The Mundanity of Dying: Part Three

One of my dearest friends died on Friday. He was the best person I knew. An enormous fount of love and support. I still cannot believe he’s gone, that I won’t ever see him again, that he won’t ever take my son’s fishing this summer like we talked about.

You try to fit this into your world. Make it make sense. Wrap your hands around the shock, the despair, the utter devastation. But you are left with nothing but empty hands and sour tears.

When I spoke to my mom that evening, one of the things she told me was: “You’ve lost more friends than I have.”

My mother is seventy one.

I don’t have words for why and I don’t have many words for much. To be honest, it feels quite trivial to come here and type my little words and spell out my little thoughts and send you a review of a book or movie right now.

And so I won’t.

I’ll be back in a few weeks. In the meantime, I’ll probably post some fiction for the next couple weeks. Podcasts have been recorded and edited for the next month, so there will be those as well.

I knew you for nearly 25 years. We were little boys teetering on manhood. Decades of memories, of all the stupid, wonderful things we did together, now must live in me alone.

But I will remember you.

Always.

Wolf.

Howl.

you always held me up