death

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There’s No One Else to Share This With

City lights

One of the recurring thoughts I’ve had throughout this pandemic is about my friend who died last fall. I will hear a news report or read a headline or catch an update about the status of things in New York City (where she lived) and I will think, “Oh man, Friend would have been so scared and upset.”

And she would have been. She had a compromised immune system. She lived in one of the busiest cities in the world. She took public transportation to and from work. She would have been terrified of this pandemic. And she would have felt trapped. She was an extrovert who loved to explore all the wonderful things her city had to offer. She was always going out to restaurants and bars and concerts and clubs and galleries and showcases and conferences and fancy events. She loved to travel, and I know she and her family would have had to cancel at least one of their semi-annual trips because of the pandemic, and she would have been so bummed.

It seems like the logical follow up thought would be something like, “Well, at least she’s at peace. At least she doesn’t have to be scared of getting Covid. At least she didn’t have to miss out on all those things.”

But that’s not what I think. I wish she were here. I don’t wish she were scared, obviously. But I wish she were here. I want so badly to be able to call her and talk to her about what’s going on the world. We would lament the impotency of our leadership. We would talk about hand sanitizer and bleach spray and disinfectant wipes. We would compare notes on pandemic snacks and TV shows and books.

I like to think how she would have made do in the pandemic. More than made do – she would have found some way to thrive. She was unfailingly positive. She was determined, especially when it came to getting what she wanted, especially if what she wanted involved chocolate. I am SURE she would have talked her employer into letting her work from home. That she would have locked herself securely into her condo. That she would have sprayed the inside of the stairwell or elevator with Lysol any time she was forced to use them. That she would have found some way to cajole some friend or neighbor into helping her take care of things like mail delivery and trash disposal.

I bet she would have created an elaborate and contact-free plan for trying all the best takeout in the city. I bet she would have figured out all the ways to get chocolate and ice cream and cookies delivered straight to her door. And she would have kept track of everything – taste, cost, ease of delivery, kindness of delivery person – in a spreadsheet, for easy reference.

She was single, and I bet she would have attempted pandemic dating – and I can just imagine the stories she would have told me about men she met online and their virtual dates. (“He gave me a tour of his apartment and he has great art and an excellent view but he clearly hasn’t done laundry since March!” or “He kept asking if I would point my phone camera at my feet, so I told him I thought I was coming down with Covid and hung up.” or “We did a Zoom trivia and he didn’t know who Bono was!!!!”) She loved music of all kinds, and I bet she would have figured out which bands and songwriters were doing private shows. She would have filled her schedule with Facebook and Instagram live concerts and she would have taken advantage of all the virtual museum tours and presentations she could find.

She would have found some way to make life better for others. She was passionate about organ donation, and she would have come up with statistics about how the pandemic is affecting those who are awaiting transplants and she would have shared all sorts of facts and resources via social media to let people know how to help. She was a motivational speaker as a side gig, and I bet she would have found some way to record herself giving speeches to remind people that they can get through anything as long as they don’t give up.

Her parents were a big part of her life, and I imagine talking to her about how they would be dealing with the pandemic. Maybe her dad would be a little resistant to masks – or maybe he would really lean in to mask-wearing and buy masks that matched his shirts. Maybe her mom would be appalled at the thought of schools reopening as usual. I bet my friend and I would giggle over her parents’ attempts to get her to move back home, and roll our eyes over that one uncle who was completely clueless and determined to pretend the pandemic wasn’t happening. I bet we would worry over her brother, who is a performing artist and therefore probably out of work for an unknown duration. I bet she would tell me about her weekly family Zoom chats and how wonderful slash irritating everyone is when you’re forced to stay apart.

Well. This is a silly pursuit. None of those conversations will happen. But it does give me a brief moment of pleasure, to imagine an alternate world, one in which my friend is still happy and healthy and alive.

 

 

 

It’s been about a year since she went into the hospital, hoping to get better. It’s been more than ten months since she died, since she left the planet a little darker, a little emptier than it was before. She never had to endure the fear and uncertainty and grief of this pandemic, and I’m grateful for that. But nonetheless, I wish she were here.

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Monday Randomosity: Frankly, This Is Pretty Morose All the Way Through Edition

(Content warning: death)

It’s hard to get back into writing when you’ve stopped abruptly. Harder so when you don’t feel like writing. Or when you try to write but only one thing comes out on the page. Well, writing is a muscle, like anything. So let’s exercise it. And, in doing so, hopefully exorcise the sadness that is blocking the words from flowing.

