I’ve been trying to get through this one for a while now. I was at a dog park with my girlfriend on Sunday morning, enjoying bands of sun through long traveled clouds, soft wind on our faces when I realized I’d gone almost two hours without trying to distract myself from myself. My life these last 400 days, these last 4000 days really, have been a march through uneven ground rife with unexpected pain. Last November, my old brother told me, with cold certainty, he was going to die of cancer. In a year where I had already seen pass a friend, a grandfather, a cousin, and a dear mentor, doctors were sure death would come for Ricky before Christmas.
Life, Death and the Los Angeles Lakers
