I'm trying to have one of those "down off the ledge, boy" talks with myself tonight. The impetus is the loss of another friend from my youth, Jenni. (When we knew each other in high school, I was slugged in the arm after trying to spell it with a "y," because she was an individual, dammit.)
We lost contact after I graduated in 1988 (she was a year behind me), and while we reconnected on Facebook decades later, we never really got back in touch. My memories of her have the clarity of an Instamatic photo. I can hear her voice on occasion, but not as clearly as I would like.
This is how life will be, from here on out. To steal mercilessly from Jimmy Buffett, I'm a motormouth looking at 55. The death notices will begin to pile up, and I will write more requiems and remembrances. I have a voice, and I will use it to herald our lovely ones who have moved on. And Jennifer was quite lovely.
I've survived this long, only to see my friends and heroes move on without me. By all rights, I should have snuffed it by now -- many, many times over. I don't want to start dining on ashes here, but I would sincerely like to make better sense of it all.
When in the hospital in 2018 for gallbladder goofiness, the doctors had administered too much potassium and induced the worst panic attack I have ever had. My heart felt like it would explode, and my skin was crawling with fire. At some point, I opened my eyes and said, "Okay. If this is it, I've had a good life. If I die here, it will be incredibly stupid, I won't get to say any of the wonderfully witty last words I have prepared, but so be it." Of course, I stabilized, and that was that. But, that was the very first time I looked up and said, "I might actually die here, and that's okay."
I swear, there's a point here. Just like there's a point to losing people like Jenni before they're ready to go. Someone should really try to explain it to me, because Fuck All if I know.
27,836 ways to try and justify death. "Death gives life meaning." "Everyone meets death in the end." "There's a purpose to it all, a grand plan." On and on. Well, I'm tired of it. I barely knew the person Jenni had become, but the man she had recently started dating loved her. So did her family. So did her close circle of friends. It's useless.
Why is she gone, and I'm still here?
Apparently, the deal has been altered. And will continue to be altered.
Sorry. There's no great way to wrap up a long piece when you're crying. Like a good crying jag, it'll just wind its way down, into the occasional sobs. I wish I had better modes of comforting thoughts for everyone who knew her.
Goodnight, Jenni.