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A year goes by through misty eyes...
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Today, it is one year since my brother was murdered.

I want to ring Peter up and share with him my thoughts on "The Separation of YOUR Church and MY State of Consciousness!", or didn't he think Congress had a "Dangerous Addiction To Corruption", or to share my comment about "The Harriet Myers of Veto Threats", or my pondering whether, since there is such a word as "paraphrase", then shouldn't there also exist the word "puniphrase", but alas!

I want Peter's input and caring about problems at my work, which he would have listened to, understood, and undoubtedly have had numerous, not to mention numinous, ideas to help solve some perceived inefficiency. In flashes of inspiration, his mind raced toward solutions, ramifications or improvements.

I think how often in the last year I've reached for the phone before remembering there was no phone number that could connect me to his physical self.

I ponder how much I've learned over the last year. I've come out of retirement to work at my old job again; I've read some great books he'd probably already read; I've played more than a few MineSweeper and GO games on my computer and thought of him playing the same.

Thank you, Peter, for introducing me to the game of GO. It has been a hugely productive part of my life and I believe it develops intuition as well as logic. I hope to be playing GO when I am Mom's age. Perhaps one of the hundred+ I have taught at least one game would take pity on an old man, indulging his passion.

I contacted several of Peter's old friends, in search of any tidbits of Peter's life unknown to me. I was mostly disappointed but learned it's OK to ask for what I want as long as I can accept the results.

I've thought again and again of the way that Peter and I talked that last Sunday night, with his court date for the next day and all. He was no longer fearful of living under a bridge, but was still quite depressed. He promised to call me on Monday afternoon with all the details about what happened and then I couldn't get through. The line wasn't dead, it just sounded busy. I must have called a dozen times in as many hours that afternoon, that evening, the next morning.

It wasn't until midmorning of the 8th that Jay called me and told me the news. After that point I was numb and not functioning well at all, what can I say? I could not even drive myself down to Tacoma, to be with those I love. Thank you David, for picking me up and sharing the grief.

Much of those early months seem a blur of tears and grief and rant and forgiveness. I was barely ready three months later to accept my old job back, contracting this time, which has really meant a lot to me the last nine months, and in more ways than simply financially.

My co-workers have been very supportive and the work kept my mind off other problems. It's been a productive time in my life and I appreciate the opportunity.

So goodbye, again, dear friend, my Brother, until I see you on the Other Side. I love you.

Remember, Alice Stillwell!

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