Louie, a fellow creative writer, would be upset if I used his death as an excuse to not keep with my self-promise to blog every day.
We’re still working our way through the pain. Dot’s best friend had his graduation party today, which helped. Except that he, too, was good friends with Louie. At any given moment, one or more of the seven graduates in the room could be found crying, surrounded by the rest.
It’s an extremely surreal experience and I never wish this agony on anyone.
I don’t want to write. But Louie wouldn’t want me to use him as an excuse to stop.
He came over after church, over a year ago. It was a snowy day and I’d made two dishes of pasta and sauce. I’d learned that it’s true what they say about teenage boys and their appetites. So when Louie came to eat, I’d make double, and give him his own casserole.
This is the sauce leftover from his dish. As I was cleaning the table, I found him practically drinking the sauce and laughed at him. He took the serving spoon and drew in it.
I told him to stop playing with his food. He walked away smiling. When I looked in the dish, this is what I saw.
He liked the dinner so much, he made me a house.
That’s the kind of humor he had.
God, I miss that boy.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
