Poetic

Dear Anthony,

Thanks for the visit the other night. I'm sure you're busy making your rounds still; the dust hasn't quite settled yet. But I appreciate your taking time out for me, cruel though it was. Honestly, did it have to be an "un-funeral"? You knew I was going to wake up and think it actually happened! No fair.

Your mom graciously shared your poetry with us by email after the funeral, so I've been reading it with new appreciation of all the quiet talent you had. I therefore would not have expected you to show up at your own un-funeral in a white suit, of all things. As creative, lyrical and appreciative of beauty as you were, cheesy you were not. Or perhaps you were being ironic. We'll go with the latter.

Cheese and irony aside, it was cool to hang out for a while, and it was good timing too. I mean, as good as any. At least Sten was there when I woke up, since I'd crashed at her place after the football game on Saturday. (P.S. the Band performed The West for halftime - again! - can you believe they resurrected our first-ever BC halftime show? Wait a second...resurrection...un-funeral...now I get it. You are a butthead, do you know that? An ironic butthead.) If I hadn't gotten to tell Sten about your un-funeral right away, I might not remember how you appeared to me in a white suit (barf!), declared that the "doctors were wrong. I'm not dead!" and walked down the aisle of a big cathedral with Sten and I on either arm and basked in the glory of your return to life as we know it. It was so ridiculous, it might almost have been funny if I didn't want it to be true so badly.

There's a quote from a really profound movie I once saw (Beetlejuice? Death Becomes Her? Something like that.) that is something to the effect of, "Death is for the living." Thanks for reminding me of that one.

Anyway, come back and hang out again sometime soon. Just lose the white suit.

Love,
Diana