Tuesday, August 17, 2010

the companion that won't stay away

I texted a good friend of mine yesterday. The last time I’d heard from him was July 12th, when he asked if he could spend the night with me on the 14th. He’s a 40-something (looks 30) teacher friend from Longmont. He stays with me from time to time when he plans on going out with friends and doesn’t wanna risk driving home after drinking. For this instance, I told him I couldn’t have him that night. It was the night before my surgery if I recall correctly, maybe right after... He told me it wasn’t a big deal and he just wouldn’t drink much and he’d be calm. I didn’t hear from him again. Not a big deal. I am very flaky with communication with people. However, I realized yesterday I hadn’t heard from him in a while. So, I texted. I got a text back this morning. It was his mom, asking me to call her. I so did not wanna make that call. She told me he died on the 14th of July. The night he’d wanted to spend with me. She told me he died suddenly. She didn’t tell me how, and I didn’t feel like I could ask. She doesn’t know me, and it seemed like prying. I did ask after his dogs though. They took them.
I am so very used to death. So much of my family has died—either health or accidentally. This is my first friend to die. I haven’t cried, which makes me feel guilty, I cry at everything. However, unless you’re really, really, really close to me, I am kinda numb about death anymore. (Make it all about me—not that I would have preferred death—not at all—but someone dying is in some ways easier than them leaving me. I don’t think I could recover if the men I loved weren’t still on the planet with me, even if not with me. However, at least death means they didn’t choose to leave. Sick, huh. I know. I don’t like that part of me either. But, there it is. My ugly truth.)
I really do wish I knew how he died. I hope it was something quick and sudden—aneurism, heart attack, something. I’m afraid, and willing to bet, he drank too much and then tried to drive back home to Longmont. I know it’s not my fault or anything, but I can’t help but think if I’d had said yes to him staying (no matter the reason why I said no) that he would still be alive and part of my life. Part of his family’s life. Part of his students’ lives. I so wish I’d had said yes. He was such a sweet and gentle man. Full of life, full of humor, and full of God, actually. He was very adamant about his faith. (In this instance, I am so glad I don’t believe in the god I used to believe in.)
I don’t think this will go anywhere with me. Unless you’re immediate family or family-by-choice to me, death just seems like one more shitty part of life anymore. However, between financial drama, my constant struggle with depression the past year or so, thinking the boy was returning and then not, and now a dear friend’s passing, my mind has kinda just shut down. I kinda feel like a walking zombie.
Please say a prayer for my friend and his family. I don’t know them and can’t really be a comfort to them, but their pain must be unreal.

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