Remembering Sweet Kurt

I was thinking at lunch that my old dog, who is on her last legs probably, at nearly 15 years old, wasn't even born before Kurt killed himself. He has been gone that long--more than the span of her life. Hard to believe. Kurt and I were born in the same year, and he was the voice of my generation (at least one of them). I miss his sweet presence in the world. I will always, always miss him. And I firmly believe that wherever the essence of him has gone, he is not aware of any of our remembrances. But I will remember anyway.

This is my favorite photo of him.