“Are we friends, my brother? ”
That question undoes me every time I read it.
My fragmentary essay ended with the words: “Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you dearly.”
John added sentiments that quicken my heart: “you too my brother!”
It is a conversation of sorts. One text engenders another. Precious words, heartrending in their permanent paucity. If I didn’t say those words to you then, John, I’m doing my best to say them now.