I am still here.
I am still here to tell you about Harry.
Though I am still here, I am not sure how to adjust to life without Harry.
Death is a strange thing. But the life after the death of someone close is even more strange.
The remnants of what one's life once was gets divided up, donated, trashed, mixed up, boxed up, stored or lost.
I spent the better part of a month going through his papers in his apartment to try and decide what was his writings, his work, his school and any combination of these items.
Stacked up in the room downstairs of my residence are multiple self-printed copies of the two novels that Harry wrote. Which of these are the "definitive' versions (if they exist), I do not know. In a shoe box tucked away with his papers are 300 or more 3.5" floppy discs, that may have more versions of said novels. One day, I would like to have them edited and try and have them published in some form.
In an ongoing Google Sheets file are the beginnings of a copy and pasting adventure that I have started of all of his blogs that he had written, ones that I know of, and ones that still exist. Some of these have holes in them, as some posts have disappeared. I do not know if they were by Harry, or for some other reason. Harry had asked me to document all that are still there, but no further instructions were given.
In another Google Sheets file is another ongoing documentation of all of Harry's CDs, cassettes, records and downloads. As of the moment of typing this, I am at cd# 726, the Swans album "To Be Kind". The cassettes, though not as large of a quantity, the task will still take some time, since they are 30-plus years old, they are not all together or in the correct cases.
After or during the process of completing all the previous spreadsheets, I want to also document all physical and digital books that he had.
He loved to read, he read constantly. When he was in ICU the first time, he woke up after being unconscious for 6 days. When he finally awoke, he was on dialysis, receiving blood platelets, breathing ventilator, feeding tube and atrophy had set in. I had brought in a letter chart to try to give him a voice. The first thing that he was able to communicate was "I just want to read".
He loved to write, he wrote constantly. He normally had three notebooks that he was normally writing in. I would go through his notebooks from when he got his theology degree a few years back, and intermixed with his notes from class were ideas, scribbles, top ten favorite albums, lists of how many times certain musicians had albums within his yearly top ten albums that he would send out.
I hope I can do his writings justice, I hope that I can make him proud.
Life has always been a puzzle But some pieces are now permanently lost