Death and Friends
Mike tossed his reusable grocery bags into the passenger seat, plugged his phone into the charger, and displayed the Google map for directions to the church. He checked the ETA to confirm he would arrive in time for the service, then backed out of the side parking spot onto the main driveway, and headed toward the street.
The text message he had read the week before, was the 2nd notice of a friend's death he had received in the past month. The first, about the aunt of one of his longest and most dearest friends, was not unexpected, but still struck him deeply. The news about his friend, the one whom he would soon see in a coffin, followed that very same path of hurt, creating a deeper, wider feeling of loss and disbelief, as this death was very unexpected.
As Mike drove, his mind floated back to those days of youth and promise during which he first met Elizabeth. He was madly in love with Ann, as we all think we are when teenagers, and had been introduced to many of her family during those few years they dated. Elizabeth was Ann's aunt from her mother's side. Mike was immediately struck by her energy, intelligence, distinctive laugh. Of course, she was at least 10 years older than Mike, and that age difference, and his intense feelings for Ann, eliminated any thoughts about her. Still, he had found that she was fun to talk to and be around on those occasions when Ann invited him to attend various family gatherings. The fact that Elizabeth was a teacher also made her an interesting person with whom to speak, as Mike's nascent curiosity in regards to a teaching career had recently entered his consciousness.
As occurs in most teenage romances, time, along with Ann's college enrollment and personal growth which outpaced Mike's slower, and different path, brought an evolution to their relationship, producing a friendship that, while perhaps less passionate than Mike envisioned in those early days, was far deeper and as treasured as any in his life. And so, as Ann's life moved forward without him, Mike's wandered to and fro, at one point bringing him back into contact with Elizabeth.
Mike parked in the street a few blocks from the church, put his phone in the glove compartment, and walked across the street and up the sidewalk. As he approached the church, he saw a few people with whom he had worked, some who had worked with him and Irene. While no one knew the details of Irene's death, all agreed that it was tragic, surprising, hard to fathom. Inside the church, in the vestibule, Irene was lying peacefully in the casket, a single rose in her hand. Mike greeted and expressed condolences to the family members, all who were clearly in shock at the reason for the gathering. He found a place in one of the pews towards the back of the church, and let his mind float into the past, towards the memories he had of Irene.
Mike and Irene had worked for a large retail organization, one in which people often transferred between stores, sometimes for proximity to home, sometimes for promotion, sometimes just for a new environment. When they first met, Mike was part time, working nights and weekends. He was immediately drawn to Irene, amazed at how much laughter could fit into such a small frame. It was only later he would learn the details of her life that made it even more impressive that she exuded such happiness. But in those days, there was a lot of cooperation, a lot of camaraderie among the staff, full and part time alike. It was Irene who called him Mikey, a moniker that only she and a few of his fellow employees of that time employed.
But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, and for that crew, at that store, the end began with the death of the GM, the eventual transfer of some of the crew, and with the 2008 economic meltdown, Mike's need to become full time, which took him out of the district for his first promotion. It would be 5 more years until he was reunited with Irene, only this time he would be a GM while she remained a clerk.
It was at that store, in that situation, that Mike began to learn about Irene, began to understand just how amazing she was, how her outward appearance of gaiety belied the obstacles she had faced, still faced, the sadness of her life that almost forced her to smile and laugh, rather than acknowledge the pain. Years later, after their communications slowed, she found true love, found a man with whom her laughter could be shared in its truest form, and not just as facade to hide the sorrow.
Mike's fascination with Irene became more apparent to him during that time. When they worked together, the atmosphere was light, stress free, yet as he learned about her, as she opened up a little here, a little there, their friendship blossomed. So, when she was forced to leave her pretty little apartment and move in with her mom, they spent those last few weeks, cleaning, moving her stuff, reminiscing. And, these visits continued once she was ensconced at her mom's, sometimes featuring a beer on the deck, sometimes a snack after work when he would drive her home. Mike never fully understood what this time together meant for Irene, he always assumed she valued his friendship, needed someone to chat with, but when that time ended, Mike realized that she had taught him how to be friends with a woman, how to flirt a bit knowing it was just a way to make each person feel good, but to never cross the line, never risk the friendship for more than a hug or peck on the cheek.
