It's been a while . . .

In my mind, I have started many new entries. But, I guess I don't actually blog because the searing pain of losing Kyle has subsided and my drive to make sense of things has lessened. Or maybe I'm at a plateau where I understand as much as I'm going to for a while.

For months, I have wanted to write about magical thinking. Although I tend to be rooted in the rational, I spent weeks talking to a flickering street lamp when out walking my dog at night, half believing it was Kyle. My sister Sal, who has always been a bit psychic, says that messing around with electricity is something that spirits can pull off. (She's convinced that Kyle was the one setting off our fire detectors in the middle of the night.) I don't buy it really, but the street lamp had an uncanny ability to blink off or on or flicker right at the end of my questions I posed. While not believing, I still couldn't not speak to him, just in case. How could I abandon my boy, stuck in another dimension.

Then one night, the darned lamp was bright bright, no pulsing on and off anymore. In fact, it was so bright, I could barely look at it. Someone had fixed the lamp and Ky was clearly no where near. I felt a little silly, having spent time talking to a lamppost way after dark.

Thank you being there, for reading. My hope is that it helps or illumines something or, by telling one mother's story it tells many mothers' story.

Kyle is in my thoughts throughout every day. I miss him terribly still.

i love finding another picture

i love it when i find pictures of Kyle. i don't remember taking this one. i believe it was the last time he was in LA, possibly Memorial Day weekend. he is packing the great green bag that his dad gave him and my sister sallie will soon be driving him to Santa Monica to take the commuter bus back up to San Francisco. the look on his face is not the challenging, "Mom, stop it with the camera," it's more a look of "Okay, i'll indulge you one more time." as ever, there are his long, strong, beautiful hands.

at long last i hear kyle's voice again

i couldn't get by Forest Lawn today. i worked all day without a break and would have arrived after dark. i hate not going by to clean ky's marker and leave some flowers.

when i got home, on my computer desktop iMovie was open. i vaguely remembered clicking on it by mistake as i was leaving for work in a hurry. i thought about the movie ky was working on the years before his death, the one he'd shown to me when he was home that last memorial day weekend. i start going through the clips.

they are as i remember, for the most part: drive-by shots of the streets and highways of San Francisco, clips of graffiti and tags, a tour of his haunts, and once or twice he's on a bus. some he took at the Venice graffiti wall or driving in LA. the soundtrack is usually the noisy street, sometimes the music on a CD player, sometimes the sounds of the car. (at time i'm not sure whose car he was in or who was driving.) sometimes there is silence and sometimes there are voices. and some of the time--be still my heart--i hear kyle.

i've been wanting so much to hear kyle's voice again. i have been heartsick that he left no outgoing greeting on his cell phone, heartsick i did not have one of his last voicemail messages saved.

in the video clips, sometimes ky's hand reaches in the frame pointing to something or picking up something. once, you see the camera pan down to his hand turning his dickey pants pocket inside out, proving to a guy he hasn't any more money than the quarter he's just given the guy. one time you see him capture his own tall shadow on the sidewalk. but as i watch i never see a clear image of kyle.

i do, though, hear bits and snatches of his deep voice. sometimes just a random word. sometimes more. chuckling, laughing, commenting, teasing, semi-interviewing. some things he'd be embarrassed by (or not). some his father would hate (or not). to me--part mother, part sponge--i am thirsty for every utterance.

i'll find a way to imbed a clip here. but when i do, take a breath or two before you listen. it's like having kyle here again, just out of sight.

Kyle's Friend Maria

today Maria came to visit. i'd never met her, but we had emailed a bit. she was out of the country when Kyle died and when we had his memorial in August. Maria sent pictures of Kyle and this is one of the two of them.

Maria had met Kyle when they were both part of the Early Bird program at SFSU. in July of 2003, they lived across the hall from each other in the dorm. they became good friends and kept in touch every few months throughout the rest of his life.

Maria's story is like so many others I have heard. when i--trying to figure out the network of Ky's life--ask a friend of Kyle's if s/he knows another friend--often s/he doesn't. while Maria knew Ky's freshman roommate Phil K. and others, she did not know the other Phil or Flynn or Sean or George.

each time i meet another friend, i learn more about Kyle. and more often than not, i get confirmation of how sweet and caring and wonderful a friend he had been.

for Kyle's friends to go out of their way to email, to send photos, to call, to come visit me--their friend's mother--when they are in LA, this speaks a lot to who Kyle was and to how important he was in their lives.

so Maria and i sat together and watched the Kyle slideshow. she talked about the last time she and Kyle had gone to Mojito's to see Phil's band play and how he'd bought her a Philly cheese steak sandwich. she remembered Ky looking at her with surprise when she offered him her couch (he'd been living in a hostel) as if he didn't understand how good a friend she considered him. she spoke of how sad she had been to be out of the country when news arrived of Ky's accident. we cried a bit and hugged and she assured me that everyone who met him loved him.

this lovely young woman taught me more about my boy.

what a gift i received today.

