I wasn't sure if I was going to write to you today or not - a big tragic event in my life - in our lives - made itself known to us Monday afternoon. Still finding the language for it, it keeps slipping out of my grasp. Just now, Thursday morning, Independence Day, I'm starting to feel normal once again and gently approaching these words to you seems to help - not writing would have been worse But I've been keyed up all evening, we stood around, fifty of us, all crammed in her tiny apartment toasting again and again, telling stories about her, about smoking weed, snapping our fingers when someone got something right and cursing and drinking more often than would have been appropriate in front of the extended family. Crying with each other, seeing a deep and vast web of friends without its nexus. What's left? Looking strangers in the eyes, grabbing each other's shoulders, and nodding - I understand you.

Suddenly sick with the idea that this will land in our friend's inbox and she will never see it.

I'm writing this just before I send it after a night dancing it out (it was great, me sweating hard and pogoing on the dance floor). The music is a simple, repetitive chord movement that kept my hands busy and gave me some solace this afternoon after the funeral. I sat at the electric piano for a long time rolling these notes around under my knuckles, blissful with how abstract melodies are, how they don't have to represent anything or challenge anything. I could be at peace as long as my right hand kept playing those notes back and forth, back and forth.

It has been a very long week.

When we got the news on Monday my friend and I stood holding each other and crying on the street corner as the sun set and at a break in the conversation the call to prayer started ringing out above us, mournful and uplifting and perfectly timed.

When we were standing around the makeshift shrine on the street corner where the accident happened a bright black and orange butterfly landed among us.

I have held many people in the past three days and felt the unique way in which their sobs pounded in each of their bodies.

I have needed to sleep or eat at strange, unexpected times in the day. Neither me nor my body knows what to do from moment to moment.

There were hundreds and hundreds of people at the funeral service today, the room felt like it was overflowing with love.

I have heard from a truly wild and also totally disparate number of folks. I have been in touch with people I haven't spoken to in years.

But now I'm finally falling asleep. I will be laid out in bed by the time you read this.

I don't think I can bring myself to write any more. I wish I could - lots more to say.

We miss her, a lot - you probably do, too