an understanding

To live a life – my life – in honor of a lost one, a man down, a comrade too soon taken: I can think of no greater tribute to my Oso than to return to the life we had together, to finish what we started.

Os, you died before you could grow old with me, but I promise you now: I will grow old with you. And as I do, I will continue to write, create and believe as I’d begun to in the years I was lucky enough to have you in my life. Especially at the beginning, when we really developed our bond.

I’ve always known that you represent something vital and important to me, to my very identity. I wasn’t sure what it was. But now, as I’ve begun to see that my life must change, must return, the two great struggles of my life – one recent (losing you); and one eternal (being an artist) – have dovetailed into what I believe is my true and honest path: to be a writer.

My calling. It called me from Austin to Greensboro, to find you and the rest of our little family. It called me to New York, first on the worn stone steps of NYU’s English Department, and later, on the fire escape in Tribeca that night in September…I was out of earshot for a long time, even while you were with me. Only recently did I hear it again, on the F train home every day from Times Square.

This is for you, Oso. Every word, every reader, every effort to get back in it, every moment of joy or pain. It is all (as I wrote once, a long time ago) only and forever you.