King of Terrors

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Rev. Henry Scott Holland, on the death of Edward VII, 1910

It was such an ordinary day. Tuesday the 20th of November, 2007. Nicholas came home from Bowdoin for Thanksgiving, on the bus. He arrived at South Station just before noon. I was working at 185 Kneeland Street, across Atlantic Avenue from the station, and Nick walked over to see me. He was carrying a duffle bag of clothes and his messenger bag, crammed as usual with books, his laptop, iPod, and so on. He had called from the bus, and we had agreed we would meet at the office and then go home together. He came up to my office on the seventh floor, we said hello to a few people, then left. I had arranged to take the afternoon off, and the following day. We were both hungry. I suggested we walk up to Chacarero, on Province Street, and get a sandwich before heading home. It was cold, and the walk was a hike - it might have been smarter to get on the subway at South Station. The restaurant was quiet. We ate our sandwiches, chatted a bit with Juan, and then walked up to Park Street. I called Elizabeth to say we were catching the train. We were pretty loaded down, between my briefcase and Nick's stuff. The station was filling up with students heading home, but the ride out to Alewife wasn't crowded. We talked a bit about how the term was going. Nick was feeling good about it - Organic Chem and French were hard, but he thought he could stick with them. We talked about Abby and the cats. Ordinary conversation. We picked up the car at Alewife and drove home. I can't remember what we did when we got home. So wonderfully ordinary.

Nicholas, you are never out of mind.

We love you,

Dad