Not just another ending
At Lear's end, Edgar stands in the midst of death and, ashamed, tries as best he can to muddle through. After all, "the weight of this sad time we must obey / Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say." Thankfully, I am not Edgar and, despite my sadness, am not ambivalent about this death. Greg Hornecker is an admirable man and not Lear, despite the size of his spirit, probity, and love of the law. What I feel and might ought to say are identical. I asked his advice on many things and he responded thoughtfully and with respect despite my inexperience. He never pressed, except for the opportunity to offer a gift or kindness. He loved children: his, theirs, and the community's. He found a way, when my son died, to let me know that, in his kingdom, all my feelings were honest and would have time and space for expression. He also communicated without words that the future does not die with the dead and that the time to allow the sun to rise again may come as unexpectedly as did the dark.
Ok. Fine. He might suggest, now that he is the beloved dead: I'll miss you too. Move on.
So. I'll honor Greg not by doing what he told me to do, because he never told me what to do. Instead, I'll do as he did. I'll do what I admire in him. When someone is in need I'll do my best to help them take care of themselves. When they do me a disservice I'll do my best to let it become a part of a past we can both laugh about. When someone shows me kindness I'll return it many times over. And when I die, maybe somebody else will say something they thought about for a while, feel the loss of me, and move on into tomorrow with the desire to love his people a little more.
Ok. Fine. He might suggest, now that he is the beloved dead: I'll miss you too. Move on.
So. I'll honor Greg not by doing what he told me to do, because he never told me what to do. Instead, I'll do as he did. I'll do what I admire in him. When someone is in need I'll do my best to help them take care of themselves. When they do me a disservice I'll do my best to let it become a part of a past we can both laugh about. When someone shows me kindness I'll return it many times over. And when I die, maybe somebody else will say something they thought about for a while, feel the loss of me, and move on into tomorrow with the desire to love his people a little more.
Aidan and Grandpa Greg
Labels: Aidan, death, image, kin
| posted by Brandon @ 3/12/2009 09:21:00 PM
Dec 12th marks Aidan's Death and Dec 19th the ritual that followed. Here comes the week of descent.
We've been under siege for a year now. I'd love to get around this lasting two more years if possible. The sun still shines as brightly or the rain falls in its time. Still the walls get broken through and exiles begin, or not. I'd love to come home to my vocation in a place that values building community and working well with conflict. I feel in exile. So I write and write and write and write and
What else?
I believe in the danger and ubiquity of creeds.
Here is mine.
This is what passes for philosophy in my life.
Purpose is in the unfolding process of imagining a better way of being and then projecting it faithfully.
Reality is in the ongoing process of living ways of imagining through projection.
Suffering is in the continuous process of slowly realizing ways of being imagined through life.
Joy is in and on purpose, or it isn't. (start again)
At the level of identity I am Under Six Feet and Tall Enough to Reach the Records. On the other hand I am Big but not quite big Enough.
Under six-feet and "six feet under" are related...................(click on "Life's Too Short " if you are not Lisa)
Tall Enough is a prophecy. Big Enough isn't.
I'll say more of what I mean by this later, if there is a later, on my wiki.
I might put more here soon.
| ... | Wed 19th falls on the Jewish Fast of 10th Tevet. The Wikipedian oracle reads: |
| "The text in II Kings (25:1-4) tells us that on the 10th day of the 10th month, in the ninth year of his reign, (588 BCE), Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king, began the siege of Jerusalem. Three years later, on the 17th of Tammuz, he broke through the city walls. The siege ended with the destruction of the Temple three weeks later, on the 9th of Av, the end of the first Kingdoms and the exile of the Jewish people to Babylon." |
We've been under siege for a year now. I'd love to get around this lasting two more years if possible. The sun still shines as brightly or the rain falls in its time. Still the walls get broken through and exiles begin, or not. I'd love to come home to my vocation in a place that values building community and working well with conflict. I feel in exile. So I write and write and write and write and
What else?
I believe in the danger and ubiquity of creeds.
Here is mine.
This is what passes for philosophy in my life.
Purpose is in the unfolding process of imagining a better way of being and then projecting it faithfully.
Reality is in the ongoing process of living ways of imagining through projection.
Suffering is in the continuous process of slowly realizing ways of being imagined through life.
