I've known Art for nearly as long as I've known my spouse. We were close for a while, then remote pen-pals for a while, then close again. I was there when he married his second wife, Glenna. I sent a card from Africa when their only child died at the age of three.
A few years ago, Art moved to a town not an hour away from where I live, and we revived our close friendship. We went dancing together, the four of us. We celebrated Art's promotion, we toured wine country together. Scarcely a week went by that we didn't discuss some new item, sometimes by eMail, sometimes at a cafe midway between our two towns. We were contemplating a trip to Argentina, barely in the planning stages.
Then last Friday, I got a call from Glenna at the hospital. Art had had a seizure of some kind. Before I could get there to see him, he was dead. Passed away, gone from life.
Art was four years younger than I am.
We spent the weekend helping Glenna try to cope with her loss, so I had little time to contemplate mine. But Monday came, and I couldn't get out of bed. For the first time in years, I slept until noon. I tried to throw myself into work, but the drive just wasn't there.
Tuesday was worse.
This morning I woke at my normal time, to a wet pillow. I vaguely remember dreaming about Art, and they weren't sad dreams, but I still cried in my sleep. Perhaps I'm getting past my loss. Maybe I've accepted Art's death enough to confront my own selfish, scared reaction. That might have been me, lying cold on that gurney, wet with unfelt tears.
Perhaps my "grief" is mostly comprised of that fear, that shock at the suddenness of loss. I want it to be more than that, for my tears (even in sleep) to rise from my heart, not from the cold knot in my gut.
Mostly, I want Art back. I want to finish the eMail conversation we were in the middle of, I want to split another antipasto platter, I want to have the shared prospect, however distant, of a long-dreamed trip to the Rio de la Plata.
It won't happen, not ever. The finality of death is very much on my mind—if I seem curt or remote, this is why. Pardon it, please.
Article comments
1 - alpha
Sympathies for a loss. Life goes on. I have been through these things and more to come (including my own). Enjoy everything you want as soon as possible. Our lives change in a heartbeat.
My prescription: read and write. They give you pleasure. You did the first thing: you wrote of your lost friend and confronted the loss.
2 - Temple Stark
I wouldn't hurry to try and get over the loss.
That's a big part of your life. One very big positive - at least you had that time to be close and stay close.
But boom - and you're standing on the edge of a very deep sinkhole looking down and wondering why and how it happened.
It's terrible but thank you for bringing your thoughts here. Other people always learn from loved ones - and also their deaths.
3 - Nancy
My heart goes out to you, having been there, done that myself. Unfortunately, time is the only healer for this kind of pain. Take it easy, and don't try to shrug it off. It will take awhile to get back to any semblance of 'normal', and it should.
4 - JV
Much sympathy to you, DrPat. Don't rush trying to get over this loss - it takes time.
5 - Eric Olsen
very sorry DrPat, it happens at all ages but does seem to pick up steam as we get less young - no less painful, however
6 - Mark Schannon
DrPat, I agree with what others have said. Don't try to "get over it"--you can't. Grief takes its own path, sometimes overwhelming you with pain, at other times bringing up lost memories that cause both tears and joys.
Temple is right--rejoice as you can in what Art brought into your life. We're all getting to an age where we're going to be suffering these kinds of losses.
Thank you for having the courage to help others learn a little about what it'll be like.
The good news is that the while the grief does eventually subside, the memories never will. Good luck.
Mark
7 - DrPat
Anyone who met the four of us would have assumed I would be the first of the group to go. It was totally unexpected, and devastating to Glenna (we have her on a suicide watch).
And of course, I have changed the names, partly to provide privacy, and partly because I couldn't manage to write this until I did.
Shared grief is lessened. Thanks for all the condolences, it helps to know that others now have a piece of Art, however tiny or inconsequential, in their hearts.
8 - Phillip Winn
Wow. Just wow. I hope we can be here for you and provide encouragement to you.
9 - Bennett
Thanks for bringing this here, and rather than echo those who have commented already, I'll note that I lost my best friend back in 2000. A guy I knew and loved for 25 years. The pain of loss fades gradually. But the memories are as clear as yeaterday, as crisp as a spring morning, and his laughter still echos in my ears.
Take care of yourself DrPat.
10 - Aaman
DrPat,
A ghazal I was just listening to, and much mutilated in the translation, goes,
"Were we separated this instant,
we'd meet in dreams,
like crushed flowers
meet in old books"
Not every flower is pressed into a book - and each one that is, marks a fond memory. Thus it is with friends, the fond memories are all we have in the end.