died today. Ingrid would have been touched by that. She loved Captain Beefheart and all that sort of stuff in high school (and beyond...) and might have called me to make sure I knew that he'd passed away.

I would have teased her, she would have laughed, I would have laughed. It would have been another of the million moments in our friendship; inconsequential on its face, but part of a tapestry of silly and serious things that spanned the years and bolstered our shared past.

I wish I could call her to tell her.

Happy Birthday to You

All right, pal, today is your birthday and I'm still here.

I hope that wherever you are, it's the best place ever. That a giant cake that keeps changing flavors and getting better and better is alight with candles and that you're blowing them out and laughing, then starting all over again. That you've got a cat on your lap and every good person you ever met all around you. And that a shiny new bike that fits you perfectly is right next to you with a huge bow on it while all your favorite music plays and plays.

I miss you so much, Ingrid, and it never goes away. I hope that you can feel it, in a good way, and that you know there are a whole lot of people here thinking of you.

I can't help but think of your mom and how she might feel today. She must miss her girl with all her being. I know I do.

Happy birthday, pal. I don't know how to stop missing you.

Happy Anniversary, Ingrid

Today is the 33rd anniversary of the day we came out to each other, Ingrid. I used to call you on this day and we'd reminisce. I wish I could call you today.

Thank you for helping to make my life and for letting me help to make yours.

The whole thing still amazes me all these years later. Two kids, such bravery, so young. Thank you, thank you.

I miss you so.

Cows Well Done

Maybe it's finally happening, that mystical place where the warm memory overwhelms the sharp pain. At least today it is, watching the Cows With Guns video. If you don't think of Ingrid then and laugh, you're probably not breathing.

I hope you heard me laughing for you, Ingrid.

Looking Away

Today is the second anniversary of Ingrid's death. I remember her as though she were here with me right now.

Remember that funny look she'd use when she was simultaneously confused and incredulous? A little bug-eyed, with her mouth turned in a squiggle? I'm not very good at describing it, but if you knew her, you'll know what I mean.

Well, that's the look I see on her face right now. The look I think of as "classic Ingrid," the look I'd never seen on anyone else's face and still never have.

I miss your funny looks, Ingrid. I miss you. I still want you back. I always will.

Rest well.