Post Mortem

i am doing well. truly.

the year built and built from the moment of the phone call from gear. i moved first as if under water, swimming and clawing my way through mire and sludge. sometimes it was as if i were climbing a mountain, out of breath, then finally making it over the top, only to run, nearing falling, plummeting down too fast to the bottom.

i still spend time floating on my back in the pool, staring at the sky, watching clouds, tracking birds, swaying with tree tops, wondering about Kyle. but the pain has lessened, the burden is lighter. i breathe more easily.

so i've made it through the entire First Year. there are no other firsts to face. except the anniversary of the memorial in Eagle Rock on August 19th. but i think that will be fine. it's different than the reliving of the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 13th of july. and every holiday, birthday.

i am well. i feel well. i have kept on my eating plan and have lost 57 pounds and wearing size 10 pants (omigod) and am swimming a lot and am healthier than i've been in a long long time. Kyle would be happy, cause he worried about my weight. and Miranda is relieved, i'm sure. she once said, and it stays with me, "Mom, you can't die before I've learned all your wisdom." how could you keep killing yourself with food with a child like that to live for.

soon i am heading off to visit family and friends in New England and that will be both exhilarating and exhausting, but essentially good. i never spent enough time there with the children, but i can't dwell on that, or on any regret, now.

it's all good, isn't it, Kyle.

I'll see you in my . . .

I've passed the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th. There will be the 13th and there will be August 19th, but it was last weekend that I felt looming and that I both dreaded and welcomed. I made it through, with a lot of help from my friends, family, and Ky's friends. I spent time with several, got calls and emails and notes from others. They were thinking of and praying for me and Mir and Gear. Every message was an embrace. They (you) got me through.

I had a gift in the night. I dreamt of Kyle when he was about 3 years old, about the age he is in this picture, taken on their first day of school after we moved to Eagle Rock. Miranda heading off to Eagle Rock Elementary and Kyle to Eagle Rock Montessori. Except in my dream his hair was shorter.

I don't remember much, but the dream went on for a long time. At one point Kyle was holding my mascara and someone (I think it was MY mum) was concerned, but I went over to him and let him hold it with me as I put some on my eyelashes. Was I ever so gentle and caring as I was in this dream? I only hope so.

I never put a lot of value on dreams, but now they are treasures. I got to see Ky again, so sweet and earnest. My beautiful little boy.

The 5th of July: Part I - The Day Begins

In a little while Ky's friends will arrive: George, Sean, Andrew, Phil, and Flynn. Cousin Dev will come too. It was hard to know how to spend this day being with his closest buds, with those who loved him and miss him. Later I'll go to visit Ky at Forest Lawn.

I'm putting on the reggae and chillin the beers.
The guest of honor, unfortunately, can not attend.

Kyle with Laura in earthtones

The 4th of July - Part III: You Want Signs?

of course i talk to Ky all the time. and in the pool this morning i'm sure i said something to him like, "Just give me a sign." the problem with asking for signs is then you see signs everywhere; whether they are there or not.

well, just now, as i was finishing blogging, i hear reggae booming from my balcony. as if i'd just pulled up one of Ky's many tunes from my iTunes. i realize it's coming from below the balcony so i look out to see if there is a car stalled below.

there is not a car.
but there are people.
riding by on bicycles.
young, old, men, women, children.
must be 20 or so or more riding on by.
in a long long line.
i see flags and dreads and baskets and mostly i hear the wonderful pulse of reggae.

i'll take it as a sign.
it would be like Ky to make it a reggae sign.
saying, "Put on some of my music."
and i will and i'll crank it up.
thanks, baby.

