There is always something to be grateful for and in parallel, there is most likely always something to be sad about. Each day, we make the decision which feelings and emotions will take charge. And some days, it is completely out of our control.
Today, we learned another dear friend of ours passed. He’d been sick for years, a miracle some would say because he survived Stage IV cancer and found a will, unbeknownst to most of us, to survive. Not only survive, but to live each moment to the fullest and make the most out of, well, everything.
For the past few years, we celebrated his birthday with a weekend in Maine, filled with various excursions. His excitement was that of a five-year old, so joyful to be getting out of the city and spending time with friends. You see, he couldn’t hear. He’d been raised in homes for the deaf and suffered greatly, he was gay in a day and age when it wasn’t accepted, yet he also had such amazing and memorable experiences during his life due to his unyielding passion – his fire, his anger, his intention to be seen and heard no matter what the cost. He made his way in this world.
He was amazing. He possessed a self-confidence, a self-assuredness, that shrunk for no one. He went for what he wanted, fought for what he needed, and though his speech and hearing was disabled – he lived loud!
Just one month ago, he was in our presence. He was in my home, with my parents, armed with Christmas gifts for all of us, right down to a Party Favors cake (if you know, you know), decorated for the Murphy family. Through my door he walked, donning his pajama bottoms, so excited to be here and happy to spend time with us all.
He fed himself through a tube, couldn’t indulge in any way that we’re all accustomed to enjoying, and struggled – to breathe, to digest nutrients, to live – but he did. Shame on all of us who complain about the basic aches and pains in life. This man went through hell for countless years and cherished every moment he lived – with a smile, with an unbelievable attitude, and an acceptance for those who never accepted him.
He’d had enough that evening, crying because he wanted to stay, yet had to go, then we drove him home and settled him in.
The calls we’d get one, two, maybe 20x each day – no exaggeration – will never come again. The countless bags of popcorn, boxes of green tea, and so many dog treats – he knew what I loved and lived on. He was filled with love and his intentions were the best. My heart is heavy.
Last week, I received a thank you note from him – thanking me, and his niece, Vivienne, for our Christmas time and gifts.
Our friend was dying, and he was writing thank you notes. I haven’t even started or sent my holiday thank you notes, and I was the queen of etiquette at one time. Ha!
Don’t take anything for granted. That person who annoys you, pesters you, or overwhelms you with care – trust me, you’ll miss that when it’s gone.
When I got the news my first thoughts were, “I should have, could have …”
Yet that’s making it about me. He’s gone. There is no should have, could have. We all gave everything we had, with what we had at the time.
I asked myself if I cherished him enough. I did, but did I show it? Did he know? Did I ever leave room for doubt?
What I would give right now for that call.
Last evening, my dog went nuts. She was sniffing and chasing something in my home, out of the blue, staring at the ceiling, and dancing in front of a piece of furniture and art our friend gifted me. He’d passed, and we’d not yet been aware.
My father reacted, wondering if there was a gas leak or something we weren’t sensing whereas an animal would.
Today, my mother called and said what I’d also thought – was our friend making his presence known? Did his “niece” Vivienne sense his loss, or presence?
Tonight, I looked over at a beautiful painting I’d fallen in love with during one of our visits to Maine. Yes, I loved it, but wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to bring it home.
Our friend witnessed me admiring it, sensitive enough to gage my emotion toward the piece of work.
It arrived on my doorstep soon after, and I was floored. He’d caught me in a moment, his perception and sincerity so true. Though it may not have been one I chose to acquire, it means the world to me today.
In that painting is the life and thoughtfulness of my dear friend. How I wish he was here for me to make sure he knew that. I looked to that painting tonight and my heart was both full, and heavy.
Please let there be no more loss in the near future. My dance card is full.
Tell those you love, that you love them. Cherish those who care.
Be reminded that tomorrow, may be today, so leave nothing to chance.
Grief is a part of life. Sadness is inevitable. But we will carry on, and pack it all up with a smile.
How much we love you. Always. You brought so much to our lives. Thank you, my friend. Thank you.
Sadness is healing in this moment. Allowing myself to weep for the loss to the world that your friend’s departure is. Even in this glimmer of seeing him, I am called to feel the people in my life who are gone and who also were illuminators. Never forgotten, I am feeling their presence again, connecting with all the good they brought into my life and that I shared with them.
This beautiful ode, a vital remembrance, is one that I needed to read today.
I am seeing a friend on Wednesday to reflect on our journey together over the last year and thought of everything I wanted to share with her. What I see in her and how she has been there as I became the person I am today, in many ways, is because of what I have come to know about myself in her healing presence. And to celebrate the love we share, and for a moment, I thought, is this too much to share over lunch? The time to tell our people that we cherish them is each time we see them. I grieve for your loss and thank your friend for being the light he was to the world. I will share things at lunch and thank you and your friend for the inspiration.
Ian, first, my apologies for the delay in my response. Thank you for sharing what you were experiencing in the moment, I hope that this piece did transfer to your lunch and resulted in robust conversation, and the exchange of deep emotion. Is there anything more wonderful, than to share fully and own one’s vulnerability and honesty?