He fell off his bicycle, not even going very fast. No helmet. And suddenly, this very vibrant, bigger-than-life, fill-a-room-with-his-personality man is lying in a hospital bed connected to tubes and machines, with no signs of brain activity.
I have no poem for this. No rhyme, no reason. The phrase "Rest in Peace" comes to mind, but apparently he is resting very peacefully. His friends and family, though, are struggling to make sense of a very sudden emptiness where once Marcellus Tryk was.
May they move through suffering to peace.
kim
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