a friend's loss

Steve Krodman, who goes by the online moniker Elisson (it's a double "s," not a double "l," because the name comes from "Eli's son"), just lost his father. I know that there's some overlap between my blog's readership and Steve's, so I encourage you to go visit Lost in the Cheese Aisle to pay your respects. Steve—Elisson—always wrote about his father with great esteem and affection. I can't begin to imagine what such a loss means, or what it feels like. Elisson had lost his mom years ago; now, he finds himself in the position that we must all eventually find ourselves in: living life without earthly parents. As trite as this insight may seem, however, I like to think that there's a sense in which our parents live on through us, we who have internalized their wisdom, compassion, humor, knowledge, and love. Our parents, once departed, occupy the shrine of our hearts, still lighting the way before us from the vantage of the corridors of memory.


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