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Sam, I didn’t take & bury your corpse in the secret recesses of a redwood forest, as you once asked me to do for you if you died first.
But I did come through on your elegy. After all, who else knows you better than I do?
My truth is that although your ashes rest in a mahogany box on top of a chest in your son’s neat living room, it feels as if you’re still here with us!
When my grandfather died, I felt sadness, loss, and also pride that he still worked, up until the day he died.
When my father died, far away on another continent, I felt shocked that he was gone and we’d never see him again. But then, he hadn’t ever tried to contact his own children from the time when we were teenagers and he left our family for another woman.
When my mother died, my sister, my brother, and I cried our eyes out and wailed because we felt like we were orphans.
When your best friend took his own life, I grieved at the senseless waste of a life that was suddenly and irrevocably gone. He left a note, but you never told me what he said.
A few years ago, my best friend died; I didn’t tell anyone because her spectacular life is far more meaningful than the trivial detail of her death.
Every single one of these people shows up in my memories and in my dreams.
That’s almost enough for me.