Frankly, I just need a place to rant about how awful it is to to lose friends and loved-ones, and this seems to be the one page where I can vent those frustrations. If you are offended by gratuitous self-pity, read no further. I understand.
Somehow, a line from the latest Indiana Jones movie came to mind when I heard of Curtis' "departure" -- "Well Indie, we have reached that age when life stops giving to us and starts taking away."
At first, this line seemed thoughtful, sensitive and profound. But on further reflection, I wanted to look the screenwriter in the eyes and in my grief and frustration ask "Who the hell did you think you were writing that line for, you f--king idiot?!? I have been going to funerals since I was 11 years old and I am goddamned tired of it! ! ! Was 11 that ominous age to which you were referring, you f--king schmuck???"
Granted, I have much "fire" in my veins and all of my childhood heroes died long ago, so perhaps my reaction to death is a bit different than most. I take it personally. Throw in some booze while grieving for a friend and you've got a guy who gets pissed off at God (or whomever) for making us merely mortal and decides to do something about it -- like putting the grim reaper out of business.
A friend committed suicide a few years ago (to avoid a long, tortured disease-death) and in a state of mind fueled by copious amounts of tequila, I decided that I would abolish death, thinking to myself: "ENOUGH! ! ! I AM FED UP WITH THIS WHOLE GAWD-DAMNED DEATH CRAP AND ALL THIS F--KING MORTALITY S--T! IT WILL ALL F--KING STOP TONIGHT AND IT WILL STOP ... RIGHT ... F--KING ...
NOW! ! !"
One must be determined and passionate when one is about to tell the Universe to go screw itself. In my defiance of the aforementioned "whomever," I decided that I would put death (that f--king bastard!) in the unemployment line by drunk-dialing my friends at 4:30 a.m., for the sole purpose of making sure they were okay, because "By God (or whomever), no one was going to die on my watch!" Again, the tequila had much to do with my flawed reasoning.
Fortunately, only a few of my friends awoke to answer my calls and I vaguely remember them being amused and confused before politely putting me off and returning to bed. The ones who laughed the hardest were the ones who slept right through the drunken "fatherly-concern" voice-mails I left and listened to them the next day. All the people I called knew the person who died, though I never mentioned him as a reason for my calls. He was a good friend and is still missed. No one was angry and we all had a good laugh over it, because it seemed harmless.
But I never told any of them why I did it. I don't know how I could have adequately explained it to each of them, without sobbing in grief over the loss of our mutual friend.
Dealing with the death of a friend or loved one always brings me to the same frustrating crossroads: Do I accept it placidly and wallow in grief and self-pity for a while? Or do I shake my fist at the Universe and try to do something about it? With all the fire in my veins, acceptance is still difficult for me. I want to fight it.
But damned if I can figure out how.
Bradley