The 4th of July - Part II: A Beautiful Day

the first thing to remember about today is that one year ago on the 4th of July Kyle was happy. he spent the day with George and Laura and he was having a wonderful time.

and one year ago, on the 4th, Sallie and I--having the first day off in ages-- completely luxuriated in the condo pool for hours and hours. we swam or floated around, sat, sunned, read, chatted, had a light meal and drinks. all in the sun. i rarely used the pool in the two years i'd lived here. Sallie had taken to the pool the moment she'd arrived, but not me. i wouldn't get into using the pool until after Ky's death, when it became the source of great aquatherapy and meditation.

we would, some time in that gorgeous sunny day, have our brief cell phone call with Ky. he was in Santa Cruz, having fun, George was there. he talked with Sal and with me and said those last words, "I'll call you when I'm back in the city, Mom. Love you." and, as Ky would say, it was "all good."

so, in replaying this day, we don't need to feel bad; we haven't come to the scary part. as a boy, forever in tune with music, Ky would run from the room as soon as the music told him the scary part was starting. well, the music hasn't changed. the scary part's not starting yet.

so don't cry for me or Ky or anyone or yourself yet. today is the anniversary of a beautiful 4th of July where relaxation and fun and friendship and love reigned.

The 4th of July - Part I: Not Alone

this is a pic of Laura (well a sliver of Laura) and Kyle. Laura did the colors thing; she is quite artistic. i like this pic of Ky because i know he is having a good time; he's with Laura; they are lying around together (not doing homework, not working). i don't know how they took it, though maybe Laura did with her cell, which is why we can't see her. it was taken early in their all too brief relationship, in the early months of 2007. i wanted to post something that would remind me that Kyle was in love and not alone.

i, also, am loved and not alone. family and friends have been leaving messages or posting or otherwise letting me know that they are holding me in their thoughts. holding me. perfect words. they are holding me and no doubt trying to protect me against what i--along with gearey and miranda and laura and many many others--will relive over the next few days.

i will be with friends during the mid-day. i will lock Toby in the bathroom with KUSC and take a short walk down the channel to the fireworks. i will be okay. after all, last year's 4th of July was a beautiful day.

Barack Obama: "It's Our Time"

One of the perks of signing up at Barack Obama's website or of contributing to his campaign a bunch of times is that you get emails from the Senator himself. Yeah, I know he didn't actually hit the return button and send it out to me, but that's okay. He's got a few other things to do. I like getting "his" emails anyway (even though, like a kid, he asks for money every time). The one that arrived late Tuesday had the subject line: It's Our Time.

Yes.
It is.
It is OUR time.

Now some may think this means it's Black folks' time. And yes, it does. It is Black folks' time. Long overdue, yet sooner than most of us dared to hope. But it is also our time, my time.

As a little girl who was raised to believe that the Democrats were "the closest thing to Communists," it is my time. As an 11 year old who quaked at her bedroom window praying that Kennedy and Khrushchev wouldn't blow up the world, it is my time. As a 13 year old who read every book about utopias she could find, it is my time. As a hippie, demonstrator, and political theatre activist, it is my time. As a Massachusetts native who voted for McGovern, it is my time. As a voter, precinct walker, petition signer, donator, do-gooder, it is my time. As a social worker, it is my time. As a mother, it is my time. As a white woman who has been wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin' about President Obama since he announced, it is my time.

Will President Obama do all that I want? No. Will he do stuff that will make me email and call and want to give him a piece of my mind? Oh, yes. Will he be enough like Dennis Kucinich or Paul Wellstone or John Edwards? I doubt it. But, will I be able to watch his press conferences and listen to his rhetoric? You betcha. Will I know there is an intelligent, mentally healthy person in the White House? Yes, indeed. Will I feel I have a leader who will be interested in my opinion? I believe so.

Is this race about race? Of course it is. It is about a brilliant, charismatic, wise and savvy, down-to-earth, caring, idealistic man (who can pronounce nuclear)--who also happens to be Black. And, as the mother of African-American children, I am thrilled that my Miranda and the children of her generation are witnessing this. And as a member of an African-American family, I am moved beyond words for Great Aunt Gloria and those of her generation, after all that they have witnessed.

Of course, my excitement is dampened by Kyle not being among us. I wrote Who Would Kyle Vote For? in January, when I barely dared to hope that Senator Obama would be the Democratic Party's candidate. I so wish Kyle were here to challenge me and enlighten me and pull me down to earth if I float too high, but mostly I wish he were here because it is our time and he should be here to enjoy it.

(sorry for the crude phone photo of my poster; does capture my restricted vision, however . . .)