Joy is in and on purpose, or it isn't. (start again)
At the level of identity I am Under Six Feet and Tall Enough to Reach the Records. On the other hand I am Big but not quite big Enough.
Under six-feet and "six feet under" are related...................(click on "Life's Too Short " if you are not Lisa)
Tall Enough is a prophecy. Big Enough isn't.
I'll say more of what I mean by this later, if there is a later, on my wiki.
I might put more here soon.
Labels: Aidan, daily, grief, philosophy
| posted by Brandon @ 12/11/2007 03:00:00 PM
I've declared a moratorium on lists of woes.
This was inspired by hearing myself deliver the following...
"How am I doing? My 15 month old son died with no explanation just before last Christmas. As a result we gave up our home and jobs and drove around the nation, fueled by consumer credit which is now generating major fees. My Aikido organization opted to deny my advancement for political reasons even after my teacher promoted me, a large portion of our dojo traveled at their own expense to San Diego as instructed, and I demonstrated twice. My dissertation is still in stasis, not past its first chapter, while my clock ends in December and the federal direct loan people have restarted payments (now entering default) because my school won't list me as in process until I make "acceptable progress". I am responsible for all our family earning beyond the money my wife makes to pay for her schooling and I have no reliable job yet, beyond flexible hourly labor, and lost all income from my Aikido teaching. Following a misjudgment while I was away working in D.C., Washington Mutual elected to extend "Overdraft Protection" (unrequested loans) even though I had had same removed (so no money = no withdrawls/fees) and perpetrated fraud by way of fees and penalties that deserves legislative attention.
Our van was stolen, emptied of it's most valuable contents and then recovered in time for me to pass too close to an AC Transit Bus parked in the only lane of traffic for repairs, and touch its mirror with mine such that my passenger side window exploded. Which cost $250 to replace. And the bus was apparently damaged. And a fellow claimed he got glass in his eye even though he was on the other side of the van and considerably lower down and the reporting officer was "skeptical". My passport request in April resulted in a counter-request while we were on the road for extensive additional information which was packed in storage at home so, when we got home, my packet of info crossed their "never mind - you'll have to pay $150 and start again" letter in the post. I have airline tickets for next Monday October 29th to work in Canada. The bureaucracy and paperwork cascade following all this has made other activities than working and lurching around catching up almost impossible. How are you?"
As yet another hearer became more and more horrified with this brief version of the last several months, mumbled sympathetic noises and went away shoulders slumped, I reflected that this process didn't seem to be serving anyone. I've been operating under the mistaken assumption that speaking of suffering was in almost all cases a good idea. As the litany gets longer and longer it would seem like a comic set-up if it were happening within the confines of a shaggy dog story, sit-com, or stand-up act. A concrete person saying these things is mostly an assault on the soft places in thehuman heart. Talking has probably reached the limit of its usefulness. I'm tired of most folks I know wincing in anticipation of another addition to the list whenever they see me coming. So no more.
I asked my father for specific advice, a practice more or less unheard of and, in all his spiritual, therapeutic, and academic wanderings, I wondered, what had he learned of sparking life-shifts when some pattern had passed beyond being profoundly burdensome. He suggested (paraphrased) that I do everything in my power to minimize the things I can control as soon as possible and simplify parts of my life wherever possible in order to have more bandwidth to deal with sudden attacks from without. Seems a good idea. A significant part of me is beginning to disavow my responsibility in this cascade, which is against my religion. The question is not do I have influence here, but which parts of this can be brought under beneficent influence.
So I got my hair cut. Time for a costume change, hacking off what remains of my history (you are what you eat > hair is extruded protein > long hair is a metaphorical and literal record of whatever has gone before). I didn't lop off my hair during Aidan's Funeral and send it to be burned with his body just because he spent so much time riding me and sleeping with his hands in it. Every meal and nap and body transition we shared was in that hair and I want to hang on to any part of him I can for as long as I can. However, if this is in any way connected to my current dilemmas, and I'm not sure about it either way, I'm willing to experiment with altering parts of my experiential system. It will also probably help me get hired. In San Francisco I got flirted with by members of both genders, nobody got out of my way as I walked down the street, and I seem to have suddenly become more approachable. Fascinating.
