He Not Busy Being Born Is Busy Dying

Bob is right about that.

But i'm sitting here over my morning coffee, and my mind strayed to a gal i used to know. we spent all our free time together, shared our souls over tea and red wine and the occasional spliff. we sat in front of crackling fireplaces and steamy woodstoves singing songs and sharing music. we played chess for hours and hours over lattes and caesar salads. we had a marvellous friendship. it was as if we had known each other forever and our love was immediately unconditional.

i moved away, she moved away. we sent postcards and letters - letters of many pages describing our experiences, hopes & fears in lurid detail and our philosophies with unbridled restraint. We held each other up as we struggled to improve ourselves and understand how to get the most out of being on the planet.

i hardly ever talk to her anymore. i see her once every year or so, usually in toronto for a too-short dinner or drinks or a walk along the beaches. it was almost a decade ago that we met...she is almost 50 although you wouldn't think her a day over 35. she is deep and cool, a musician, a painter, a lover, a daughter, an orphan, a sister. She is part of my strength and wisdom.

it seems strange to me that such a powerful relationship can be reduced to annual coffee dates, voice mails lamenting passed time, and frantic emails sent from work. but there it is. i know that she feels the same of me as i do of her, and we are often in each others' thoughts. when we meet, it is always as though no time has passed. but time is passing at an alarming rate. why do we let this happen? i have lost track of many important people over the past few years, i have let friendships lapse beyond the point of no return. it's not because i don't think of these people, or that they mean any less to me... it's not that there's no time. (seriously, i always find time to squeeze in a game of free cell).

it's all in the timing. they are part of different lives. lives that were me, but aren't me.

and now, as a cynical singleton, instead of picking up the phone to catch up, i dwell and reminisce over my morning coffee, watching the sunlight dance off the walls of this life.

Life is full of death. i don't think that denial of this fact is going to make it any easier when you come to that realization. There is the physical death that you expect; the death of grandparents and distant ancient relatives. There will be the odd tragic death; a car accident, a suicide, a random act of violence. If you are lucky these tragic deaths will not befall people of your inner circle, but they will undoubtedly happen to somebody who knew somebody and you will pause for a minute and try to imagine what that's like. I can't imagine it. I try to a lot.

But i think there is another kind of death that you don't really notice as much...the death of your past. i know we are not supposed to dwell on the past, and i don't think we should. but i don't think we know how to mourn properly.
pay respects.
celebrate.
love.

Well, as usual i have completely lost my train of thought.