I was reading in Blue Nights about Quintana Roo's diary entry Joan Didion was reading after Quintana's death, she wrote, pass into nothingness, from Keats' Endymion, and then about Heidegger and Sartre and the abyss. Didion started editing the diary entry, then realized she was averting her adopted daughter's words. Oh, this is already getting too long. Anyway I went back to when I started this blog in the 3rd world cafe and shared it with dad (he was still living then, surprisingly) and he scoffed in some manner, and I can't recall the post he read, and I'm sure it was the only one, and I knew while it was a hurtful response it was his response, and he was walled in himself, and could not abide me telling things that were to him too stark and "undignified". I now imagine talking to dad about the abyss, or telling my experience of death, the pass into nothingness, and I see his raised left eyebrow, and I recall him asking about what it was like when his mother died, as he had left the room and gone for a walk, and I said simply it was like steam rising, and he said he imagined his father floating on a cloud and I had the image of the bearish Stanley with a goofy grin with little cherub wings looking down on dad weeping. You can never describe an experience like death anyway. But you can tell it the way it comes. That beginning chapter of the blog may no longer exist, it may have disappeared, as dad did, it may be trapped in an invisible cloud, passed into nothingness. And memory.