Dearest!
I just got your news. You didn’t mean me to, I know, you hate troubling your friends, but news like yours engages Pegasus to circle the globe in no time flat. That a dear friend is dying cannot be shushed – mustn’t be – for it changes all. I remember when I thought I was dying I embargoed the bulletin from all but Jane and the kids – and almost got away with it – for eleven months – till the oncologist sounded the all-clear – but I was young – and allergic to sympathy – and if I’d died then, I’d have rated my life a failure – except for the kids – and one book – and Jane, for we were newly wed (remember that wedding?). I pretended it was courage, but it was cowardice to vanish like that. One of our wedding guests never forgave me. “I thought we were friends,” he huffed and stomped off.
Heartbroken as I am to hear, I am glad to know, and relieved, in a way, for we both must prepare. Your job, while the more painful, may be easier; you will ace it with your usual grace. The progress of your disease is no more your responsibility than the weather. You have refused all extraordinary measures, I understand, as I will, if ever asked. The end is the end – why make a mess of it?
We who must live on without you face a more daunting challenge. You’ve been so much our gaiety – and fortitude – and common sense – how will we cope on our own? In our dark hours – and we had our share – you were the promise of dawn. Dogs that lose a leg learn to walk on three but that seems, ahead of the time, inconceivable. Yet cope we must.
I wonder how I’ll be encountering extinction. With what words might I confront, comfort, encourage, calm? While it’s the oldest story, death always seems to catch us flat-footed. We hear ourselves asking silly questions – “What will it be like?” – knowing it will be like nothing, absent mind. I pity the eschatology adherents, anticipating judgment and eternity. You and I have endured eternity – it’s **** regaling us with his exploits at the fifteenth hole (name withheld out of mercy, but you know who). To hell with eternity, give me a pleasant snooze – with no robocalls! Ahhh.
What I hope to feel, face to face with the dark, is gratitude. What a gift it has been, this chance, all those moments we shared, the affection, the laughter! You and I have loved life, even its dregs, for its vivacity, vitality, variety (not to mention alliterations). What was your expression after some calamity? – “Well, it’s never boring.” Each day a superfluity of interest – to explore, explain. Gratitude, too, for life’s ending, for what more horrifying prospect than a play – or dinner party – that never ends? Without finality, how can there be gaiety? How can the Olympian gods crack a smile stuck in their perfection forever? No wonder they misbehave!
Life and death are equal blessings, for neither would exist without the other: that’s what I hope to be telling myself when I board the train after yours. If you love life, you must love death, its reprieve and repose. And how you and I have loved our time! Memories flood – now! – sloshing through my eyes onto my T-shirt. (I am on my work-bed, as ever, in my regal dishevelment.) I will try to see you before you go – but if I can’t, know, for as long as I persist, you will never go. Bless you, dearest, for being you.