No Other Words

I don't really know what to do with the news. I'm not sure I know what I feel, and though people keep asking me, I don't know how I'm doing. It's all kind of surreal. I know that he's not here anymore, that he's dead now, but as far as my brain is concerned, he's just in Bangkok still and will be back soon. It's hard to think of him as not being in this world anymore.

So, I'm no good at gauging my emotions, and I'm not so great at dealing with other people or knowing what to say, so I've leaned back on what I do know. Big surprise: I'm drawing through this.

I'm going to bed now, so I thought I'd put this up before I hit the sack. I think he'd like this, though he'd probably be mad it's not bigger. He always said that art was valued in it's size and was always telling me to draw and paint bigger BIGGER BIGGER. Well, sorry grandpa, this is what you get. I'm feeling closer to you in drawing it though. The whole time I'm drawing, I'm hearing you talk to me, I'm hearing you laugh, and watching you give the sideways eye to me or someone else, catching them when you think they don't know you're looking. I'm remembering you singing "Everyone's afraid of old John Drew", and watching you fight with mom, when all you're trying to do is say you love her and think she's awesome, and that's all she's trying to say to you.

I miss you. I tried to call you when I was in LA to get together with you, but our paths didn't cross. I missed you then, and I miss you now.








This is a Numberism piece