Letter from Monte, friend of the family and Lev's "godfather" for his memorial

I don't want to write a title. I don't want to write anything. I would like this writing to run in the other direction.

 

Clarity is hard to find. It's where children, and very few adults live. There are too many details; there's too much begging for attention.

 

I'm easily confused, but Lev was clear to me from the start in the exact same way my wife, Laura, was clear to me from the start. With Lev it was simple: we loved and appreciated stories.

 

We traded stories, and we admitted each other into those stories. Basically, we let each other be sub-heroes in our own stories where we were the real heroes.

 

 

Sadly, I don't meet my own criteria for hero.

 

Lev was my hero. In my own stories, I followed Lev.

 

 

Going through memories now in the middle of night, every image is both blessedand fraught with clarity.   I have the urge to wet my thumb and wipe some ice cream from your cheek - to pick some tree bark out of your hair.  

 

Every detail is sharp.  I can almost touch your hand. That's all I really want right now. I want to take your hand, and I want to hug you one last time.

 

Lev was my hero, and my story is not finished.

 

 

 

Monte

 

.

Rebecca