Happy birthday — or as we used to say to each other — Happy Happy Joy Joy!
John Kricfalusi, creator
Another birthday and you’re not here. So much is going on on the political front, you should be here to see it.
There have been many time in recent days, I think about calling you, but I don’t know the number where you are. I still have a copy of your outgoing message. Even though I very accurately remember your voice, I still play the message once in a while, just to hear you talk for a few seconds.
I’ve been trying to get my condo clean and changed up a bit since it is now actually mine. This entails going through a deep closet that’s beneath stairs leading to an upper unit. I pulled most things out, threw a lot away and am now in the process of going through miscellaneous boxes.
One box held diaries written by my grandfather. At one point, he kept a diary consistently and with sufficient detail that it was admitted as evidence during a lawsuit. A man was suing because my grandfather had hit this man with the car and left the scene of the accident. However, my grandfather’s diary showed that he was home in bed with the flu for several days surrounding the date the man claimed the incident occurred. The suit was dismissed.
Sometimes it seems like a minute; sometimes it seems like 100 years. I miss you as much as ever. I look back over the past ten years and wonder: how different would life be if you were still in it?
Mom would still have dementia, but probably not quite as far along as she is. The stress of your death accelerated the process. I probably would not be living with her yet, so more of my sanity would be intact. I would have more freedom to travel, even overnight.