A lovely day writing and walking in New York today was winding down. My phone rang. First call in two weeks. My best friend had died in his sleep.
“I got a text from him at 10:30 pm last night. I was wondering why he didn’t reply.”
“I’m so sorry to have to make this call…”
A few hours later I spoke on the phone with his girlfriend. They were leaving for Mexico the next morning. My friend never heard his 5:45 am alarm. He was a busy and creative soul. I cried for twenty minutes.
The phrase “if I got hit by a bus” has been part of our lives for some time. I prefer to take the violence out of the saying, using “if I won the lottery.” My friend dying was a swift comedown from the mountain. And a tonic, right? Deaths remind us to get up and do our thing. If living is only about survival, we’re done. So the message I got, crying in my hotel room, crying as I typed Notes messages into my iPhone of all the things I’d miss, was in two parts: a. be at peace as often as possible, b. go for what you love, don’t wait.
In this context another big loss was hovering nearby. I had broken up with my girlfriend, but the connection was still strong, and her approach appeared to be one of “we’re going to work it out.” What I learned in the two weeks of silence was I was better off alone at this moment in my life. My son is floundering and seeking the surface of a deep depression, my creative energy is off the charts, and I needed all available time to heal, rest, and be available to my kid. He was priority number one. Only after me, of course. Take care of yourself. No one is watching out for you as an adult. Step up. Get on with it. Take your best shot.
I slid back into Austin with little fan fare. My son, amazingly, picked me up from the airport on time. Wow. I was excited to be home. I could also feel the heaviness in the passenger seat beside me as he let me drive home. None of my stories, laughs, or ideas about my two weeks got a response from him. He was deep in distracted depression. Gone.
The next evening my girlfriend showed up at the house. Um. Okay. She sat next to me attentively, “I want to hear everything.” That was a lot to ask, but I launched into the stories about my week in the mountains, the death of my dear friend, and the status of my son.
“How was your time?” I asked her, trying to bring perspective back to our conversation.
She didn’t have much to share about her preparations for the new school year. She’s a teacher. So a void of information back from her about what she had been doing with her time. She looked amazing. I was again drawn in by the beautiful woman. I was out, however. And I was getting the idea that she didn’t know yet.
I mentioned that I’d been texting funny Bumble profiles to my friend who died. I had recently got him back into online dating and we shared the horrific photos with each other as encouragement.
“Bumble?” she said.
“I’m not dating,” I said.
“What?!”
I’d said too much.
She rocked back on her heels and leaned into the couch behind her. Pale.
“I’m sorry. I’m single. I’m done. I thought you were processing stuff.”
A few minutes later she stood up, “I’m going to go.”
Second bus same day.
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