Inspirational song: Jessica (The Allman Brothers Band)
On Tuesday at Rotary, one of our members was giving us another lesson on the history of our club, and mentioned one of the “characters” who had been around when he joined the club. He said he had recently gone to his funeral, and he quipped that the older he gets, the more funerals he seems to attend. Most of us nodded wryly, knowing exactly what he meant.
That night, Mr S-P came in carrying his phone and informed me that one of our old friends had died unexpectedly. He had few details, but when a man in his forties dies invariably questions follow. Had he been in an accident? Was he sick? In whispered tones, did he do it himself? We knew so little at that point, but I felt like a medical defect seemed like the most likely culprit, and I offered my theories that it must have been a heart attack or aneurysm or something like that. Initial word from the coroner confirmed that I was right on both of those counts, after a fashion, in that there appears to have been a structural flaw in his aorta.
I had completely lost touch with this old friend. I hadn’t really spoken with him since shortly before or just after Mr S-P joined the Air Force. He was very young then, possibly still a minor. Over the years I heard a few stories that included him. Like most of us, he grew up into a flawed adult, but one who still garnered the loyalty and love of people who knew him well. He had a family, a life, one that just didn’t intersect with mine. We (Mr S-P, our college roommate, and I) have felt quiet and contemplative today. I think most of us choose to remember him as we knew him years ago, and we mourn for the loss of that friend. I shall try not to punish myself for not reconnecting with him when we moved back. No good can come of that.
Somewhere in this house is a picture of him. For some reason, it turned up repeatedly, everywhere I moved. It is either loose in a collection of things I would rifle through often, or it’s in a photo album, or maybe it got scanned to one of my old desktop computers and came up on screen savers a lot. I can’t put my finger on why I’ve seen it so much, but the image has been burned into my mind for twenty plus years. He was sixteen in the picture, strawberry blond hair cut into a 90s style, sort of long and sweeping on top, but no longer than his chin overall. It was summer, and we were at the Great Sand Dunes national monument, camping with about 60 of our friends. The photo was taken in late afternoon light, and his face was slightly sunburned. It was a closeup of him, smiling broadly as he cuddled his pet rat that he adored so much he brought her camping with us. That’s the guy I remember. That’s the one I have thought about all day. My condolences to his family, and to the people who knew him well, who are aching tonight.
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