Last Memorial Day

The last time I saw Kyle--well really saw him--talking and laughing and full of life, was right after Memorial Day last year. He had spent some time making this monster of a message on the Venice graffiti wall. It was a response to the fact that following the weekend, the city of Venice would put into effect a new law: writers could no longer paint on the wall without a permit. He thought that was ridiculous and wrote the above message: FUCKAPERMIT. He particularly liked the fact that the wall was across from the police station. I liked the fact that he was getting the 3D down really well.

That kid at the right end? He's already started to paint over Ky's work. That's how it was at the graffiti wall. Soon as you were done, the next writer is literally all over it. To get the picture, Ky had to ask folk to wait and then run way back to take the shot. He came home and dumped his pictures into my computer and we had a great talk that night. I told him I thought that if he were going to be a graffiti artist that words and messages, his politics, would be his talent. He then spent ages showing me pictures of graffiti he had taken all over San Francisco. He'd explained about his name DFEAT and the FYF crew theme that, sadly, I'd get to know so much more about that (FarewellYoungFriend). The time Ky spent with me, even at the time, felt like a gift, like something we were both savoring.

Sunnyvale Train Station

Below is the train station where Ky fell. The Sunnyvale CalTrain Station. You can see a train approaching, heading north. The same type train, going in the same direction, that Kyle and Laura rode from Santa Cruz. Above is the front car, with the type of ladder he climbed. The top window: that is where the engineer sat whom Ky was trying to get to stop the train, because he wanted to get back on to continue his ride home, with Laura.

On Sunday, on Ky's 23rd birthday, I went to the station with my friend Maggie and George, one of Ky's oldest and best friends. The trains are double decker and Laura and Ky rode on the top. When their train stopped in Sunnyvale, it was delayed because of a suicide further north but on the south bound side. An announcement said it wouldn't be leaving for 45 minutes. Ky left to get them food. Laura looked out the window and caught Kyle's eye. He did a little skanking dance. Her last sight of him was smiling and happy and dancing.

He walked to a nearby area where there were all kinds of food, Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese. A really charming welcoming little street with cafe chairs in front of places, doors to bar type joints wide open.

At some point Kyle got the calls and texts from Laura. The train was ready to leave. Sooner than the 45 minutes promised. The detective said 20 minutes, the newspapers said 30. He left the restaurant without the food and ran.

Looking up at the train, George and Maggie and I could understand what Kyle was trying to do. The engineer in his little window was just out of reach to our tall guy. It would have seemed possible to get the driver's attention. If he'd just look down to the right he'd have seen Kyle waving. But he didn't and Kyle climbed up a step or two or more--I'm not sure--of the ladder on the front. At some point, Kyle would have realized the train was moving and he'd better get off. He tried to jump, I believe, and then fell, hitting the back right side of his head. From the height of the step and with his own 6 foot 8 inches, the impact was massive.

We could picture it and make sense of it. It was good to be with George, who has been so dear, keeping in touch and visiting me. George, who was the last friend to see Ky and say goodbye, having put Laura and Kyle on the train not an hour before. It wasn't supposed to be goodbye for long. Another concert was coming up.

Maggie had so thoughtfully brought flowers and petals and we scattered them. And we hugged and of course I cried.

I was glad I went to the train station. Glad I could begin to see through my own eyes what Ky was trying to do. Glad I could understand his last conscious minutes. Glad I saw the quaint sunny street of shops. Glad I could picture him dancing off to get him and his sweetheart some food. That's the best place to freeze the memory.

Last Picture/Show

In honor of Ky's birth day, Yuma sent these pictures of Kyle and Richie Spice. He took them at the Sierra Nevada Music Festival in late June of 2007. This may be the last picture taken of Kyle, so it is very precious. He was listening intently or thinking hard for sure. Yuma said, "We had so much fun and we wanted to see Richie Spice so bad for so long!!! and it happened!!" He said it was so chill and irie and the best concert ever.

Thought you would all love to see this picture of Kyle. One more of his expressions for us to savor.

Thank you Yuma. One peace and love.

April 13, 1985

On Sunday, it will be Kyle's 23rd birthday. The picture above is of Kyle, minutes old, in the arms of his dad. Kyle was two weeks overdue. As a boy he used to laugh and say that he didn't want to come out because he was so comfortable in there. The doctor got concerned, so he gave Gear and I some articles to read about inducing and told us to talk it over at dinner and then if we were comfortable about it, to just head to the hospital. So late in the evening about 11pm, the nurses started to induce labor. That kicked things off and eventually I had about 10 hours of hard labor (less than with Miranda), but then pushed for 3 hours before the doctor said he was going to have to perform a Caesarean.

