The day of my motorcycle accident is the anniversary of her father’s death in a motorcycle accident.

Reading through a three or four inch pile of medical paperwork related to my motorcycle accident is interesting. I put it behind me as fast as I could, I try to forget it. I didn’t realize A had come to see me while I was in the hospital. I can’t think of A without remembering when I found out she had died, having just been abandoned by M. I stayed home that day. I wanted to talk to A. When I found out, I went outside to find Tori smoking to get a hug. It was almost my birthday. Star Trek was almost out. Can I quantify how important M was to me? And how much I was looking forward to sharing the excitement that I keep hidden and protected with her? Such a large hole. A year before, my great grandmother Mae passed on my birthday (5/26/1912 – 5/7/2008), and A passed the next day.

That’s a one in three-hundred and sixty five chance right? I never took statistics. I suppose as years pass the likelihood of all of this happening grows. I was thinking it was my Uncle Yale who shot himself who died on my fathers birthday, but it was father’s really good pilot friend who died in a plane crash on his birthday.

Everything that makes spending time with B great draws really interesting patterns regarding M. Being unable to get M to stop running away aside, I’m fascinated by how important it is to have someone care about me and be able to express it to me without shame. Sometimes it feels like that is all that matters.