I went up to see Loyd's body at the funeral home. I went up after the family had viewed the body, but before they'll be receiving visitors this evening. I don't want to have to deal with all that. As selfish or as strange as that sounds, I don't want to get wrapped up in all that. I wanted to pay my respects to Loyd. And I wanted to do that without anyone gauging my level of grief or my performance in the Grief Competition that it seems like some of his grandkids have been involved in.

I tried to talk to the body, but felt stupid doing it. Loyd's not there. That was a body. The only time I felt like I was talking to Loyd was when I looked up into the in-between space in the air where you talk to the departed.

I've been going over my relationship with Loyd, thinking about what I should be feeling. I'm sure if I wasn't so disassociated at the moment I would feel a lot more. I've certainly had my moments where this has all washed over me and I've gotten quite upset. So I'm grieving for Loyd in my way. I loved that old fucker. There was a time in my life when Loyd Short was the closest thing to a father that I had. I'll always remember him with a smile. I think everyone will. He was one of those characters that just sticks in people's heads.

I wish I could think up some grand epitaph for Loyd, but there's just not any flowery words that seem to suit him. All I know is to express the sentiment that has surfaced in that song I started working on when I heard that he was in the hospital and everyone was expecting him to die. All I know is to say “So long, John.”

If people don't know why I refer to Loyd as “John,” that's fine. I'll just smile about that. Some people will know what that means. For the most part, it's between me and Loyd. I don't feel like I have to explain it.