The news came in one ordinary morning. I turned on my computer first thing after entering the office, logged in and launched the mailer, just as I did any other day. There it was, a short message from a common friend, carrying the sad news of my friend's death.
We all knew it was going to happen. It was a simple matter of knowing when. Incurable diseases have such random precision.
It was winter. I had long come back from the usual summer visit to my hometown. There I had learned of my friend's illness, my parents told me about it one day over lunch. Taken aback, felt miserable, and angry. We didn't keep much contact lately - adulthood had split our ways, silently, steadily, and quite matter-of-factly too. Not a trace of reproach on either side, the mere fact had been gradually accepted as inevitable. Yet we remained close to each other.
I still have a vivid memory of my useless attempts to cheer him up when we met. Standing in the doorway at the front yard of his brand new house, feeling his spontaneous embrace and not knowing what to do, what to say, utterly hopeless, overwhelmed, being actually comforted by my friend, his brain hosting a malignant tumor. A long embrace, unrehearsed, true, meaningful, reflecting the approaching dire result, the ill-fated final solution awaiting, a fond embrace staging a reencounter which seemed a farewell. He showed me his house, where he and his wife had recently moved. Their first son had just been born, barely half a year ago. Life ahead was shining brightly before the twig snap in his brain. Signs of the days he was living through were visible on him. Despite he got tired easily he spared no effort to host his guest. Small talk was impossible. It took a while to get anywhere close to a relaxed conversation. He was fighting fate hard, he indeed was.
We all knew it was going to happen. It was a simple matter of knowing when. Incurable diseases have such random precision.
It was winter. I had long come back from the usual summer visit to my hometown. There I had learned of my friend's illness, my parents told me about it one day over lunch. Taken aback, felt miserable, and angry. We didn't keep much contact lately - adulthood had split our ways, silently, steadily, and quite matter-of-factly too. Not a trace of reproach on either side, the mere fact had been gradually accepted as inevitable. Yet we remained close to each other.
I still have a vivid memory of my useless attempts to cheer him up when we met. Standing in the doorway at the front yard of his brand new house, feeling his spontaneous embrace and not knowing what to do, what to say, utterly hopeless, overwhelmed, being actually comforted by my friend, his brain hosting a malignant tumor. A long embrace, unrehearsed, true, meaningful, reflecting the approaching dire result, the ill-fated final solution awaiting, a fond embrace staging a reencounter which seemed a farewell. He showed me his house, where he and his wife had recently moved. Their first son had just been born, barely half a year ago. Life ahead was shining brightly before the twig snap in his brain. Signs of the days he was living through were visible on him. Despite he got tired easily he spared no effort to host his guest. Small talk was impossible. It took a while to get anywhere close to a relaxed conversation. He was fighting fate hard, he indeed was.
Death comes in different flavours. Dying young, owning a future still to unfold, is the bitterest.
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