Borcherding

 I still cry when I see his name. 

He died years ago, 8 now, and at the time I remember if it was fair or right that I felt so sad, so wounded by his sudden departure, that my loss felt so great.

And there here, hundreds of miles away and 8 years since saying goodbye, and I see his name in a footnote and tears rush to my eyes before I can remember why.  The feeling is reactive, immediate.  It is not a thought, it is a reflex.  I still miss him imperfectly loud as he was, inappropriate, brilliant, and supportive.  I still think of him, what he would say and how he would react to the new realities emerging in his absense.

This is the surprising thing, the way loss is its own dynamic secretive thing.  It can emerge from the thinnest of memories and take hold, pulling you back into the void of the person no matter how much time and space you have but between them and you, no matter how many relationships and memories you layer over the old treasures.

I see his name, and I cry.