Somehow, it is May 16, 2019.
May 16 already.
Ten days ago, my cousin would have turned 38. His beagle, who is now my beagle, is whining in his crate. Beagles, if you don’t know, are beautiful and complicated and a little bit of mess. Beagles are like people when it all comes right down to it.
Last week I had a dream about my cousin. We were driving and catching up. We both knew that he had died. “Yeah,” I said, “but tell me. What’s it like?” I was pointing to the sky. I felt bad for asking, like I was violating some secret. It’s not that I needed certainty, but here I was, staring at it. Here I was, staring at Easter.
“Yeah,” I said, “but tell me. What’s it like?”
“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he said.
“Good,” I can picture myself saying. “Good,” I said. “I thought so.”