Working On A Quirky Graph

All of our experiences happen in the blink of an eye. Time that we spent wishing would pass by faster, perhaps bored at work, or a teenager wishing they were older, has blown by in an instant. We can recapture the memories, either in our own minds, or on film or in stories we tell each other, but the actual instance slips through our fingers like sand, with only small details embedded in our subconscious like tiny grains we can never seem to wipe off our fingertips.

My phone jolted me out of dreams this morning, not extremely early, but I was still chasing some rejuvenation. After the second round, I realized mom was calling. An old friend of the family had died on his front lawn. Our neighbor. Someone I’ve known my entire life, who would celebrate the family wins as if they were his own, and grieved that his best friend had passed when dad died.

Early morning jockeying to figure out if mom had a key to his house, and as she wasn’t there, could I get up and go get it for the police. Did I have his son’s phone number, or could I find it, etc. All the neighbors on the street were blowing up my mom’s phone, expecting her to have information or to convey the loss, and she was frustrated that she, not only couldn’t help them, but couldn’t help our old friend.

I’m the one who broke it to his son. Sitting on the edge of my bed while telling him he lost his father unexpectedly isn’t something I believe we are ever prepared for. We sat in silence for a while, shocked together, unable to form a train of thought that was more evolved than, ‘huh, wow’. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of years, but after growing up with someone, there isn’t much change in the relationship. We’ve known each other all our lives, and if there is anything I can do to help with this, I believe he knows I would. And yet, more than 12 hours after breaking the news to him, I still cannot seem to string together a more coherent form of sympathy than, ‘wow’.

His dad gave me my first job, working at the Muny, hawking seat cushions, helping me come into my own personality at the tender age of 16. The Muny parties alone were experiences I would never have had without his presence. He was there when we fell or did something ridiculous and would put his hands on his hips and say, ‘well, I guess you aren’t going to do that anymore, will ya?’ Sarcastic and funny, he had a larger than life personality. These last years hadn’t slowed him down any.

If there is an afterlife, I can only hope he has already tracked down my dad, popped open a beer and started talking to him about everything dad missed these last couple of years. I hope he’s cherishing all those moments we forgot, or rushed past, or got lost with all the other grains of experiences. I know there are several people who are cherishing those moments without him tonight and are sadder for it.