E.U.P. February 27, 1995 — March 24, 2005.
Above: my nephew and me, a very long time ago. I’ve posted the photograph above, some explanatory text, and the poem below each year for the past three years on this date to bear witness. He was not a month into 10 years old when he died. It was cancer (glioblastoma multiform: brain, spinal cord).
Muted backstory about him here (you have to read about half-way through to start to get to it).
I don’t write about him much (find it hard to, though I took a pass at it here a month ago). Neither do I write about the impact of his death on much of anyone else but me, out of respect for privacy. The shorthand: much is very broken; some things you’d expect to be, and some things — precious things — you would never have guessed. This sort of pain has a tendency toward metastasis.