I’ve been thinking a lot about Dolly today. This is the post I wrote about her on this very day last year. That night, the night Dolly died, Julia came into the bedroom where I was sleeping, and woke me up. I remember I opened my eyes and she was standing there, holding her robe closed, crying. She was so beautiful. She said, “Deitch.” And then she said, “Dolly just died.” The tears fell down her face, which was flushed, her hair wet where they had fallen. Then she turned around, knowing that I would follow her to where Dolly was.
I can’t really say more than this, because I think even this will feel like an invasion of privacy to Julia. But I wanted to say that I don’t need any tattoos on my body, because I have memories like this one imprinted on my mind. Dolly was a very big loss. And yet there was also something very special about that night.
People get mad at me for writing personal stuff down that includes them (I’m not talking about Julia; she has gallantly not complained). But for me writing these moments down is like taking photographs. And when I feel most lonely, I read them, and I remember that I once lived in a house where there was love. That’s a lot. How lucky we were.
I know from experience that someday I will look back and this will most likely all mean very little or nothing. I would like to not rush towards that experience.