I have been to church today. Katelyn DiGioia was kind enough to come pick me up at my temp. digs. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. It feels bizarre and disrespectful to not begin every conversation with the death of my pater familia. I sat stoicly preoccupied with an old friend, Chris Bailey, not really focused on the sermon; just allowing the moment to just graze me. I am not to sure if the most recent death of family has impacted me yet. I thought it would wound me like a gamma ray or fell me like a Hulk aped pouncing or gut me like the Wolverine gauging my innards. But no, it was like a sulfur wind; all bad smell with no body. Every now and again I catch a waft of unease and the silence of the salt in my tears is a hollow vacuum wanting some type of emotion to push wetness out of me in an expression close to loss but more akin to an ignorance of what was loss.