I was just thinking of you this morning, Ramona. Thanks for checking in. Take your time, of course, to work through it all and write on your own schedule for as long as it takes. We'll be here.
I'll offer two supposedly true comments... paraphrased. Knowing of the man, and his way with words, and his sorrow after loss... I believe them to be true.
When his best friend died, a reporter got him on the phone, and asked for a comment. The man said, "He [his best friend] was the air that I breathed," and that "Hell is being the last one alive."
One night before going on stage, for he thought the only balm for grief was to keep doing the one thing he knew how to do, he stood, alone, behind the curtain - dressed in his de rigeur tux, slumped shoulders, head bowed, all the once so famous bravado gone.
His P.A. gave him his usual glass of water. He said, "Bring me bourbon." The P.A. brought him bourbon. He took a sip, and pushed that glass away. The P.A. asked what was wrong, and he said, "I miss my boys." Even an iconic entertainer loses all power to pretend when the loss ends up too great.
That man, grieving then, over a quarter century ago, that man who lost a light in himself when what the best of him had gone - "his boys" was:
I was just thinking of you this morning, Ramona. Thanks for checking in. Take your time, of course, to work through it all and write on your own schedule for as long as it takes. We'll be here.
No, there is no explaining. Music helped me: live music in small venues, and lots of it. I finally had to move to be closer to the music. xo
When writing feels good, or whatever emotion it evokes, we will be here.
I'll offer two supposedly true comments... paraphrased. Knowing of the man, and his way with words, and his sorrow after loss... I believe them to be true.
When his best friend died, a reporter got him on the phone, and asked for a comment. The man said, "He [his best friend] was the air that I breathed," and that "Hell is being the last one alive."
One night before going on stage, for he thought the only balm for grief was to keep doing the one thing he knew how to do, he stood, alone, behind the curtain - dressed in his de rigeur tux, slumped shoulders, head bowed, all the once so famous bravado gone.
His P.A. gave him his usual glass of water. He said, "Bring me bourbon." The P.A. brought him bourbon. He took a sip, and pushed that glass away. The P.A. asked what was wrong, and he said, "I miss my boys." Even an iconic entertainer loses all power to pretend when the loss ends up too great.
That man, grieving then, over a quarter century ago, that man who lost a light in himself when what the best of him had gone - "his boys" was:
Frank Sinatra