Even though you are locked into time, now gone, you are with me still. Full in my thoughts from when I was just a child. You would turn to me with jest and lessons about living, always fun. Tests with cigarettes and beer and old French songs about long eared continental soldiers. If you were not gone into time, we could talk in turn about our lives, our loves, our quests, now that I am older and could come to regard your comedy, your aid to my call, and you would have my loyalty. But you are in the ground these fifty years.

Care is a state in which something does matter; it is the source of human tenderness – Rollo May