Our van was stolen, emptied of it's most valuable contents and then recovered in time for me to pass too close to an AC Transit Bus parked in the only lane of traffic for repairs, and touch its mirror with mine such that my passenger side window exploded. Which cost $250 to replace. And the bus was apparently damaged. And a fellow claimed he got glass in his eye even though he was on the other side of the van and considerably lower down and the reporting officer was "skeptical". My passport request in April resulted in a counter-request while we were on the road for extensive additional information which was packed in storage at home so, when we got home, my packet of info crossed their "never mind - you'll have to pay $150 and start again" letter in the post. I have airline tickets for next Monday October 29th to work in Canada. The bureaucracy and paperwork cascade following all this has made other activities than working and lurching around catching up almost impossible. How are you?"
As yet another hearer became more and more horrified with this brief version of the last several months, mumbled sympathetic noises and went away shoulders slumped, I reflected that this process didn't seem to be serving anyone. I've been operating under the mistaken assumption that speaking of suffering was in almost all cases a good idea. As the litany gets longer and longer it would seem like a comic set-up if it were happening within the confines of a shaggy dog story, sit-com, or stand-up act. A concrete person saying these things is mostly an assault on the soft places in thehuman heart. Talking has probably reached the limit of its usefulness. I'm tired of most folks I know wincing in anticipation of another addition to the list whenever they see me coming. So no more.
I asked my father for specific advice, a practice more or less unheard of and, in all his spiritual, therapeutic, and academic wanderings, I wondered, what had he learned of sparking life-shifts when some pattern had passed beyond being profoundly burdensome. He suggested (paraphrased) that I do everything in my power to minimize the things I can control as soon as possible and simplify parts of my life wherever possible in order to have more bandwidth to deal with sudden attacks from without. Seems a good idea. A significant part of me is beginning to disavow my responsibility in this cascade, which is against my religion. The question is not do I have influence here, but which parts of this can be brought under beneficent influence.
So I got my hair cut. Time for a costume change, hacking off what remains of my history (you are what you eat > hair is extruded protein > long hair is a metaphorical and literal record of whatever has gone before). I didn't lop off my hair during Aidan's Funeral and send it to be burned with his body just because he spent so much time riding me and sleeping with his hands in it. Every meal and nap and body transition we shared was in that hair and I want to hang on to any part of him I can for as long as I can. However, if this is in any way connected to my current dilemmas, and I'm not sure about it either way, I'm willing to experiment with altering parts of my experiential system. It will also probably help me get hired. In San Francisco I got flirted with by members of both genders, nobody got out of my way as I walked down the street, and I seem to have suddenly become more approachable. Fascinating.
I highly recommend Joyce Hair Design (http://www.yelp.com/biz/S63wjabcaTsp_Fzo8xwOnQ) There is a clear conflict of interest in writing a recommendation for a "secret among friends." Granted the desire to promote a sterling businesswoman trumps this conflict, but the dilemma persists, so please tell all your friends to go but with the caveat that it mustn't be during the same shift I am trying to find parking and get my extruded protein managed.Joyce has that rare combination of top scores in each of the qualities I consider that can generate a highest rating. Capacity (relational, technical, and artistic), Accessibility (excellent location that presents no barriers to a good experience), and price ($18 + tip). Above all else, it is immediately evident that her primary desire and capacity is to make your head, the focus of the way humans initially perceive and remember each other, attractive. She really cares how you look, not just because it makes her look good and brings in recommendations but because it makes her happy. I asked Eric Winters where he got his excellent cut and he happened to have one of her cards on him. Now I do as well. THE REAL DEAL.
In other news...
Association Building Community's Special Purpose
Despite the rather ghostly reality governing our shared process at the moment, I realized I still carry an assumption that Beamish Process Arts, Inc. d.b.a Association Building Community (BPABC, or just ABC) carries unique and important mythic cargo, some pieces of the emerging, communitarian world view that are impossible, or at least very difficult, to find elsewhere. I think this is true of many other organizations as well but I am hunting our specific pieces in conscious opposition to the voice that says "we haven't made a noticable difference yet. What could we have to offer?" As we make decisions about whether to continue, I've been searching where I usually search for evidence of this kind of thing - in our story.
One piece of this became clearer to me on reading in a good friend and colleague's email:
went to a spiritual and activism exploration kind of thing today...why
do i do this?
was actually crying to think i spent so much time traveling to it....in
NYC. really nice people, nice speaker, but woe woe woe. does every one
have to try and reinvent the wheel, or at least think that they are
onto a New Idea?
ok ok ok.
