A while ago a dear friend passed away.
No one knows why. There wasn’t an investigation or an autopsy to determine a cause. But that’s the what Son’s mother wanted. She only wanted people to remember her child with all the vivaciousness and zest he had for life while he lived.
But I remember the pain he lived with too, and the demons he fought. So tonight I set some time aside to work on a collection of Son’s poetry. I will work on it a little each week until it is finished. When it is finished, I will donate the profits to the buddhist monks he often visited in San Jose.
It is the least I can do for the man I called my best friend and my brother.