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May 23, 2000 |
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The Braves were playing the Brewers today. It's a bit strange since the
Braves were in Milwaukee before they moved to Atlanta. I think they
might've even played in County Stadium, but I don't know for sure. I tuned
the game on the internet while I continued working; it started shortly
after 5pm.
I got a knock on my door. I turned around to face the door. It was my
friend Noel. Noel and I work together, we have for years. I figured he
had some kind of work question, or some issue that I'd have to
investigate.
He came in and closed the door behind him. He said that he had just called
the hospital to check up on our friend Laurie. This is the same friend
which I went to visit a few weeks
before. He had a solemn look on his face, and somehow I knew the news was
not good. I turn the speakers down. He spoke to her aunt. Laurie had
passed about a half hour before.
A friend of mine died today.She had been fighting for a while now, and in some ways we have all had time to prepare. I didn't know what to say or think or feel. I suppose that all I did was sit there for a few minutes while I let the news sink in. My friend had lost her fight with cancer; it consumed her.
Laurie had always lived life to its fullest. She had done more living during the time I knew her than many people I've known. There were times when I would ponder if she even slept since I could not picture her sitting still for very long. She will always have that to her credit.
I felt numb. Not a numb like a dull ache, but more along the lines of not being able to grasp it. And in many ways, I still can't. I simply can't picture her gone. I can't imagine that I'll no longer have a jello shot with her… or lunch at the Mustard Seed eating food that would send us into cardiac arrest… or getting motion sick in her car wondering if she just cornered on two wheels. I'll miss it all. Right now I can't imagine it being gone… her being gone.
I felt a bit guilty. Her passing did not pull me in to depths of sadness or despair. I suppose that I don't grieve that way. I know it sounds stupid to feel guilty about what I don't feel, but I did.
I have suffered from a Superman complex. I've had a couple of friends who had come down with cancer. They went through treatment, and they were knocked on their ass. In both cases, it went into remission. Maybe I thought that fighting it was merely an inconvenience. I don't know. Today it took my friend and I'll never see it that way again.
Noel left shortly after giving me the news. We exchanged some words of recognition, but that was really about it. The first thing I did instinctively was to go back to work, I suppose that I needed to go to a familiar place where I could cope… to divert my attention from it. I worked.
I didn't know how quickly Len would get word of Laurie. I called him at home. He wasn't there. I left him a message telling him the news. At the time, it didn't occur to me that the news may be too jarring to receive in a phone message.
I continued working and listening to the baseball game. We all cope differently. Right now I suppose that I didn't want to deal with it. Len called me back and we talked about it for a while. Again, I don't think either one of us really knew what to say. We just exchanged the information and little else.
I got another knock on my door about 8pm. It was Trudy. The news had spread. She had heard. She was visibly upset. She asked if I knew, and I responded. And then she wondered why I didn't tell her. I don't know why didn't tell her. I suppose that maybe I didn't know how public this was… maybe I thought that the offical word should come from her family. I really don't know.
She and I talked for a while. I wished that there was something I could say or do to make her feel better, but really what can you say about this? How can you soften the blow of "our friend is dead"? She too left after a while. It seemed like all of us were retreating to our corners to lick our wounds.
Tomorrow will be another day. The world will continue to revolve around the sun and spin on its axis. It will have to do it with one less person, and it will seem a bit empty.
Goodbye, Laurie. I'll miss you.
May 23, 2000