Kyle Campbell Whitham McLeod was born at about 6:36 pm. He was 22 inches long and weighed 9 pounds, 15 and 1/4 ounces. We were pretty impressed with that weight, but the same day at the Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital a 13 pound baby girl was born. If Kyle got to be 6'8" I wonder how big that girl is today. He had the biggest hands and the longest fingers and Gear said, "Piano playing power forward." Kyle was so wide awake under the lights in the nursery that the nurses had to take him into their dark station for him to get some sleep. Ky's big sister, Miranda, welcomed him home a few days later and just adored him. With our boy, our little family felt complete.

On Ky's birthday, I'll be up north in Cupertino attending a memorial event by the Musculoskeletel Tissue Foundation. There will be recipients there and there will be a slide show of all of last year's donors. It may seem a little odd to be doing this; but I'm feeling drawn up north again and I'm not put off by public grieving rituals. At least I'll be crying with a bunch of other people for a change, in a place where crying is expected. And I think it might be harder to be at Forest Lawn, which is where I'd be otherwise.

But I will celebrate a little bit at Forest Lawn tomorrow, before I leave town. I'm bringing some sandalwood incense to burn and a little battery run speaker (that I had given Ky) to play some reggae, and I have a tiny little bottle of bubble stuff--I'll probably leave that there for any of you who will be visiting him. I'll bring some flowers of course. It's odd not having food around when thinking about celebrating a birthday, particularly Kyle's, but of course you can't leave food around a grave, what with ants and coyotes.

So if you're in town and free on Sunday, the 13th, consider giving Ky a visit or-- wherever you are--maybe raise a glass to Kyle and say a few words. If Ky were here he would be partying: with music and friends and libation and laughter. And it would be all good, wouldn't it.

Dearest boy, I love you and miss you and carry you in my thoughts and heart every moment. Happy Birthday, Kyle.

Yes, taxes, again -- and more reminders

I think any of you who are following this blog must wonder at all my references to taxes. Why so many? Well, I filed Federal and State taxes late last year, in October. Then, in February, I was busy doing my City Taxes. Now, I am determined to do my Feds on time. I'm not doing too badly. Should be better prepared for my appointment on Friday than I normally am.

The challenge? Reminders of Kyle are everywhere. They are in the envelope of receipts--all the purchases for the Last Thanksgiving, the Last Christmas, the Last Concert in town, the Last Year's Birthday party before the Last Concert, the Last Birthday Dinner. Why did I save them? Cause I just collect all my pieces of paper from my wallet, purse, calendar book, briefcase bag, desktop, and throw them in a file and then greet them all again at tax time. My theory: the more receipts, the more deductions I'll find.

But what do I find along with those little deductions? Kyle-related receipts that have nothing to do with my taxes. But can I throw them out now? Of course not. How can I throw out the receipt that tells me what we had to eat in honor of Ky's turning 22? How can I throw out a random receipt with spaghetti carbonara on it--it had to be Kyle's order. How can I throw out a receipt for boxers--the annual Xmas re-stocking of his underwear. Or the receipt from Pearl for all his art supplies.

So I stuffed those receipts in an envelope and wrote "Kyle" on it. And I took other receipts and put them in an envelope with "Miranda" on it.

And I got back to my taxes.

Verizon and Kyle and Dylan and Me

This has been a tearful afternoon. It's a bit of a long story.

I pay most of my bills through a pay company that used to be called PayMyBills.com. Great name. Now, it's Paytrust. Is that supposed to inspire confidence?

Anyway. For some reason I can't get my Verizon bills paid via Paytrust. I follow the steps, make new passwords, go from Verizon back to Paytrust and back to Verizon. The links don't seem to work. And I don't spend that much time worrying about it, so I tend to wait a couple of months and pay my wireless bill when I start getting text messages and home phone recorded reminders. To make it worse, I actually have 2, count'em, 2 Verizon accounts: one for my wireless and one for my home phone and DSL. My home phone quality s****. My condo association is supposed to give us a new TV cable company which will have DSL and then hopefully I can trash Verizon completely (altho they do own the local area--I thought we'd put competition and free choice back into our telephone experience following the execution of Ma Bell). But I digress.

I've been avoiding other calls from Verizon. The ones that want me to re-up for a new contract. I had a 2 year contract for phones for Kyle and me. Together we had a family plan and 1400 minutes to share. We never used them all and it was a safe number considering the number of client, family, and friend calls I get and the tendency of Kyle to get a call over with quickly.