When I tell people stories about ABC I often mention that we are oldish. I am the only member of our group under fifty-five and the others have been a part of either the upper management corporate world or peace and community activism since before The 60s in Berkeley were the 60s. There is a strong refrain in our history and dialogue that emerges from a history of disappointment with perfectly sound efforts to make peace or some related meaningful difference undermined by poor process despite existing expertise and stated commitments otherwise, by friction that could have led to self discovery and innovation but led instead to dissolution and even betrayal of partners and purpose.
There is something essential in a council of elders who have Been There and won't easily tolerate repetitions of those dilemmas, if we can gather young energy as well dedicated to building community on purpose and if we can still move forward through our fears that we won't have enough time and listening and clear enough communication to be faithful to our callings This Time.
When I go to progressive conferences to record them I study the form, content, and participants for traces of the developing Process Arts underlying our emerging world myth. A part of me despairs of getting paid for my real gift but wants to offer it anyway - an independent (third party), ongoing, facilitated, autocritical process that is a sophisticated debrief, inviting all voices to be heard before, during, and after. There are so many important developments missed or misunderstood which could be captured and understood if there were Process Arts in play throughout these "progressive" events. Otherwise "alternative" luminaries are satisfied with their own process savvy but don't identify the practice of the Process Arts as a whole as a value, therefore it sneaks in "by the way" in the same way that community is simply expected to happen when people get together, even when those involved know from experience it must be built on purpose at the cultural level. Still there is "no time for process" they've got to "focus on targets and goals"...and other corporatisms that keep all voices from coming forth and keep us repeating the same old shit woe woe woe.
It is the same dilemma John Abbe articulated so well while addressing the issue of the use of technology during the Nexus for Change events, thus far held once in Bowling Green, OH.
do i do this?
was actually crying to think i spent so much time traveling to it....in
NYC. really nice people, nice speaker, but woe woe woe. does every one
have to try and reinvent the wheel, or at least think that they are
onto a New Idea?
ok ok ok.
When I tell people stories about ABC I often mention that we are oldish. I am the only member of our group under fifty-five and the others have been a part of either the upper management corporate world or peace and community activism since before The 60s in Berkeley were the 60s. There is a strong refrain in our history and dialogue that emerges from a history of disappointment with perfectly sound efforts to make peace or some related meaningful difference undermined by poor process despite existing expertise and stated commitments otherwise, by friction that could have led to self discovery and innovation but led instead to dissolution and even betrayal of partners and purpose.
There is something essential in a council of elders who have Been There and won't easily tolerate repetitions of those dilemmas, if we can gather young energy as well dedicated to building community on purpose and if we can still move forward through our fears that we won't have enough time and listening and clear enough communication to be faithful to our callings This Time.
When I go to progressive conferences to record them I study the form, content, and participants for traces of the developing Process Arts underlying our emerging world myth. A part of me despairs of getting paid for my real gift but wants to offer it anyway - an independent (third party), ongoing, facilitated, autocritical process that is a sophisticated debrief, inviting all voices to be heard before, during, and after. There are so many important developments missed or misunderstood which could be captured and understood if there were Process Arts in play throughout these "progressive" events. Otherwise "alternative" luminaries are satisfied with their own process savvy but don't identify the practice of the Process Arts as a whole as a value, therefore it sneaks in "by the way" in the same way that community is simply expected to happen when people get together, even when those involved know from experience it must be built on purpose at the cultural level. Still there is "no time for process" they've got to "focus on targets and goals"...and other corporatisms that keep all voices from coming forth and keep us repeating the same old shit woe woe woe.
It is the same dilemma John Abbe articulated so well while addressing the issue of the use of technology during the Nexus for Change events, thus far held once in Bowling Green, OH.
| I agree with what Gabriel said, "Technology must serve the purpose of the event," *and* want to call our attention to the fact that some of what is being offered here is not simply technology, but processes (eg wiki) with their own history and philosophy, every bit as deep and powerful as, say, Open Space. So one could just as well say, "Open Space must serve the purpose of the event." This points to how we might modify pure Open Space - or wiki - to serve the event, and to the idea that we choose some processes because of the values they embody, and we may want to stick with them even if (maybe even because of how) they stimulate discomfort, and may involve some learning for conference participants. |
One may as well say "the event must serve" or "processes must serve the event" at which point you run the risk of making a statement so general that it becomes a platitude. Time for process (deep listening/dialogue/deliberation/etc), as an art, for its own sake is a cultural value cultivated in the presence of the inescapable. There will be a way that we are doing things. Process Arts simply make structure, method, and critique as conscious as can be arranged. Process time is not an option. It is not a question of if there will be structural choices but of how they will be made - habit, design, etc. Nexus is already using technology, so it is not an if proposition. The question is how to do that so that it serves best and sparkles most beautifully.
