Summer Buddy Holly (4)

A week before coming to Seville, Jay was talking with a friend, online, and she told him how her day had been bound in grief. Not the ravenous kind, the way it can consume you whole, like a fictional whale, even a galactic one, but a deep melancholy, a wounding sadness. His friend had a friend whose dog had died that day, aged four. The dog was the brother of her own dogs. Jay replied with vicarious condolences. “Life could be so fragile,” he said, “in all its forms.” His friend agreed. “Shockingly so,” she said, and they then found themselves discussing the notion of why death, ubiquitous death, should indeed be shocking. He told his friend about his dear friend, Richard, whose father had died, peacefully in his sleep a few days earlier, and how he was being incredibly accepting and stoic. His friend gave her own displaced condolences and said that was such a powerful response. “There’s so much here to unpack,” she said.

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