I did call last fall trying to change my phone situation, but I was reminded I have signed a contract thru January. I didn't have the strength to fight it, although I did have enough to passive-aggressively lay it on the Verizon Associate that since my son was dead it would be hard to use both phones and both lines. At which point I hung up.

Meanwhile, I had written down (in the blank book I carried up north in which I had written everything I needed to remember about hospital, donor, detective, mortuary, cemetery, and financial business--among other things) the numbers and times of Kyle's last calls, his last incoming and outgoing text messages, and so forth. There wasn't a lot stuff on this cell, because Kyle had lost his previous phone a few weeks before his death. In fact he'd had to get his numbers from me to make a new contact list and so didn't have many numbers put back in. He explained that now he only had the numbers of his very best friends, because if they hadn't called him, he didn't have their numbers to call them.

Even tho I had written down the phone information, I lived with a dread that I hadn't captured it all. I kept wanting to go through it all again, scroll every menu to try to get every bit of information about Kyle's last minutes and days, but I didn't seem or want to find the time. And I was damned if I was going to turn off the cell phone before I finished my search. Of course, I was thwarted by the fact that the cell phone stopped recharging. So it sits on my desk, enticing me with inaccessible secrets.

January passes and I still don't go to Verizon. I get calls about re-upping my contract. I ignore them. Why? I just don't want to cut off Kyle's account. I don't want his phone to be dead (although it is anyway). I've already cut off all kinds of things with his name on it. I just hate the finality of it.

But then comes the call that I need to pay the phone bill and I talk with Verizon and promise I'll do it by Monday and then Monday comes and goes and finally I'm at work in between things and think that I better not get my cell phone cut off--that's my livelihood--and so I go on line and find the phone number and make the call.

And a really lovely woman named April (check out today's date) helps me pay my bill. And I tell her about Kyle and of course cry too much but she is so sweet. And she helps me change my Plan so that I am not paying twice as much as I need to. And she reassures me that the chip in Kyle's phone will hold the information until I am ready to do something about it. Thank you April.

So that was part of the reason that the waterworks started. And continued. Another reason was that I've put in 40 extra hours in the past week on a project and haven't gotten much sleep. And a third reason was that I was listening to my shuffle and Bob Dylan's gravelly voice singing "He Was a Friend of Mine" in a mournful minor key:

he was a friend of mine,
he was a friend of mine,
every time i think about him now
lord, i just can't keep from cryin'
cause he was a friend of mine

And then other lyrics like: he died on the road . . . a thousand miles from home . . . he never harmed no one . . .

And then I just couldn't keep from cryin' either . . .

And I just was missing Kyle so much and feeling so sorry for myself and wanting to reach out for comfort (as I was editing the comfort and grief sections of the Psychological First Aid training manual!) but not really wanting to do it at the office. I knew I would get home and I would blog and my blog would absorb my grief and transform it into a neat contained pretty-type-faced entry. And I knew that by the time I was through, my tears would have dried.

So I'll catch up on sleep, put Ky's cell phone in a drawer, and stay away from Dylan for a bit. And keep on bloggin' Mama, bloggin' your blues away.

Bless you, my blog, and you, kind reader.

Kyle's Computer: A Treasure Trove

This is my first Sunday without Taxes to finish or Contract Job deadline. And I got an extra hour (godbless Daylight Savings) since we fell back last night. I slept in, spent an hour on the phone with a friend. And then went into the Kyle Vault. Actually Sal called me into her room/Ky's room to show me the slide show that seemingly randomly starts up on her/his computer. Loads of images, some taken by Ky, some downloaded, some sent to him by others. It's easy to get swallowed into the experience. Hypnotic slow rhythm of pic after pic after pic. Lots of graffiti, a bunch of internet downloads, occasional gems--like the pic of Ky above, a self- portrait I think.

I search further and find Notepad documents. Many college homework assignments and a couple of diary type entries. My heart and breath stop as I read. I still keep learning about my son.

This one Kyle called:

Terrible

sparked the blunt
that i copped in the park
for a nick, its skinny, i save half for the dark
in the evenin, when the sun goes down
when aint nobody home and nobodys around
turn off the lights i write and burn trees
reach new heights of introspection, every day a new question
constantly guessing, dont look, jump, hold your breath
maybe it'll be cool, maybe might mean death


I know it's not cheery, but for me: finding it is like digging up buried treasure.
Thanks, Kydie.

James and Kyle

Many thanks to Della's cousin Tish, who sent this photo of the boys, from Della's wedding in early December of last year.