tuesday december 4 2001    |    11:06 p.m.

patrick's father died yesterday morning. patrick was in jamaica when he did, on a business trip. he took the first plane back when things got really bad, but when he arrived it was too late. and although it had been coming for a year or more . . . you're never ready.

i talked to tatiana about it. between yesterday and today, for hours. patrick was exhausted and -- well, how do you describe it? so he and i didn't manage to talk until just now. it's surreal.

so now denise and johnny are driving up from south miami, and we are meeting patrick and tatiana somewhere, and we're going to grieve like the irish grieve. alcohol and tears and love.

i think the six years of bad luck are upon us. time to reverse the outlook and figure out the lessons, the blessings, the good mixing into the negative.

there are cycles at work here.

after all, we're not much better than little burrowing animals. at least we have that: burrowing together. thank goodness.