As time passed, their communications gradually dwindled to emails to say happy birthday, happy holidays, or a quick what is new. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her, heard that crazy laugh. As the service ended, family and friends moved through the church, some to the graveyard, some home. Mike walked slowly to his car. It seemed surreal, that Irene was gone, that he would no longer receive any emails from her, no longer wonder if there might be a chance encounter, or perhaps even, a planned visit. He had often thought of inviting her and her partner to visit, especially since his recent move to a new home, but COVID had squashed so many of those kind of plans. As he pulled out into the street, he tried to convince himself that it was the pandemic that prevented him from reaching out, suggesting a visit, and not just complacency.
Driving home, Mike's awareness flitted back to Elizabeth. He had spent some time with her during those years when he temporarily jettisoned college for "life experiences". He remembered going to a hospital with her to visit a sick student of hers, recalled that giving part of her personality, the smile their visit created on her student's face. He remembered visiting her home which was already starting to show some of the signs that would lead to an unhealthy tendency to save things. He remembered one particular letter he had written her in which he had offered to resolve an issue she had longed complained about, although in retrospect, he wondered if that offer was rejected due to its lack of clarity or her disinterest in a change to their casual friendship.
And he thought about the gap that marked their communications, a gap that was suddenly ended one day, 20 years at least since they had last spoken, when Elizabeth came in to shop at the retail store he was managing. Mike had walked past her, not noticing, until he heard her speak to the clerk at the register, and instantly recognized her voice, her tone, a small sample of her laugh. As she walked to the exit, he approached her, confirmed that her name was Elizabeth, and asked if she knew who he was. When recognition swept across her face, she moved towards him, hugged him, her shock at seeing him quickly replaced by a big smile. He walked her out to her car, where they agreed to meet for lunch in the near future.
Mike met Elizabeth 2 or 3 times for lunch in the next 6 months. She was still quick witted, although suffering from the occasional loss of the right words that can be evident as age and mileage takes its toll on all of us. They squeezed a lot of catching up after 20 years into those few meetings, plus spoke on the phone a half dozen times. Mike never quite felt the moment was right to ask her about the past, specifically about that letter. Now he wondered if it was because he was more afraid she would say she didn't remember, or would dismiss it as no more than a crush without revealing how she felt at the time. He had not spoken to her for almost 4 months before hearing of her death, although he did leave a few voicemails in that time, without response. As he arrived home and pulled into the driveway, Mike felt some tears welling in his eyes, wondering why he didn't try harder, especially as he now understood that her declining health was most likely the cause for her silence.
And, as with Irene, he felt a stab of guilt that the death of friends, even those from the past, often engendered more regret than sadness, as if some type of closure for those now gone and those still remaining would have softened the depth of feelings.
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As time passes, as COVID recedes from our consciousness or transforms to an endemic disease as many predict, many stories will emerge concerning the tragic loss of life, tragic loss of friendships, contacts. For Mike, the two friends he lost during the 2nd year of the pandemic reminded him that friendships of the past are nice to remember, but new friendships and the reconstruction of old ones keeps life fresh, can keep the weight of life's trials and obstacles at bay.
Mike knew that some of his sadness over losing Elizabeth and Irene was partly due to his regret that he didn't try as hard as he could to stay in touch, stay aware of their joys and sorrows. He even thought that perhaps he could have provided a smile or chuckle for each had he contacted them one last time, perhaps could have provided one or both of them with a bit of comfort as they faced their final destination, even though he also knew that there was no real reason to suggest that he could have provided either of them something more than their own family and friends had furnished.
He also knew that every death reminds us of other people we have lost, other regrets we might be carrying for things we didn't say or do before losing our parents, siblings or friends. For Mike, his dad's death already 9 years past, stabbed his heart the most in regards to words he didn't say, hurts he didn't apologize for, love he didn't fully express. Its a sad lesson, that we relearn with every funeral, every death notice, every loss. If only we could be more attentive to the people in our lives that we love, those who bring joy to our lives, who support us when we need it, push us when required, love us with few conditions, that sad lesson may not need be learned so often.
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