The question is ever: how to prepare and then authentically process difference and parallels such that "progress" doesn't simply rehearse the same tired and ever present power dynamics? I think it has to do with Elder voices, but in the literal older folk and inside the younger ones of us who have suffered set-backs and loss and have learned a bit of how to grieve. It is from that place that conflict may be practiced and processed with integrity and centered dynamism.
Up(&)coming
This Wednesday I'll help record the beginning of the Foundation for Human Enrichment's "First International Annual Somatic Experiencing® Conference" at the Claremont in Berkeley. I'll be at the Pangea conference Th-Fr solo recording and video taping their work toward pediatric wellness. Then it is on to Vancouver for BMC software's monster annual do. I'll be in Canada Oct 29-Nov 3.
Labels: ABC, Aidan, daily, grief
| posted by Brandon @ 10/22/2007 10:31:00 PM
Two years ago today, Sept 23rd, 2005 Aidan was born.
I miss him more than I can quite grasp, much less express.
Whenever I put more media here I'll simply move this post to the top of the cue.
I miss him more than I can quite grasp, much less express.
Whenever I put more media here I'll simply move this post to the top of the cue.
| posted by Brandon @ 9/24/2007 05:33:00 PM
No steady half-time job yet, though I'm grateful to Huston Smith and Kayla Feder for their recommendations. I'm also grateful to Iris McGinnis for In-Home Support work, Jim Shultz for informal pick-up work improving his properties, and Richard Page for conference recording work. We were just in D.C. recording the hugely important information being lectured on at International Forum on Globalization where I learned from Ann Leonard about her new 20 minute film that is the best quick and clear outline of the Triple Crisis (Climate change, peak oil, global resource depletion & extinction) I've ever seen. It will be streamed in about a month and I'll send out a link when I have one. I got around six hours of time-zone crunched sleep a night and, upon returning, was stupid enough to not only work every day but stay up nights to try to get the new apartment ready for my birthday gathering. For me no sleep = sick.
Friday I had finished helping Huston and Kendra Smith for the day, then gave more computer help and had lunch and process time with Leon Regelson. Continuing to feel profoundly under the weather, I returned home and parked just around the corner from our apartment before calling Kayla Sensei at Aikido of Berkeley and asking for someone else to teach my Saturday morning class, as I would be in bed all day.
After being in bed most of yesterday I discovered a huge bank disaster. I decided a bit of a walk might help and stumbled out of the door with the dog to find that Serenity, our van and walkabout home, had been stolen off the street. Our neighbor heard it start up and watched it drive away a couple of hours after I parked it. It took Officer Golden of the Berkeley P.D. longer to show up to take the report because of two homicides.
There appears to be a chance the vehicle might be recovered. It might even have some or all of the stuff in it we had loaded to go to storage: the photos from our wedding and of our family, the silver heirloom pitcher given to Lisa as a wedding gift by my grandmother Martha Craig just before she died, the hakama given me as a present by the dojo, and so much more.
Today would have been Aidan's 2nd birthday.
I have spent it mostly as planned: alone, either enraged or watering the Wasteland or both, working on Aidan related recordings, photos, and videos I have been avoiding. I'll try to post some of it online soon, in case you are interested.
Being one of The Good Guys doesn't mean you win.
Sorry to ruin the suspense, if there still was any.
It just means that you don't have to avoid mirrors.
Not asking for anything - just needing to write.
Really tired of writing stuff like this.
Even more tired of living it.
Friday I had finished helping Huston and Kendra Smith for the day, then gave more computer help and had lunch and process time with Leon Regelson. Continuing to feel profoundly under the weather, I returned home and parked just around the corner from our apartment before calling Kayla Sensei at Aikido of Berkeley and asking for someone else to teach my Saturday morning class, as I would be in bed all day.
