In the middle of a slow morning one year ago, I got a call from my best friend’s wife. My friend had had a massive heart attack. He didn’t make it. I couldn’t tell you what the weather was like that day. I couldn’t tell you if it was sunny or gray. I can remember the shock. I can remember wanting it to not be true. I spent the day wandering from room to room in my apartment – dancing with grief and fond memories. I spent my day searching what few words I could find to encapsulate the bigness of my friend and the richness of our friendship.
I’ve thought about my friend often in the year since he passed. I’ve gone to concerts and wanted to text him about the show. I been reminded of him by songs and funny stories. Every time I’ve felt a tightness in my chest or some form of heartburn or the quickness of my heart as sometimes happens, I’ve wondered, “is this how he went?” I think about that, the physicality and logistics of it, more than I expected to. I’ve thought about his family and how horribly unfair this is, how losing him wasn’t part of the plan – at least not their plan.
I’ve had to go back and check the date to make sure I have it right – mostly because the condolences came in waves. I’ve thought about the importance of dates – the things we honor, the things we keep. Over the course of a lifetime, they add up. They become a calendar unto themself – grief and celebration.
In a small nook carved out in a wall in my apartment, a space that held a telephone when telephones were part of the architecture of how we lived, I have a small collection of rocks and seashells, and in the middle of that gathering sits a smooth gray river stone painted with a yellow sun and my friends initials, TM. His kids had painted rocks for family and friends to take after the funeral.
There is, today, a sense of shame or embarrassment over how routine it all feels – how it’s been subsumed by the larger me. It’s as if I want bigger thoughts and better words to meet the moment – or maybe I expected this anniversary to be more emotionally charged, more crushing. But I think when people are with you, in your mind and heart, on a semi-regular basis, the anniversaries are just days, in a long list of days, when you think of them with more intention and gratitude.
A year ago today I got a call telling me my best friend had died. A year ago today.