  • My friend died a few weeks ago. There’s no way to soften that statement or the impact it has. We were friends for twenty years and now she’s gone. I was able to fly to her state for her funeral, and I’m very glad my husband’s schedule enabled him to take Carla to school and pick her up and that we had plenty of airline points and that my life is flexible enough to allow for it. I got to hug her parents and sibling and see a couple of friends we had in common and grieve in a space filled with other people who truly understood my feelings and knew exactly what I’d lost. I got to say goodbye. I am very lucky she was my friend.
  • I’ve been spending a lot of time being mopey and tearful and engaging in very trite philosophizing about death and what it means to die, what it means to be left behind. Hard as it is to believe, there is something worse, though, than college-freshman-level meditations on the finality of death. My thoughts turn, of their own volition – believe me, I try to reroute them – to my own death, the death of my parents, the death of my husband, and the death of my child. The same creativity I depend on to write actual fiction is now eagerly developing detailed and gruesome ends for those near and dear to me, and my melodramatic brain is DISTRAUGHT at these entirely imaginary scenarios. It’s been delightful a) living inside my brain and b) living with me, I’m sure, although my husband has been very kind.
  • Carla has that particular first-grade pragmatism around the subject and she has been curious and sympathetic, both announcing to random people at unexpected moments that “mommy’s friend died” and asking me multiple questions about death, burial, cremation, etc. It’s been helpful to me, in that it reminds me that death is a fact. It happens to us all. There’s no reason we can’t have frank, matter-of-fact discussions about it.
  • I’ve never wanted to be buried. I’d much rather be turned into a tree when I depart this mortal coil. It’s good for the environment and it offers a nice shady spot for my loved ones to visit should they feel the need. Obviously, everyone has their own preferences, and each option has (I’m sure) benefits and disadvantages. We’re lucky we live in a time that allows for so much customization of the death ritual. I don’t think I’d want a wake, for instance – although I can definitely understand why it’s so important for many people. It was helpful for me to see my friend’s body, to say goodbye in person, but also to see that she wasn’t there anymore; the life force that made her her had so clearly left her corporeal self behind, and that was important for me to experience. It was also nice (“nice”) to have a space for talking and remembering and hugging that was separate from the somberness of the actual funeral. Maybe I am talking myself into a wake. Although perhaps wakes are more of a religious tradition than a funerary one; I’ve only been to two in my life and both of the deceased were Catholic. When my husband’s grandmother died, we sat Shiva with his relatives; this had the same feel as my friend’s wake, but there was no open casket. I’m guessing other religions have their own versions, and maybe there’s a non-religious option I can ascribe to. I know I can look this stuff up but I’m not at the actual planning stage; more still in the sad musing stage.
  • Another choice that I can understand going either way: I really want a program at my funeral/memorial service. As at a wedding, I think it’s helpful to the attendees to have something they can hold in their hands, something to distract them should the homily go too long or should they feel grief overwhelming them, something that lays out the details of the readings and the songs and the people presenting them and sheds additional light on the deceased and her life/loves/preferences. I can see how difficult that could be for the living, though, to have to prepare such a document in a time of staggering sadness; another reminder that it is helpful for the living if we plan for our deaths in advance.
  • I’ve also been contemplating friendship a lot lately. I don’t make friends easily and I have a very strong sense of boundaries, so I have only a handful of people I feel very very close to. My husband, mhigh-school best friend, my college best friend, my grad school best friend, and two or three others that don’t fall into quite such neat categories. All of them, with the exception of my husband, live in different states (from me and from each other!). Some of them, I haven’t seen for years. My friend who died (the college best friend) – I was fortunate enough to see her the summer before last; previously, we’d gotten together for lunch about a year before; prior to that, I hadn’t seen her since my wedding, in 2008. In the interim separations, we kept up via one- to two-hour-long phone calls every month or so, during which we downloaded everything that needed catching up on. (It was never enough time to truly hear everything.) This is true of my other close friends as well. We’re so far away that our friendship survives almost entirely via phone or email. It works for us, but I am feeling some urgency about getting in more regular face time with these dear people. And, as I’ve posted before, sometimes there are ebbs and flows of relationships – especially, perhaps, those that don’t have the benefit of frequent in-person encounters. I’m feeling more panicky about that, too. There’s so little time we have on this planet. It’s so precious. Why aren’t we sharing more of our lives with each other, more often? Should I be FORCING my long-distance friends into increased interaction? Should I be ramping up my search for an In Town best friend? Should I be insisting that we find a way to see each other, cost and vacation time and family priorities be damned?
  • To get out of my mire of sadness, I’ve been: Exercising  – there’s nothing like panting in a room full of women all working on their plank form to keep your mind off death (the cooldown at the end, where we lie in corpse pose and let our minds free-flow, not so much). I’ve been avoiding the news if I can help it; it’s all terrible anyway but the pull of the awfulness is stronger than usual. I’ve been trying to spend more time outdoors, because my city is glorious at this time of year; the leaves are changing and the sky is brilliant blue and you can wear the sunshine like an extra layer of clothing against the chill that has infused the air. I put up the Halloween decorations, which I enjoy almost as much as decorating for Christmas. And I’ve been especially busy with appointments and housework and Carla’s school activities and watching football, which helps to redirect my feelings from panic about loss and the everyone’s inevitable demise to panic about being over-scheduled.
  • Writing about my friend helps. She was a remarkable person, and if I weren’t so determined to maintain a semblance of anonymity here on this blog, I would write more about her because you would find her inspiring; everyone who knew about her felt that way. But I will stick to writing about my feelings. Thank you for reading, even if it’s not the light and fluffy absurdity-tinged day-to-day ridiculousness you normally expect from this site.
  • I’ve also been overdoing it on the comfort food and comfort wine. So I’ve been weaning myself off of that and am back to weekends-only wine and planning healthful meals. I think I will even have enough energy to do this week’s meal-planning post, which I have skipped for a couple of weeks now. I am slowly getting back to normal. Or, slowly building a new normal – one in which my friend can no longer participate outside of my memories. It’s not easy. I will continue to take it one day at a time.

Tell me something cheering or distracting, please, internet.