My telephone rang this morning and I heard my aunt’s voice. She was calling to say that one of my dad’s oldest friends had passed away. My aunt was terribly sad. And I was terribly sad. My father died ten years ago. Together we miss him. And his friend’s death feels akin to the old sorrow—though it is a new sorrow. My aunt is a religious woman; I play at religion but have my nautilus chambers of nihilism. Whatever you believe, mortal life is oh so painful and April seems to always be a steep month. My father died on April 21, 2000. His best friend died yesterday. Forget T.S. Eliot. April is no crueler than any other month. But it stirs the heart afresh in these cold regions and tragedies may feel more tragic in such places. I know this much: my garden spade is more useful than prayer, or so it would seem. I think I shall go and plant some flowers even though I have a brown thumb. The salt reserve of my heart is turning over. My heart is very busy.
What should we plant first?
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 
Please accept my sympathy for your loss, Steve. As you say, “Mortal life is oh so painful.” Thank heavens for the three “Ls”- love, learning and laughter, which make it bearable, at least for some of us, most of the time.
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