Half a Step Over

Grief

I wrote most of this a while back but always hesitated in posting it, I’m not sure why. But now things have changed and it’s time.

I lost a friend. Well, perhaps not a close friend, but I had known him for just about 49 years, so I consider calling him a friend more than reasonable.

(I need to digress for a moment. I have had the same best friend for 50 years. We met the first day of the sixth grade and bonded—I was the new girl in town. Then I walked into my Hebrew School class and she was there. It was a match made in heaven on many levels, especially since my parents took Hebrew school very seriously, as did hers, and we were “different” from the other kids, whose parents knew their children needed religious instruction, but weren’t all that into it themselves. We became each other’s rocks there if nowhere else. To this day, I don’t think the people who knew us then would believe we are still close. We each know that if the other needs us we will come immediately. That is rare today.)

But who died? My friend’s older brother. He was 63, and unfortunately, he died alone. But, it appears that he never knew what happened; he just…died. That can only be for the good—for him. He was a nice guy—not only did I know him for a long time, but I actually dated him very briefly after I graduated from high school. I knew quickly that it wouldn’t work out, but that’s not his fault. It happens.

Was he a little set in his ways? Probably. Was he an older bachelor who probably didn’t have a lot of friends, but had buried himself in the historical research he loved and wrote about? Yes. After his father passed away, did he step up and help his sister take care of their mother? Yes. Was he there for his family?  Yes. And they loved him and took turns speaking glowing of him at his funeral. There was laughter in the tears.

My friend is already dealing with so many issues. Her father passed away just over 3 years ago; her mother died 9 weeks after her brother, a victim of Alzheimer’s and never knew that her son predeceased her. My friend’s husband has some health issues. Did she need a call from the state police early in the day to tell her that her brother had been found? Absolutely not. Did she need to deal with planning the funeral her parents would have wanted for him, cleaning up his estate, his home, the final effects of what happened? No. But did she do it? Yes, without question. He was her brother; she loved him. He was the second friend I lost in less than 3 months. He and I were not close. It doesn’t matter; I’ll still miss him.

But now…

My friend has had another tragic loss. This weekend we buried her husband, a brilliant man who in recent years has had significant health issues, although what ultimately took him down may not have been related to them. In the last few years, he has had many issues, but she was always a constant in his life, I think up to the end. And no matter what, and no matter how off he seemed, he always called her when she and I were out. He’d ask when she would come home, answer her questions, and no matter what else, he always said, “Get yourself something nice.” Sometimes she bought, sometimes not, but to me his ALWAYS remembering to say that was a sign of the guy he used to be before health issues got to him.

And going forward…

It is said that only the good die young. These men were radically different in their approaches to life. But both had good lives that they cherished, and both had families and friends who loved them. The world is a lesser place right now with these losses and others that my husband and I have seen in just a couple of years. I can only hope that people think of me as well when I’m gone—preferably not too soon.