All told, it's been about six months since Bob passed, and the grief is mostly settled. Mostly settled ... I had a memory of Bob at our niece's wedding, when we managed to turn David Lee Roth's cover of "Just A Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody" into a reference to Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein; a memory that brought a grin only slightly touched by melancholy.
As I've said before, grief keeps its own schedule, and will be neither denied nor rushed.
Tonight, I will get together with such family members as are available, and in good Irish fashion we will have a wee sippeen of the cruel, a toast to the fallen. We will talk; we will laugh; we will enjoy each other's company. And we will remember Bob as he was — cheerful, willful, adventurous, irresponsible, incredibly brave and humble.
Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.
And we will listen to the angels as they whisper: Respice post te! Hominem te esse memento! Memento mori! Look behind you; remember that you are but mortal; remember that you too will die.
There is no "later" guaranteed us to strengthen our ties of love, to make amends, to do what we should do instead of what we want to do. Now is the time — you cannot act in the future, nor can you change the past. This night your life may be required of you.
And with that pleasant thought, I wish you a happy weekend.