A TRIBUTE TO A FRIEND USNewsLink/February 19, 2002 If our situations were reversed and he were alive and I were dead, what would he write about me? He would write the same words he said to me over the years: she was one of the most intelligent people he's ever known. He would say I was beautiful. He would say that I had a wild streak. He would say I was one of the bravest people he had ever known. He would say that I was tough. He would say I had been a positive influence in his life. He would say that he loved me. But he is dead and I am alive and all I can think about is that he was one of the most intelligent people I've ever known. He was beautiful inside and out. He had a wild streak. He was one of the bravest people I have ever known. He was tough. He was a positive influence in my life. I loved him. We were lovers first, last and foremost. He was gorgeous to look at with perfectly chiseled features and a beautiful body. He was the kind of man who a woman would get on her knees everyday and thank God for letting her spend her life with. The sound of his voice would make my day. And to see him, hold him, love him, made my life worth living. But when things got tough, he could not find the strength to live and he took his own life. He died alone, but he announced his intent just prior to going to an isolated place in a rural setting and putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. He was a stickler for details. He put on a bright orange hunting vest so he could be spotted in the field where he lay dead. He called his accountant and gave him last minute instructions about his estate. He called his daughter and talked with her a long time before driving away to die. He talked to his wife at length on the morning he died. He put things in order and then he left this world. He left a lot of people who loved him, respected him, and needed him. But in spite of all of his attributes, successes and accomplishments, of which there were many, he could not control his lifelong depression. He could not stop his inordinate sensitivity to everyday struggles. To him life was difficult. In his mind, he couldn't seem to get it right. So he ended his life. When I found out about it this morning I was in the middle of a project with a tight deadline. After I made some calls to learn the details of his death, I could not work any longer. I went to bed and went to sleep. Thank God for sleep. When I awoke from my nap it was the middle of the afternoon. I showered, ran some errands, cooked dinner, fed and walked the dog. I did everything I always do. Except my friend is gone. I will never hear his wonderful voice again. I will never see him again. My life henceforth is changed, diminished, by the loss of him. I am no longer the same person I was before learning of his death. He gave me a memory that will last the rest of my life. Once upon a time in the distant past, when we were very very close, he held me in his arms and looked at me and said from the depths of his soul, "I love you so Goddamn much." Before dusk today I happened to be standing in front of a window. It was something I never do. Suddenly a red-tailed hawk flew in front of me. He flew past me and continued flying into the horizon. I watched him fly, thinking he would land. He never did. He simply continued flying until he was out of sight. In dying too young, my dear, darling, love flew past me until he was out of my sight, just over the horizon, and now he's in the distance, keeping watch and waiting for the rest of us to catch up. |
