Dances with death – 317.5

Just after I finished my most recent blog entry I found out that a childhood friend had died. So I woke up losing my uncle and went to bed losing my friend. I have to admit, I’ve had better days, and weeks, and months, and probably years.

Since I was already feeling like I could not take anything else, that and the weather and the increasing tensions here at home would make it very easy to just wallow in self-pity now, but I don’t really want to do that. I have been thinking very serious thoughts.

For me, one death always seems to bring back memories of every other death, or maybe it is just similar ones. Josh reminds me of Matt and Jason and Eric. I guess I am still at an age where when someone of my generation dies it seems fundamentally unfair. Give me thirty or forty years, and maybe it will just be a reminder that my days are numbered (which is true now too, but I am not feeling it).

Usually every time someone has died there has been some sort of lesson in it for me, maybe just helping me to make the loss meaningful. Jason died rock climbing in Australia. I saw him right before he left, and he looked so good—just happy and excited to be going. I couldn’t believe that his trip ended that way, and I suppose it could be seen as a reason not to do adventurous things, but I never ended up feeling that way about it. I wanted to go on and do things that I would feel great about.

Eric was a great guy, and anyone who knew him would say that. What I eventually realized was that I had never had a bad encounter with him. He just radiated kindness and cheer, and I learned that you can do that. You can make every encounter a pleasant one, and that you never know when the last one will be.

So, now Josh is gone. We were pretty close from second through sixth grade. Then I went to Five Oaks and he went to Mountain View, and when we met up again at Aloha he was heavily into drama and I had turned my back on it in ninth grade, so we didn’t cross paths much. From then on, most of my memories of him are watching him perform.

Even if he was not really a part of my current life, I am grateful for the part he played back then. We had a lot of fun together, and as far as I know we never had crushes on each other, so it was just innocent and fun with no pain. Not until now.

I can still learn though, and the main lesson I have gathered this time is just to remember to stay in touch. I have mentioned how much I appreciate Facebook now, and being able to be in touch with people that I have not seen forever. Facebook is actually how I found out he was gone, and then along with the memorial service, blogs have allowed me to share memories and grieve, and doing that communally helps.

We do help each other. Monday night, the hugs and the stories helped. Just being there helped. I went with one friend to talk to Josh’s mother and brother, and I thought we were doing okay, but then we walked off she fell apart a little, and said “I don’t know what to say”. What I realized right then was that it was okay if the words weren’t right, because we all know. Everyone there knew that there is a hole in the world that is the size and shape of Joshua, and that we are grieving for that, and we are doing that together. Anyway, I felt understood. And stupid, a little, because I had shared a story earlier, and I didn’t feel like what I said was quite right or quite what I wanted to say, but it was enough.

That may only work in some situations, and in others there will be people who will misinterpret or even be mean, but I know I have reached out more in this last week, and I have not regretted it. In fact, I was really incoherent in one of my outreaches, and it was still well-received and not regretted.

I know that Josh’s family and those who were currently in his life are hurting more now, and I am thinking of them, and praying that their hearts will be comforted. I know that as much as it hurts to know that Zio Paolo is gone now, it will feel worse the next time we go back, where he used to be. The first hugs with Luciana and Valeria and Alice are going to feel like knives. But they will still be healing, because we will be sharing our love and grief and connecting with each other, and I will still be grateful to be with them again.