Mortality
We humans are so fragile and mortality is so tenuous. It's so easy to forget that we are in fact, the stuff of mortals and not invincible. Until you get that phone call that one of your own has passed. The night before last a dear friend never woke up to his alarm and we are all struggling with the verb that is grief. It was a shock to the system. It still is. You were only 28, almost 29, which demands the question: Why? Why now? Why so young? These are questions I know will never be answered but I want this to be fixed. I want answers. I want him back. We all do. I keep wishing that this was some sick joke and he will pop out and say "Gotcha!" and we will hate him a little but with relief. The numbing shock is giving way to the painful realization that J will never come back. Never randomly text from a dance floor and demand our presence and joy. We'll never sit in Rittenhouse with a bottle of wine in a bag, in the sunshine or on a rug in someone's living room, the bottles half empty, the conversation peppered with a multitude of subjects, witticisms, and catty retorts. He wanted to to be eaten by birds, not die in his sleep. He had so much left to do in this life. He was brilliant. He was cynical. He was fabulous. He was blunt and honest and loyal and loving and a fierce, fierce force to be reckoned with. I wish he never went to sleep the other night, but that is a fantasy of illusion. He was my friend and I loved him and I only hope that heaven meets his high standards and there are enough activities, causes, and tribulations to conquer to keep him from getting bored in the afterlife.