The hardest rebuked me, that I cried my sons sake publicly some time ago, is now dead.
It was not nice when he saw this weakness purely rubbed me relentlessly.
But he was not Tuschler.
And I am glad of it, that I now got the Genackschlag to my embarrassing, but usually preventable derailment just from him.
Friendship is based just much too hard in openness. (more ...)
Now're after Siggi, the Röckle, the Siegfried Röcklin, even you died.
This is my first helpless obituary for you, my father's friend.
Dear James, I will allow myself, nor to tell a little about you and the memorable stories that you brought from India, half of the world with which you, not only so, strict spirit, my life have enriched.
I am writing this, and what will follow, for those who knew you, knew that the hard, sometimes cynical James launched a basic good guy was, in gratitude for all the hours we spent together.
Questions I can no longer log; I'm going, if I have made myself, just take the liberty to tell something of what you have given me.
You are not going away. Not by me. Never. (more ...)
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