Propping up a dodgy memory

In 12 days time it will be the second anniversary of my brother's death. So much time and yet so little, but I remember hearing somewhere that it takes two years to properly process grief. I believe I've done that now, and yet I can still be surprised. At least now the surprises are not the shocks they used to be, and I suppose that's as good a measure of recovery as any.

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All by my lonesome today, with Husband back behind bars during the day and straight to the pub for a gig after work. Metro Big Band at The Charles, for those keeping score at home. I almost got to go; Husband called and asked me to track down a missing cable, and I would have driven it to him if necessary. Ah, the old roadie days. Hard on the knuckles as I recall, not to mention the eardrums and biceps.

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