My Dear Prince,
I have never known you to leave the stage so early.
4 long, dreadful months have passed since God welcomed you home. I miss you so much, the pain is unbearable, making it hard to breathe. Grief, depression, anger, and loneliness are like those bullies who taunted me in grade school. They have been relentless. My life has been a vortex of rage and despair. Waves of sadness washing away the pieces of my broken heart. My own personal hell on Earth. I feel like your widow.
I see you everywhere. I see you in everything. I know you wanted to live. You were so happy to be getting your music back. You told me of all your plans. Your plans for me. For A6. I was so excited because you were going to bring me back to Paisley Park to see the finished Purple Rain Room with our images in murals painted on the walls. You wanted to celebrate with A6 and present to us our Platinum Albums. Continue reading
The smoldering debris at ground zero transported the late Rolla “Bud” Crick back in time to August 1946 when he was a combat reporter for the Army Air Corps. He was on the ground in Hiroshima shortly after the atomic bomb dropped. Now at the World Trade Center, he would again be a part of history as an American Red Cross spokesman and volunteer.
“When 9/11 happened, I called my wife Eleanor and said, ‘You know, I was in Hiroshima after the atomic bomb and Yokohama after the blockbuster bombing. Now I’m standing here looking at this devastation on our nation’s own soil’” Crick, who died at age 95 in 2013, said, according to a report in The Oregonian, where he once worked as a reporter. “I had the disheartening realization that this too was a man-made attack.”
via Remembering Red Cross Volunteer Who Witnessed History at Ground Zero | National September 11 Memorial & Museum
+Note: This made me both very thankful, and also terribly sad. Having met Crick several times when I worked for the Red Cross September 11th Project he was one of many dedicated & incredible human beings that came to NYC during its hour of need and really made a difference.
‘I want to feel what I feel. Even if it’s not happiness’
Home is bright and sharp and brutally real. When she sits at her desk, Morrison says, everything else disappears. “I feel totally curious and alive and in control. And almost… magnificent, when I write.” The book is dedicated to her son, Slade, who died 18 months ago and in the face of whose death she found herself wordless. She could not work. She could barely speak and didn’t want to hear comforting words from others.
“We need, in love, to practice only this: letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it.”
Translations from the Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
“The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise; like diseases that are treated superficially and foolishly, they just withdraw and after a short interval break out again all the more terribly; and gather inside us and are life, are life that is unlived, rejected, lost, life that we can die of.”
Letters to a Young Poet