So I finally bought a record player Finally after hemming and hawing about purchasing a record player from eBay or an online dealer I took the plunge, plunked down the money (way too much but we won't go there) and bought me a player. It is very hip (almost too hip) if I do say so myself, and looks like a 1950's car stereo. Sunday night I went into Mike's room to pack up some of his records. To know him is to know his music. He ranged from Mahalia Jackson to the Beatles and Paul Simon. He had a lot of Weather Report and Herbie Hancock with strange psychodelic covers filled with pixies and rainbows and big Afros. It's funny but I feel like we are talking each time I listen to one of his records. I put on Mahalia when I got home Sunday evening, a fitting choice I thought, everyone needs a little gospel on a Sunday. Then, I sat down on my bed and sobbed. I didn't expect the tears or even really understand where they came from. Her voice just broke my heart. You can actually hear her sorrow and pain and even a hint of love as she belts and grows quiet. My heart just ached to talk to Mike. I wanted to talk to him so badly and at the same time I was so grateful for this music that he left me. It took a long time before I was able to listen to music after he died. It still hurts.