Well, by the calendar, it's a month today since Bonnie died (though, really, four weeks passed on Monday). Right around now a month ago, I was gearing up to call Dr. Banks. Funny to think I still had the option at that time. I knew I was obliged by Bonnie's condition to do it. But I still had the choice. I'm pretty sure that by now, no matter what I did, she'd be gone. If she couldn't figure out how to drink anymore, that was going to be a pretty awful end over the next week or two.
It's also nine years ago, tomorrow, that Jody died; June 7, 2004. I knew Jody, via the 'net, not quite ten years; about nine years and eight months, give or take. So the next time the anniversary of his death comes around, he'll have been out of my life again for longer than he was in it. Boy, the years are really slipping away. Twenty years ago it still seemed like a basketful of anything. It occurs to me now that, odds are, the basket's more than half empty now.
I'm left wondering now if there'll be anyone counting anniversaries for me after I'm gone. I guess it doesn't matter much in itself; I'll be dead; I won't care. I guess it's the implication that if no one cares after you're gone it's because there was no one left who cared in the years at the end of your life.