Gone...

The last time John and I hung out was less than a month ago. He came over and we caught up on each other’s worlds for a little while. He was visibly weaker but I wouldn’t call him frail. We laughed and gossiped. We talked and foreshadowed plans of hanging out sometime soon. 

We didn’t.

I knew seeing him dead wasn’t the way I wanted to remember him, and yet I was drawn to look. As if somehow my gaze was paying homage…or maybe my own penance. How was he dead –just a wooden door separating him from me and the rest of the world? 

When our property manager unlocked the door and the police pushed it open, I was sitting on the floor just inside my own doorway, leaning against the frame and hoping that I’d hear John’s voice –raspy from the chemotherapy – fussing politely about the intrusion.

Instead, the first thing I saw was his glasses on the hardwood floor facing out as if peering through the doorway to see who was there. Just beyond his glasses he lay on his back, mouth open and eyes closed. The police officer quickly closed the door in an attempt to shield us from the body…my friend…lying there.

Our property manager averted his gaze and turned toward me- my first tears seeping from behind closed lids- he kneeled to hug me. A moment of intimacy inspired by loss.

I didn’t want to see John like that and yet I made myself see him like that. I purposely watched. I’m not sure I would have believed he was gone without seeing him because we’d texted just this week.

“I missed this text…I’m around tonight. Would love to lay eyes on you.”

That was my response on Sunday to a text from John that hadn’t shown up on my phone on Friday when he’d sent it.

“Needed help a couple of days ago.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help. Is everything ok now? Anything I can do?”

My last text was met by silence. It wasn’t an unusual silence, we were intermittent in our texting and John is… was… social. Even so, I had a bad feeling when I saw the police walking toward our building when I arrived home yesterday. And when  I asked them if everything was ok they told me it was just a welfare check. Just. And I knew. 

And I knew…

My sweet neighbor and friend is gone.

He died alone, in his hallway. I didn’t know. I feel like I should have known. 

The first time we hung out John invited me over for lunch and drinks. He presented me with the first of many gourmet meals and politely plied me with some alcoholic concoction. At least, that is the way I tell the story of our friendship. He always countered my assertion with, “I only topped off your drink,” which, of course, is also true. Whatever the reality, the alcohol went straight to my head. At some point in the afternoon I stood up and mumbled, “I have to go home.” John laughed as I stumbled the four feet across the hall. He made sure I actually closed my door and then, later, managed to simultaneously check in on me and sweetly mock my low tolerance. It was the birth of an ongoing joke between us.

For my part I feel a strong urge to have a cocktail and to eat something magnificent in homage and remembrance of my friend. It seems the most fitting way to send my affection to wherever he has gone.