Dear Nash, What’s left to say?
Hanging. I can picture your body, broken from the neck up, hanging from the trusses in your metal shop. There’s a ladder lying on the floor that you kicked over before the rope was quickly made taut by the weight of your body.
It’s a wound that I don’t want to have heal, and, yet, it is healing. The death of a friend, a good friend, a best friend, at such a young age, is something that I never thought I’d forget to remember.
Dear Mr. Walter, It was great to hear back from you. I certainly was not expecting a reply. I realized that I didn’t tell you my name in my initial letter. My name is Timothy F. Nash.
My aunt died at her ex-husband’s funeral, just over a week ago. I don’t know many of the details, but I gather that she suffered a heart attack while at the funeral. It happened on a Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday evening my immediate family was gathered in my one-bedroom apartment.
As life wears on, I meet more people who are getting married, having kids, getting divorced, and dying. Two years ago, today, my grandmother died. It’s neat that it falls on the same day as the first supermoon in 33 years.
Seven years have passed since February 1, 2008. My very good friend died seven years ago today.
About a month ago, the bonsai that I’ve had for about seven years died. It died not long before I left to visit my parents over the Christmas holidays.
Mavis Gallant died today, and the news carries a certain import for me. I’m not very well read, or particularly attached to her writing, but her story, and stories, seems to resonate with me.