Dear Dan,
So now the memorial concert is over. And I come home. I am happy to be home in my bed- happy to be here writing, thinking of you.
It was harder than I thought. When I first got there, once I got to the reserved seat up in the balcony, I couldn't stop crying.
I felt at any moment you'd come by like you always did at gigs, drinking a water or beer or soda, put your hand on my shoulder.
I feel the shock every time someone says something about you being gone- or I see the date of your birth and death together. Every time it is a shock. And then it is a shock that I'm just sitting there when it seems like I should be screaming.
I saw a few couples embracing or leaning on each other during the concert and thought how dare they? Why should anyone get to do that kind of thing anymore.
I looked at the other bands and members and all of the people there and thought, "Why do all of these people get to be alive? A lot of them have lived much more reckless lives than you did?"
Mostly I thought of you and our little girl at home sleeping.
I didn't have to see too many people which was good. The few people I would've wanted to see, I did somehow get to see. Our old pastor came over from the other side of the balcony and just hugged me for a long time.
It was a long night and I am tired. I thought about music- and how transcendent and spiritual it had been for me- and you I think- before this. Tonight- though beautiful, music seemed a poor imitation of something much greater- an echo of something profound but just man's feeble attempts to reach it. Rather than divine, it seemed full of earth.
I thought about your hand again and how much I miss holding it- how at a concert like this, you would've reached for my hand a few times. This must be what withdrawal feels like I thought- when people stop taking medication or doing drugs. This hunger and longing and emptiness.
One friend who I said hi to told me she felt your presence so strongly tonight. "Really?" I asked, "I don't." Because I don't. I ask for signs and demand of God to just throw me something, but nothing.
Before I left tonight, I just sat and asked God if you are there if he could just let you see a little bit even of this show tonight...in your honor.