I just finished printing 14 pages from a website. It's a collection of online condolences sent after the death of my younger brother, Kevin. I'm going to bind them to give to our 92-year-old mom.
Nice scrapbook, huh?
The company that sponsors the site, linked from the newspaper's obit pages, calls it a "Guest Book. ''
Kevin, always up for a party, would have loved the term. But to me, this particular party doesn't seem all that festive. I wish I could be uninvited as a guest.
It's been nine months since he died, gone suddenly at age 48 from an apparent heart attack. Is the loss ever going to get easier?
In the meantime, I read over the thoughts and prayers sent by Kevin's "guests.'' The first girl he asked to go steady; people he knew in the bar biz; page after page of friends and acquaintances, all the way from his days in Little League to his Las Vegas junkets.
I only wish he could be at his party. He'd love to see how many guests showed up.