A close death is a sobering event that shakes to the very core and reminds that even when we are immortal, we are all only immortal for a limited time.
Our dear friend passed away four years ago today. To commemorate his memory I would like remember a poem about him I had written about on missing our happy ending [Click to read Whatever happened?] and an excerpt from my on-going memoirs and how his passing has affected me – his passage has left an empty space in all those who loved him and a hole inside those who truly cared and knew him well.
On behalf of all his friends who loved him and cared:
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Losing a friend is never easy, even more so when neither he nor you nor anyone among the group were even close to death’s door; of course you really never know with these things, but at least you can safely assume such in your mid-30s. My friend, however, it has to be said, would go knocking on that door more often than it was ever prudent (if there is any such thing as a threshold for prudence when it comes to things like knocking on death’s door).Why? He had an inexplicable need to be the centre of everyone’s affection, and, characteristically, he assumed he earned more adoration as a victim than as a friend. Such are the misgivings in life, so much attention to detail so little to the bigger picture…
His memory will fade, as we go on with our lives. He will all too soon be a sudden recollection in a gathering, a fleeting moment of melancholy on a summer’s night. Life is for the living; there is little temperance, tolerance or time for the dead.
I fear more people regret the lost opportunities than they do the actual passing. The moments are lost in ‘should haves’ and ‘could haves.’ Yet the next day we pile on another laundry load of regrets for next time.
If I have failing in life (this is my humble attempt at humility) it is that I have been unable to make people see it that way. My epiphany folks was not my doing, but reverberates in the lyrics of an aching song about a beautiful boy, which I will borrow – life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
Somewhere deep inside, those words struck a resounding chord in my soul and sent a shiver of realization through me. The words haunt me, whenever I close my eyes to soothe my troubles; they remind me of what ‘should be.’ On such days I open my eyes, take a deep breath, and a stop long enough to look around.
Having said that, however, I still find myself, more often than not, slipping into habit and piling on lost opportunities like split logs by the fireplace; absently holding on to them, and bidding my time with inaction, waiting to burn it in the pyre of another passing.
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Lest I never get around to ever saying it in person, my friends (and you should know if it is you I mean) thank you for being and allowing me to be.I pray a small prayer that we all happily grow old together; that you honour me with your friendship forever and, more importantly, honour my friendship by outliving me.
Call me selfish, but I have buried a friend. Been there, done that. I have no desire to do it again.
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