The Specter and the Shadow

Death has stalked me of late, claiming those whom I was once close to, or who remained closest to those who are closest to me.

A friend from graduate school.  My father’s cousin.  The brother of an old and dear friend.  A long time neighbor around the corner.

Four men who hailed from Iowa, North Carolina, the Bronx, and Baltimore.  I knew them in those places, as well as in Nebraska and West Virginia.

A teacher, a business owner, a plumber, a dock manager.

Two of them were grandfathers, one had a step daughter, and two widows are left behind.  Two of them never divorced, one never married, and one had multiple marriages.

Most were in their early 60s, one in his mid-70s.

Heart attack.  Cancer.  Cirrhosis.  Probably a another heart attack.

The specter of death is lurking about me, close enough to draw tears, but far enough away as to leave my dearest loved ones unclaimed.  At least lately. It is almost inconceivable that someone my age, assuredly closer to death than birth, has not lost the near and dear.  I have, of course.  But not lately, and not many.  I am more fortunate than I could ever ask to be, rolling, rolling, rolling, and mostly dodging craps.

My father, just over seven years ago, but even he lived a fair bit longer than anyone who knew him might have guessed.  Three grandparents whom I loved (a fourth when I was still quite small), but of course grandparents.

The man from Iowa whom I met in Nebraska, and who lived in West Virginia, an officer, a gentleman, and a scholar.  A sweet man whom everyone loved and admired.  He is the closest friend I’ve lost in my lifetime.  And I’d not seen him in a decade.  And this is not from a lack of friends.  I am luck to have good friends.  And there have been some scares, accidents survived, cancers beaten, heart attacks resuscitated.  But somehow, despite being in my late 50s, none of my closest friends or family other than my father have yet perished.

My oldest friends are from the Bronx.  A half-dozen of them, and all without any parents remaining.  Me, still with a mother who shows few signs of slowing down.

If I keep living, I will witness many deaths to come, the passing of those whom I have loved and been loved by, who have added so much to my life.  Perhaps it will pour down in a torrent, perhaps it will strike more sporadically.  These more recent passings are a reminder of the specter that looms.

After the specter departs, it leaves behind a permanent shadow that covers a piece of you.  These people were part of your life, and now that part of you is nevermore.  Where there was once them, an unfillable emptiness now burrows through you.

But you go on, with whomever you have left.  Because there is no life without death.  Their deaths that end them.  Their deaths that edit you.  Your death, which will reshape others.  And your final exit from the narrative.

There is nothing more to say of it.  There merely is, and is not.

This essay originally appeared at 3 Quarks Daily.