The world has been too much with me late and soon.
Several men I’ve known well have died within recent times and a good friend is almost dead after taking antifreeze for the second time in just a few weeks.
Foremost on my mind at the moment is Craig, a simple barkeep and Boston sports fan. He drove convertibles and we often exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the advisability of leaving the top down (or up).
The man had the largest collection of music you’d ever want to see. His mind was a repository of music history and trivia.
The best epitaph I could write for any man: he will be missed.
He isn’t the only one.
This weekend, I learned of the death of Mark Schwartz, a former city councilman, and Tom Riddle, a former fire fighter’s union president here. I knew them both very well in my 1970s political life and was on campaigns with both. I lost touch with both, but kept up with Mark more than Tom; I saw and spoke with Mark not more than a few months ago.
Then there’s Jeremy, the pizza delivery murder victim and Red Cup devotee, and poor Josh who took his own brief life.
I still haven’t processed those two young men’s demise.
I don’t have anything profound to say in the face of death, the most profound event after birth in a human’s life. I’m uncomfortable about irreversible and absolute. I’m sad for my own loss and sympathize with the families of these men. My heart goes out to Craig’s partners on Paseo, I know they’re taking this hard. Love you guys and there’s nothing you can do about it.
What prayers can the living say for the dead?
Blogblah
“What prayers can the living say for the dead?”
Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Amen.
(Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.)
I said some of this on a response to a comment on my blog, but it makes more sense here:
The ways people affect each other are, I think, the “prayers.” The way Craig affected my life was at the time not really defined or definable. But now, I see my few moments with him as part of a larger story. Everyone’s Craig stories are different because we all only know who he was to us individually. He was always so nice to me when I was sitting alone at his bar writing. He had a way of pumping me up in a non-intrusive way so I could get in that just-right writing zone. As far as I know, Craig didn’t necessarily listen to the Wednesday night poetry at Galileo’s with much interest, but I always noticed him listening when I read. He was always complimentary and caring. He bought me two glasses of wine when my cat died and I was sad. He was a kind of presence that reassured, and I’m glad to have that as part of my story.