After being in bed most of yesterday I discovered a huge bank disaster. I decided a bit of a walk might help and stumbled out of the door with the dog to find that Serenity, our van and walkabout home, had been stolen off the street. Our neighbor heard it start up and watched it drive away a couple of hours after I parked it. It took Officer Golden of the Berkeley P.D. longer to show up to take the report because of two homicides.
There appears to be a chance the vehicle might be recovered. It might even have some or all of the stuff in it we had loaded to go to storage: the photos from our wedding and of our family, the silver heirloom pitcher given to Lisa as a wedding gift by my grandmother Martha Craig just before she died, the hakama given me as a present by the dojo, and so much more.
Today would have been Aidan's 2nd birthday.
I have spent it mostly as planned: alone, either enraged or watering the Wasteland or both, working on Aidan related recordings, photos, and videos I have been avoiding. I'll try to post some of it online soon, in case you are interested.
Being one of The Good Guys doesn't mean you win.
Sorry to ruin the suspense, if there still was any.
It just means that you don't have to avoid mirrors.
Not asking for anything - just needing to write.
Really tired of writing stuff like this.
Even more tired of living it.
Labels: Aidan, daily, death, grief, money, sick, theft
| posted by Brandon @ 9/23/2007 10:11:00 PM
Surreal, or the Outskirts of the Real?
It's a beautiful day outside in Medford, OR.
Mom (Paula Craig) and I drove half an hour north to Grant's Pass (Grant's Pants) to see beloved cousins (only neice to my Grandfather Paul) Gene and Betty (Ann) Meier. She is struggling with bronchitis and he has new (two weeks) hearing aids, and both are rather surprised to discover themselves in their early eighties. We haven't seen each other since the Christmas of Paula and David's divorce when my grandparents, Paul and Martha Craig, shipped Paula, Meghan, and me off to spend the holidays with the Craigs and Meiers in the latter's home in Huntington Beach (L.A.). Meghan remembers us as 12 and 6 years old. She's probably right. Since then, Betty and Gene moved to Prescott AZ, and then built in a gated community in Grant's Pass "across the river" from their current residence, a lovely but smaller (than 1.5 acres) beautifully furnished home.
I found myself sitting at her bedside, hearing him worry about his sister (nine years older) whom he has just moved from California to a nearby locked facility that can deal with wander- risk dementia cases. She keeps falling but hasn't broken anything yet, which we agree is often the beginning of the end. "That's gotta be the worst way to go," says he. I casually mention, while going through my mother's pictures with them, that "this is our little boy, the one we just lost." On the way home Mom asks if I'm integrating well or just an excellent actor. I'm sure I claimed both, as well as reasonable psychological health. Whatever.
Last night the horizon was issued a citation, with penalties in excess of several million Canadian dollars, for impersonating the best of both Texas' and arctic sunsets. How is beauty of this magnitude still possible?
I gave my Mom a Christmas gift of an mp3 player, so she can carry music with her and control the volume, thereby becoming able to listen to beautiful sounds again. While packing it with some best-of-the-best and inescapable rhythms the "how is this beauty possible" question kept coming up in my heart.
Wise body. Resentful. Holding until the hand cramps and makes hurting impossible to deny or delay (waiting to be entirely alone) entirely.
My mind has no trouble with appreciating how beautiful fragments of life can be, especially on reflection, but my body feels them embedded as shards for all their glistening.
Our last images of Aidan include several from December 4th when he fell against a cabinet door and the pull struck the corner of his mouth which bled and swelled.
The bleeding stopped in almost no time, as usual, but the feeling of having to deal with some profound offense stayed in his body and showed on his face for some time. What to do with pain? Can't make it go away. It insists on itself, and on time. It insists and imposes and grates away some soft, innocent parts to which the body was attached.
In profound discomfort he is a toddler, a "big boy", and no longer a baby here. He looks so much older to me than when he was so small in my arms, looking up into my face, falling into sleep slung in my pouch, walking with the dog under the moon, staff in hand through the cooling night.
This is our little boy, the one we just lost.
I don't want to stop my faithful hurting.
I want my boy back.
I want my boy back.
Labels: aging, Aidan, dying, family, grief, Shepherd
| posted by Brandon @ 12/29/2006 02:32:00 PM
