Jackson, straggly-haired, pajama-clad, the sudden center of us all for a brief flare of time.
Hal, handsome and cocky - and vulnerable only with me, his confessor.
I sit cross-legged on my basement floor, lighting candles for defiant Jill, for Lori who lost her mind, for Romney and Web and Chris.
May you be alive, and may you be well.
For golden-haired Garet, inextricably linked to me and Layne.
May you get out from under.
For the known dead - for Jason and Donald.
May you be at peace.
Always, always for Layne.
You are loved.
I wish I could have saved you.