I thought I was sad yesterday. And then I woke up today. How could I forget that sadness is not a place but a condition... and that it can get worse. I was totally unprepared for the waves of sadness washing over me, had forgotten the way my whole body just hurts from the inside...
Big A found me wallowing on the sofa and then we read "What My Dog Taught Me About Mortality" together and I cried and cried and cried. And it felt good. It's like Big A is a sort of doula of sadness.
And then later in the day, I learned more about how our friend MM had died. He was well known, and the family don't want it kept secret. His 80+ mother kept stroking my hand while she said, "It's too late for M, but we can make it so it never happens to anyone else." He died by suicide. Two days before his 60th birthday.
The visitation was wild--the line snaked out of the building and Big A and I spent over two hours in line waiting to see the family--MM was that beloved in the community. His patients LOVED him. He really did light up the room. He really did make you feel what you had to say was important and deserved his whole attention when you talked to him. He really must have delivered half the babies in this town.
We'd kind of lost touch when we moved six years ago, and I wish I had been a better friend. L, his 24-year-old, did such a great job greeting visitors in the ante room--joking and hugging people, keeping things light. And then L remembered the last time we'd all been together... around a dinner table... a simpler time, unaware of what the future would hold. We both teared up.
I don't have a good way to end this post. Perhaps someday I'll understand better. Know how to draw a lesson from all of this.





