(Friday, June 27th, 2008)
One of my best friends died Wednesday night, just two days after his birthday. I hadn't spoken to him in a month but I knew we needed to talk before it was too late. When I got the news of his terminal illness a few months ago, I avoided him as much as I could because I thought it would make letting go a little easier. I explained to him during our last phone call that I wasn't avoiding him because I didn't care; I simply didn't know how to cope. So, it was at that time we officially said our good-byes. But after a month of silence, I decided to call and wish him a happy birthday. He always appreciated little gestures like that. He didn't have many friends, so a call from anyone always made his day brighter. It rang twice and went to voice mail. At that point, I knew something must be wrong. I sent him an email and when I got no response, I decided to email his daughter. She promptly emailed me back and informed me he had passed away peacefully at 7 PM, Wednesday night.
I envision his humble, though oftentimes disarrayed, apartment where he spent the latter years of his life. I imagine his family, rummaging through his things, wondering what to do with it all. He didn't have much. And even though I know he won't answer, I have called several times, just to listen to the previously recorded voice of his life before it went to shit.
Maybe a part of me looks for answers to the question that can't be answered; and observing the contrast of what used to be and what is now is the only tangible thing I have left to try to make sense of it all. You find yourself reading and re-reading old e-mails; which offer little comfort, as there just aren't enough of them. And for what? Is it to savor the leftovers of the communication that will no longer exist? Regret? Denial? I'm still turning it all over in my head. I'm sure it will all be turning for a while, too.
"Have a nice day". That was his usual closing statement. I'm sure that's what he'd want.
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