On Living and Dying

I was fortunate to spend a few days last week visiting an old friend. It is one of those friendships in which you may not see one another for several years at a stretch, but when you do you basically start up right where you left off like it was yesterday. He had recently lost his wife so I wanted to go give him some company. However, it is his late wife, Pat, who I am writing this about. The first time I spoke with Pat was on the phone when we were arranging to go visit them. The conversation was so natural, so free, that it was like we had known one another for years. Pat was wonderful to be around, full of inquisitiveness, humor (always humor), energy, and love of people and life. Even as her debilitating disabilities took her strength away she still held more positive life energy than most fully healthy people. We mostly kept up on social media, living 1000 miles apart, but even that was lively and funny, and most amusingly Pat had no problem becoming great friends with whatever other random people appeared on the same threads. She’s gone, and a light has gone from the world, but she has left us with an example of living with laughter, love, and immediacy. In a few days it will be Saint Patrick’s Day. I don’t really celebrate it anymore after the brutal murder of my former fiancée on Saint Patrick’s Day, 1987. We had been together on and off for about four years. She was my companion and co-conspirator for most of the craziest period of my life (but that is another story). Pam was rebellious, brilliant, creative, impulsive, intense, funny, sarcastic, and unpredictable. It was a wild few years. Finally, in 1986 we decided to become responsible adults and get married. About a month before the wedding date she called it off. I was very thankful as there was no way it would have worked. We remained close friends over that winter, often hanging out and having fun together. She was having a rough time trying to go back to college (I had dropped out twice by them, she once before), and I tried hard to provide support. On Saint Patrick’s Day she called me and asked if I wanted to go out and have a couple of drinks as she was alone. I said no as I was thinking of going out with some friends. The next morning I had a call from her brother. She had gone alone to the neighborhood bar, and left later that night with a man. Apparently once in his car he raped her and then strangled her to death. Her body was found in a park the next morning. Later forensic evidence at the trial revealed, unsurprisingly to me, that she had fought back hard (the guy was given a double life sentence with no parole). Regardless she was dead. All I needed to have done was say one word: yes. I try to learn both from the losses of people so rare and precious and from times when my own life was threatened. I try to appreciate, in Randall Jarrell’s words, “the dailiness of life.” I fail often as I get caught up in petty issues and concerns, but then I fight hard to restore a bigger view. I do think about what would happen if another bright light went out – my wife, for example. I would unhesitatingly sacrifice myself, or kill others, to save her. There are some others – a colleague, a student, a friend perhaps – who I particularly treasure, and so strive to help shine their light more brightly upon the world. It’s worth the possible pain.