Four Weeks Without Pablo

Jo Ann and Grady and I are traveling at around 200 m.p.h. We're on the Eurostar, almost in Paris. We are knee deep in our trip. What do I call this trip? Summer vacation? Crying on the Continent? Grieving in Genova? Doesn't matter. It could end up being all of those things, and maybe none. We're certainly here to honor ourselves and honor our son and little brother's memory by pursuing joy. And that's the plan we're sticking to.

I chose the above photo for my weekly Saturday remembrance of Pablo for two reasons: 1. as you can see, he is outside the train station in San Diego—fitting since the rest of us are on a train as I write this; 2. the SD to LA train ride was on May 28, almost exactly two months ago and almost exactly one month before Pablo left. I look for symmetry in life and in the world. You know that. It makes me feel sane, calm, comfortable. The loose relationship between these twentysomething dates in May, June and today, in July, is not lost on me. The theme could be a lot of things. The main one that comes to mind is an appreciation for life. Looking at the photos of Pablo's final 60 days in his physical body, he had innumerable experiences, immeasurable amounts of fun. Seeing the look on his face in this photo says so much to me. Pablo was h a p p y stabbing his Lego sword into my face as I snapped his pic. He wasn't afraid to show his happiness, or his need for joy.

I'm gonna do my best to do the same while the other three-quarters of Pablo's family walk among the projected two million spectators at tomorrow's Tour de France finish. When I start to feel agitated or gnarly—and I will—I can look at this pic of Pablo and remember that it's so much easier + so much less messy to just have fun.

Our train is pulling into Terminus Nord. Time to stop traveling and start enjoyin + relaxin in the City of Lights.