Again

My brother just emailed me to let me know that this guy, one of his best friends from high school and my friend too, died of a massive heart attack over the weekend while walking along a Manhattan street with his wife and two little kids (5 and 6). He was carrying his little boy on his shoulders, got dizzy and set the kid down, then just fell down and died. It happened across the street from a hospital, so response time wasn't really a factor – there just wasn't anything that could be done to save him. He was 40, the same age as my brother. A year younger than me.

My brother always had nice friends, but Tom was my favorite. I don't know if anyone ever knew that. He was one of the sweetest guys I remember from high school. Funny, smart, adorable, etc. etc. etc. I would've allowed myself a major crush on him if he hadn't been my brother's friend. I found this picture of him online. He was some kind of amazing analyst in the financial industry. Lots of quotes, forecasts and interviews when I googled him.

So, yeah. How many friends is this now who have died this spring? I hadn't seen him in almost 25 years, but my brother used to have dinner with him whenever he was in New York. I guess I always thought that out of all the people from high school that I never bothered to keep in touch with, he was one I might actually see again, and be glad to see again. It makes me realize there are still more people in the world that I would be sad to hear had died, and that I ought to track them down and say hello. At least one person comes to mind ... my friend Angie, who I still hear about via her mom's Christmas letter to my parents. She would probably love it if I emailed her out of the blue one day.

Sometimes I feel so exhausted by my relationships. Even the people I love the most, I don't keep in touch with very often. I still haven't told my father about this blog. Now I'm thinking maybe I will do that on this trip next week – the Mesa Verde trip. Still, opening parts of my life up to the world online is not the same as really being In Contact with people. To do that, I would have to live there. Wouldn't I? Or would I? How do people keep their relationships strong over distance and time? How did I develop this disconnected way of loving people?

I've written elsewhere about this feeling I have of having grown up in some kind of exile – my mom's longing to be in Utah, closer to family and the sense of support she thought she would feel there that she didn't feel (I guess) in Moscow. I always had the feeling that the life we had there wasn't our "real" life – it was just where we lived, because my dad's job was there, but it was never our real home, the place where we were meant to be. That sense of distance has been with me everywhere I've ever lived. For a long time I thought it was because there was something wrong with me, that it was somehow my own fault for not being a good enough person. These days I'm more inclined to think it's just a way people feel sometimes, part of the normal spectrum of human emotion – the feeling that something is missing. Lately it seems like it's been a major theme of this blog, too. Kind of a bummer to some people, I suppose, but something I'm interested in exploring.

The other part is interesting too though – the part where you feel real, whole, alive. I've spent so much of my life focusing on the stillness, trying to cultivate calmness, equanimity, a sense of inner peace. People actually say it to me now – "You're so grounded, so peaceful." Once every couple of weeks or so, probably, someone makes that comment to me. I always used to take it as a compliment (I think usually it's meant as one) but lately I'm starting to wonder. Are other people's lives or souls really all that much less peaceful than mine? Am I really peaceful, or am I just boring? I know that at least one person in my life (Mr. A) sometimes feels, when I fail to freak out over something he thinks is freak-worthy, that I'm either not understanding the situation or not taking it seriously enough, or that I don't care as much as I should (not true, but maybe others see me the same way?). And is that the best thing I can think of to want out of my life? Peace and quiet?

I think for several years my life was in such disarray, at least emotionally, that my answer would have been "yes." Not so much anymore, though. Stillness and quiet are still what I find myself naturally settling into when there's nobody around to influence me in another direction. That's why it was so stressful to have my friend's child around – she's all about noise, movement, chaos, exploration. But it's good to shake it up a little too, every once in awhile. On the other hand, enthusiasm and excitement about life are not the same as drama. Drama, I've had my fill of. Drama I can do without, mostly. (Re. my friend & kiddo: "a couple days" at chez moi turned into a week and a half, at which point they moved into a new place here, without the husband, who remains in Arizona. I don't know if he'll be back or not. Speaking of stress.)

I guess what I'm getting at here is this: I want to live while I'm alive. Right now it feels like I'm wanting a little more activity, vitality, connection, creation, color, flavor, fire. I need to stretch more, maybe even sweat a little. Doesn't it seem like I'm always saying this?

Anyway. Tonight I'm going to help a friend hive a swarm of wild bees that's hanging on a bush in his back yard. That oughtta be good for a little excitement.

P.S. Since I'm already writing about death (that sounds so harsh, even though it just is what it is. Should I say "end of life?"), I will report that the Jeeps is continuing to decline at an ever-increasing rate. The latest development is that he's starting to have real trouble standing, walking, or doing anything else that requires the use of his back legs. Last week I took him in for a cortisone shot and we've started him on Rimadyl twice a day, which seems to be helping somewhat, at least for now. He's still in good spirits though, enjoying (demanding) his dinner and attempting to leap and cavort in his usual fashion whenever Milkbones are in view. I've rarely met anyone with such joie de vivre. It's kind of an inspiration.