It's just after one in the morning. I should be fast asleep; work at eight.

Ken and I went out tonight. We talked, cried, laughed, shared a cigarette and several cups of coffee. I helped him piece together a small poem for Raiden's memorial service, and offered my services to type it up and print it out for the memorial cards.

Ken talked about how Raiden looked when he found him, how blank and lifeless his eyes were. "There just wasn't anything there," he repeated over and over through tears. "He was like a doll, like those water baby toys. There just wasn't anything inside of him."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. I listened to every word, took it deep into myself and let the tears roll down my cheeks.

Janet and I are going to get the flowers together; I'll be arranging them in various vases collected from family and friends. I want one vase with elegant flowers. White lilies come to mind.

The memorial is Friday.