There’s a part of me that feels certain I could push the autodial button
on my cell phone and Woody Justice would answer. Another part of me
knows this isn’t true. Like my Life-in-the-Clothes-Dryer feeling of
the Droste effect, this feeling that “He’s not really gone” isn’t new at all.
Marcel Proust wrote about it 100 years ago:
“People do not die for us immediately,
but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life
which bears no relation to true immortality
but through which they continue to occupy
our thoughts in the same way as when they were
alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad.“