Friends Indeed

I'm one of those progressive types, one of those bleeding-heart types who prefers to bet on the natural tendency for a human society to generate more good will than its individuals consume. Or at least I bet on that with friends, know the true of it in family, and hope for it in the at-large.

If I have dissembled to my friends over details or small realities, I apologize for not giving them enough credit. As I have let more and more people in on the abject dreadfulness of what has been going on, about what happened in Saturday's early hours, and the details leading up to the horrifying event, the understanding shown towards us has overwhelmed me. Even moreso, my friends' willingness to admit they don't understand, that they don't know what to say, that they are at a loss to help me but are nonetheless willing to help in however each of us—or both together—might need it is touching beyond any reckoning.

There are good people in the world, some vastly unable to comprehend the nature of male relationships, some far too acquainted with the nuanced complexity of them, all willing to offer support as they are able.

I've been crying over the almost-loss, crying over emotional distances, crying over the reprieves, crying over the anger, crying over the gratitude for Sam still being with me and all of us, crying over the humble honesty of human beings I don't even know, crying over the joy of family and most-loved friends, and just plain crying because of too much of everything.

I'm a mess, but you're all there for me. I don't know what I'd be if I were alone through all of this. I'm glad I haven't had to find out.