Been thinking about him this morning. Not an unusual thing, just more intensive than normal.

Here's the trap. I start thinking about his death, and thinking that it was probably a release. But then I start thinking about what utter horseshit that is. Because it wasn't a release, as much as an end. And all hope of change, chance and possibility was just finished. And that is no release for anyone but those of us who were weary.

And I don't think that any of us really felt that way. We just have to justify it in our heads to carry on anyway. To make it ok in a little sense of the word. To make it something that we can live with. It's too hard otherwise. Because it was a waste. And stupid. And ridiculous.

Watching the NASA show on Discovery was too much. They showed the Challenger. That was the day we buried him. We saw the news in the living room, playing over and over. And I just thought, well, everyone is having a shit day then. It mirrored. It reflected just fine. But deeper was a whole different story.

And today, I was thinking about him. And wondering what he would've done with his life if things had been even incrementally different. Would he have succeeded? Would he have beat the demons? I don't know. I kind of doubt it. But that is just resignation talking. Knowing that the opportunity was never really all that bright. Knowing that it was all an abject failure of sorts. And knowing that I played a role there, whether I justify it via age and deny my ownership of bits and pieces or not.

And not to worry, no brutal internal self-abuse going on. Just reflection. The time for the blunt objects upside the head is over. Years and years and years over. Just what remains is the hope that next time if there is a next time, I will have courage. I will have honesty. I will have perseverance and be able to make a difference. Give me a bone there, at least.