Tomorrow I leave for Europe, for work; and then I will meet Ray in London on Saturday for the trip to Tanzania. I feel bad because Ray has never wanted to go back to Africa to see where Joseph died, but I feel, deep down that I have to make my pilgramage. He was my oldest boy, I cannot let his passing go without my visit to the spot where he last lived. He was my boy.
Ray is coming with me, kind of against his will, but he is coming. Saturday we went biking on the North County Bike Trail (which is falling apart, many potholes and frost heaves), and Ray fell off his bike. He broke his helmet and a rib; he is in pain. So many accidents; in some you break your ribs in others you lose your life. Who decides these things?
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