Neil's mom somehow stumbled across the remembrance I posted the other day and THANK GOD she was not offended. She writes:
Since I always joked that Neil's life was about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, nothing in your blog entry was hurtful to us.
Neil would really have appreciated the irony of getting through those two months and then being run down just a few blocks from his home in Brooklyn. As a mom, I was so relieved when Neil returned safely from Thailand. As you write, what the fuck.
I have this fantasy about Neil's last moments - that he looked squarely at death and felt no regrets. The hard-edged curious mystic that he was, I imagine Neil stared death down in his last slit second and said "Okay man - Let's fuckin do this."
But his mother. Good Lord, His mother.
On Wednesday night Harvey got a fever - the highest fever he's ever gotten so far. He woke up around midnight screaming. SCREAMING. His little body was so piping hot that we immediately gave him tylenol and started sponging his head. After a few minutes he calmed down and felt cooler. We took his temperature and it was 103.3 Holy shit - if it was that high after we brought it down what must it have been before? Dan and I took turns holding him and working the cold compress. He laid in my arms and just moaned. My baby. My poor little baby boy. During the day he's bouncing and playing and getting his chubby arms dirty - but when he's sick in the night, my poor little thing, he's just so small and weak and fragile.
For Neil's mom the worst thing in the world has happened. It doesn't matter that her child is 27 years older than mine. My heart is broken over the loss of a friend but for her loss it's broken open double.
Neil's mom very kindly shared details about the funeral service. It will be next Sunday at 2 p.m. at the Douglass Funeral Home in Lexington Center.
A few weeks ago my friend Luke handed me a cotton T and said, "This shirt fits weird. I'm going to throw it away unless you want to make something from the cloth."
So Harvey got a new striped shirt.
The t-shirt is soft and stretchy with room to grow in. But oh, those belled sleeves. Every time I look at them I cringe. I couldn't loosen the tension on my machine any further, so this is what I got. Jersey knit, you are a beguiling temptress. Why are you so soft and common yet so difficult to work?
But there is hope! Next week is my birthday and I have a very exciting present on the way... It's a magical contraption that combines four spools of thread with a die cutter such that future t-shirts will look twice as good with half the effort. Yes - I'm getting a serger.
The stack of "fits weird" is piling up in anticipation. Harvey is excited.