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Remembering Peter and Marcy

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Today would have been my father's 72nd birthday.

It's also the 31st anniversary of my mother's death.

I haven't been consciously distressed this past week, but I've been a little tense, a little spacey, a little mistake-prone, a little more quick to be irritated or angry than usual. And a little short on sleep. (“Jed? Short on sleep? ~Gasp!~” I hear you say. But in fact I've been getting a fair bit of sleep most of the time for the past few months. But not the past couple days.)

Don't know how I'll be for most of the day on Friday. Some years on November 11 I'm fine, other years not so much.

I had wanted to write something real about Peter and/or Marcy in this entry, but I think once again (as is true most years) it's not going to happen. I'm more or less at a loss for anything to say that I haven't said before.

But I do miss them.

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It's funny; you've been on my mind a lot this week, because of changed at SH, but of course since this grief is not my own the date has slipped my mind.

Wish I could be out there so I could at least give you a vigorous shoulder rub and a hug.


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