At supper last night, Michael reminded me that the 25th was Doug's birthday ... he would have been 31. I don't often actively miss him (it's been almost 5 years) but I do think of him often, and miss his perspective and company. Sometimes I wonder if Michael would be more open to his own feelings if Doug were still poking around in his heart.
I went to my computer after dinner and was listening to an old Bob Dylan clip that a friend e-mailed me while going thru my e-mail, and discovered that Doug's father had passed away that morning. He was 15 years older than his wife, and had been sick for years with cancer and other things, leaving his wife, daughter and son-in-law and grandson. M, his wife, just lost her father a few months ago, and she'd devoted the last 5 years to taking care of her invalid father and almost-invalid husband. Very rough time for her, and I know her tendencies for caring for others well (dare I say we share a martyrish tendency, though mine is much stronger I think) ... and now she has no-one a home to care for. Glad she has a grandson who keeps her young.
Thinking of taking Douglas to the funeral, though I don't know any details yet. He's grappling with the concept of death at the moment and this would surely be part of the conversation ... though he didn't know the man at all. Discussions over his plastic "puger" (pistol) that he got for a cowboy photo to be taken this weekend for a cousin's art project have prompted some of it. He believed you could breathe someone back to life again for a long time.
We shall see.