A Missed Hello Becomes a Lost Goodbye
Last week a childhood friend passed away. The type of close friend where we called each other cousins — and our parents were uncles correspondingly. We drifted away over the years. Can’t remember the last interaction we had other than some BS over WhatsApp.
On Friday I dreamt of him. I knew it was a dream so I just enjoyed his presence. It’s amazing what we can make out of the randomness our cortex throws at us. It was just as I remembered being with him. His brash jokes, his roaring laughter, his inability with staying put, and also his bravery.
It was fighter pilot type bravery. Literally jump out of plane, scuba under rocks, motorcycle up a vertical wall while screaming like a maniac bravery.
He was not fearless. I know, for a very small window of time — I rode in front of him on our enduro trips. But he would get a look of determination, he didn’t allow himself to be the obstacle. He was going to always try. He lead most trips very soon.
I know there’s little we could both have done to stay closer. Paths just diverge, and when both emigrate the common ground fades even more. But it pains me that over the last year I had one thousand awake minutes every day to do a quick call. Ask him what’s up, remember a fall, or a whole weekend fixing a damn carburador.
Too late. He’s gone. But if I’m feeling hollow for missing a minute in a year — can’t imagine what those that are lamenting missing a lifetime with him are feeling.