Happy Death-Day to my Father, and to Poppa Ray

My father died almost a month ago at this point, and in my rational mind I'm fine.

But my subconscious squeezed memories out of my eyes at random moments, and I still can't figure out why.

Ray Bradbury died five years ago today. Ray Bradbury was my Poppa...one of many. Someone who was always there, and suddenly not.

It was one of those moments I remember, like 9/11 or Kennedy's assassination (and I remember the former, but I'm not so old that I remember the latter).

I was sitting in my silent office, when my co-worker Alex broke the silence with the awful announcement. "Oh look - Ray Bradbury died."

My own silence broke as well. "What?"

I found the obituary in the newspaper. Then I went back to one of my favorite videos on YouTube, because I already missed the sound of his voice.

I took on his challenge, and I'm still in the middle of it today. Not as prolific a writer as he.

This blog at BrainPickings is like a posthumous birthday party to my Poppa Bradbury, and is not to be missed.

Particularly the poem Neil Gaiman wrote to him for his 91st birthday.