This seems so inappropriate, so dry and lame. Few words on a computer screen as an afterthought to a life. Something of a foot note. Actually, it is surely not enough. But… I needed to say something.
They say that you hung yourself, but that there is a chance that someone helped you with it. Police is on it, they say. The fact is, you are gone. No letter, no farewell phone call, nothing. The end. Brutal finality of six letters. No explanation – not that it could ever be enough. I will not even pretend that I understand, I will not make up stories or excuses for you. You died like you lived – always on your own terms. Even if you were helped, you still have chosen those helpers yourself, by giving them access to yourself, to your home. You have always chosen your acquaintances. Not always wisely.
They say that we were close. I suppose on some level this is true. I definitely considered you to be my very close friend, someone I could talk to about all my deepest thoughts, secrets, things. Dissecting my life with you. You gave generously back, sharing your life with me. That’s what friends do, right? We didn’t have many moments, not a lot of times together, not by any normal standards. But what truly is normal? I enjoyed those rare hours or days, maybe even more so because they were rare. If I saw you every day, what would we talk about? We wouldn’t talk. I enjoyed silence with you too. And your stupid TV shows.
I learned a lot from you. I was jealous that you could make decisions I wanted to make. You got rid of all relationships, shedding all responsibilities going with them. Or problems – same thing, different name. I could, like you, go exercise every day at 6 am and then lie on my couch all day and watch TV. Maybe I would read or paint. The point is I thought that I could – you did it. Lived your decisions. Your last plan though never came to be – you little shack at the sea, with just a land line phone in it hooked up to answering machine which you promised to listen to on Sundays only. I wanted my shack too. I understood why you wanted it. I also wanted to be away from people. They are not worthy of our time.
You saw your duty to people. You helped, didn’t think about it, didn’t flinch. I wish I could be half a man you were. I wish I could have that reckless conviction of values where there is no delay between a need and action. I learned from you, but that, strangely, moved me away from people. Left me with clear division of feelings and duties. I do things because I have to. You did them because you wanted to. Which implies that you didn’t do things you didn’t want to. And it is true you.
I decided that I will not go to see you go. No wake. They will say that I should be there. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to see people jumping all over each other through made up stories of how they were your friends. I don’t want to hear them talk. I am scared of seeing you go. I don’t want a closure. It hurts, my friend. But I will not display and share my pain with them. So I decided, that I will remember you through my failure – I possibly failed you as a friend, I will fail one more time. And through that, every year, I will remember.
RIP, my friend.