One year ago today, at about 2 AM, I lost my best friend to what appears to have been an acute ischemic stroke, brought on by cancer, chemotherapy, and long-standing circulatory issues. We had known for years that her end was approaching, and had I not refused to see them, there were clear signs that it would be sooner rather than later. But human beings are very good at failing to see what we do not want to see, and I’m certainly no exception; I’m sure part of the reason was that I wanted to maintain a positive outlook to help her do the same, but most of it was just that I’ve already had so much pain and loss in my life I did not want to consciously face what even our idioms recognize as among the worst misfortunes that can befall a person.
Whenever a friend suffers a loss, we are moved to try to say something, anything, to assuage their pain; some of those things are helpful and some are not. But of the things my friends said to me, two stand out, and I still think of them often. One of them is philosophical: Grief is the price we pay for love. Indeed, people who have suffered emotionally sometimes become afraid of love because they fear the pain that must come when we must part from the loved one, and the greater the love, the greater the pain. The other helpful thing was more practical: The waves of grief never stop coming, but they do grow further apart. For the first few weeks after her passing I thought of little else, then for most of last year the waves came at least daily; in more recent months they’ve come two or three times a week. They have not yet become less intense, though I’m sure that, too, will happen in the fullness of time.
As I knew I would through long experience, I have tried to cope with the grief by retreating a bit from the world and burying myself in my work; the most important product of that work is a new series of pulp-style adventure stories featuring characters based upon Grace and myself, in which the narratives are suffused with my thoughts on friendship in general and our friendship in particular. They’re the longest and most complex individual works I’ve ever written, and the next project in the series will be my first novel. And the many hours it takes to create them not only feel like a way for me to share Grace with the world, but also a means by which I can squeeze just a little more time with her out of a world which took her from me much too soon.
Your remembrance hits home, my friend. We are not long for the world. Nor are our loved ones. Each day we should try to honor and appreciate them, before they leave us or we leave them.