We were once lovers. We could have married and built a family, but we didn’t. He wanted to; I thought it wouldn’t work. Still, he was someone I cared about and who cared about me.
He died unexpectedly last week.
One of the nicest men I ever dated: a sweet and soft-hearted guy. That’s not to say he was a pushover. No, not a pushover. It’s something I find out pretty early in a relationship because I am, after all, who I am.
But this is about him.
Or is it?
He had a big presence in his community; everyone knew him. Some pretty major accomplishments under his belt, too. Have you ever been to the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C.? He was its chief marketing strategist, largely responsible for securing the tens of millions it took to get it built. $110 million, to be exact and that ain’t hay.
It was sudden, his death. Unexpected. It took everyone in his sphere by surprise, including me. On Facebook, there was an outpouring of love, affection, tributes and yes, shock. Every day I’d check to see who said what about this man and what I might learn from it. I’d puzzle over this untimely passing, replaying our last conversation in November.
And then, a week later, after the announcement of the memorial service, his page went silent. Quiet. Nothing. No more comments. No more thoughts and prayers. Nothing.
Everyone, it seemed, had gone back to their lives. He was a memory, now. Just a memory. Maybe not forgotten. But part of the past.
A Go Fund Me went up to help with final expenses. Two days later it stood at $75. For.a man who had raised tens of millions for his community.
I knew hard times had befallen him this past year because he called me to talk about it. Health issues. Career issues. Money issues.
I had to wonder how many of these big players in his community saw his struggle and had stepped up. Offered some work. Extended a hand. None, I would guess.
And even now, they were back to their lives, business as usual.
Not me, though. I wasn’t back to business at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about the loss of this man, not even 65 years old yet. How he had given his heart and soul for so many and gotten back so little. How only two people offered a few bucks toward his final expenses.
And I wondered about what it all meant, this life of ours. Here today, gone tomorrow. In an instant, he ceased to exist physically and perhaps in the minds of some of the men he considered friends and colleagues. Poof. Gone.
I looked at the Go Fund Me a few times. I have given to more than a few over the years, but I didn’t give to this one. He is gone. My chance to really help passed with him.
Then I wondered how that made me any different from all those others in his life who failed to step up, either before or after his death.
Of course, it wasn’t really true that I didn’t help at all. I did. I didn’t send him a check, but I had a very long conversation with him full of ways he could gin up quick consulting work among his friends and colleagues.
Those same ones who are so quiet now.
While I was in Sedona, I talked to a good friend about it. She brought up the value of teaching someone to fish, rather than feeding them. I got that.
And yet, I felt I could have done more. Could I have? Should I have?
I had a text exchange about this with a dear sister-friend who knew him, knew us and knew the situation because I’d confided it to her months ago. I told her how disquieted I felt about it all.
“It’s always hard to know what the right thing to do is,” I texted.
She wrote back, “Your heart is so tender and when you care someone it is real–sending you a hug.”
True and true.
And yet this whole thing has left me unsettled to a surprising degree.
I have regrets I didn’t step up, because I could have. And yet, I think, “It’s complicated.”
But as I look at it now, I ask myself, “was it as complicated as I worried it was?”
A friend was in need, that was the bottom line.
If we’re awake and aware we learn from everything in life. And for me, this was a big lesson and a painful one.
If you have any words of wisdom or even thoughts to share, I’d love to hear them.
If he knew you the way you say he did…then he didn’t expect you to give him anything except an ear, a shoulder and some advice. And he certainly didn’t mean to give you any guilt over his situation. Be grateful that you were given the blessing to be able to speak to him before he died and not have regrets about not talking for years.
thanks for sharing this- so much to think about – hope you settle into peace soon
Hugs to you Carol. I am sure he appreciated your love, friendship and the listening ear. I know he did.
Life here can be such a cliché. Successful people forget their friends because they must keep on playing the game of survival of the fittest on this planet. It looks like your friend was on hard times, money, health. But much of his life was successful and on top of that so giving to others. To me, “teaching others to fish” is so trite. Unfortunately this world is set up to trip people up at some point in their lives so giving a helping hand to a mostly helpful human being would be the right thing to do. That being said, maybe your friend’s time here on this planet was up. On to better and better projects. It seems you did help him with your words. It was his time to go and I’m glad you were there for him.
Oh Carol, you have learned from this and obviously you won’t let it happen again. You gave him your ideas, your ear on the phone recently. An untimely death is very upsetting to everyone because it leaves the living wondering what you express. Hugs to you. I know where you can get a gorgeous grieving candle.
thank you, my friend. And, grin. 😉
Gone gone
is a lie.
Only not here.
Gone gone our chances to give and share?
Also a lie.
Only not here.
The departure was a jostling in the surface
A splash of beloved going
A temporary gulf from where lifted up
filling in with tears and prayers
Surface resettling over the spot where was
And now a brilliant wet light rising
We’re still remembering and feeling the gulf long after
Maybe we feel something of us went up too
Our shared experiences stretching to the heavens
And because we can’t be both places
We slide back and forth for a while on that tenuous strand of connection
and because our earth eyes can’t stay open to the sparkling brilliance
We have to cry and close them and the strand is broken and and we feel the gulf again
only now we’re sinking into it and thrashing our way out with our questions: did we do enough?
and we find ourselves suspect
and what we should do is
rest back on that filling void and float
With the brilliance shining down
Warming us again
Beloveds are not gone
Returned to light
Still shining
Still available
Not silent
Listen
This is absolutely beautiful.
Thank you. I feel you fellow July girl. I’ve been in this place again so much this year, this month especially…many reasons…all because of love. We are not these bodies. We’re only using them on the shared path. Keep sharing!
You must be in turmoil with this and it’s so hard to deal with. The teaching people to catch their own fish thing is very much what I’m about these days – it’s much kinder and more empowering for the hungry person when we don’t make them dependent on us. But it still doesn’t stop those tormenting thoughts when a person who was in need dies. I would be having the same thoughts. But as it’s not me in this situation, I can see it without that raw emotion that keeps us awake, soul searching over our actions or inactions – from this far removed position, what jumps out at me is you listened to him and cared – that’s worth more than any amount of my money. I agonise over my dad’s death a few months back – I did everything I could think of to make his last days easier but I still suffer like you are. What would you tell me? We did our best and that’s all anyone can ask. I hope you get to a peaceful place with this soon – I know how horrible it is feeling this way.
Thanks so much for the warm words. You’re right of course, all we can do is our best. I am sure that part of this is grief. The other part really is that I struggled with the concept of privilege and what responsibilites it places on us. Just a lot to think about. Appreciate your comment so much.