In Memory of Musket

Yes, it's been hard. We've been writing each other for ages and yes, he could really write. He was an excellent writer in fact. He'd been finally working on some memoir stories after I encouraged him to do so, even though he thought they wouldn't be of interest. Perhaps so, but his writing was of such high quality, they were actually very entertaining and at times beautifully poetic. He was such a sensitive person who oftentimes may have lived too much in the past, which we shared at times. Lots of lament for better days. He was a detailed person in every endeavor--memories, craftmanship, music, reading, writing, correspondence, viewpoints, you name it. I think he came off as a curmudgeon, but he really wasn't. He could also be fluid in many of his views if left to contemplate on them. He was my big brother and encouraged me more than most other people in my life, like a cheerleader. He believed in me and probably knew everything about me and my entire life. We shared a lot of sadness too. He understood all that without judgement.

He was a very special person and I wish I had written him something longer before he passed. I wrote to him very recently about how much I loved him and how I was going to write him again in a couple days when I could find better words to express it, but he passed before I had that chance.
 
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