Last night, as the snow fell and the city grew powerfully quiet, I sat by the window and thought about my friend and former next-door neighbor Grant Huang, who died unexpectedly last week on his partner Tamara’s (and my) birthday. Years ago, in a similar blizzard, the two of them saved me from my sadness at this very window with their characteristic, un-showy kindness. Now it weighs on me that no one could save Grant the same way. Sadness always lives side by side with joy but winter in particular seems to render us all orphans in the storm. Especially for those of us who felt unseen and fundamentally unrescued as small people, that cold darkness triggers a bottomless belief that we’ll never be found again. I wish fervently that I could create a tesseract in which Grant could be kept forever in the bright cheer of his kitchen that night he rescued me; I wish fervently that time was not so unbearably linear.
Oh, how tenderly we must find each other, watch each other, hold each other–like a tiny abandoned kitten we might discover on the street and automatically adore. Like my Grace. It is so important that we keep each other warm.
