Eulogy

a vocab word that’s, sadly, all too apropos to my life right now.

“Hey friend; it’s good seeing you today.”

I was going to begin today’s essay with a list of repeated cheerful greetings like this, because it’s the way my young friend, Ethan, always greeted everyone when they came into the pub where he was manager. He died suddenly the other day, as I mentioned last week, crashing his motorcycle on the highway, too quickly, in the middle of the night. He was a lover of games of chance, always smiling even when he lost, only 22 years old. This game of chance was his last, and his passing has cast a pall over the 3rd Place gang which will probably never completely be lifted.

I was then going to go on and Muse about what happens when a 3rd Place receives a deep wound like this. And then I heard that a friend and colleague, a great poet and a playwright and a fellow sufferer under the auspices of adjuncting, who was my boss when I taught creative writing at Regis University, and my peer colleague later when they booted him, at DU where I still teach, suddenly died yesterday, unexpectedly and also too young, at 69. Not only a great writer and poet himself, he knew exactly how to coach and encourage others to write their best work too. I realize only now I haven’t read any of his work.

A couple weeks ago, my elderly grandmother, my Dad’s mom, passed after a long illness, at 92. That one was different—she was very old, and at the end wasn’t doing well. Her three children all said their goodbyes timely, and they all surrounded her with good memorials at her laying to rest. That wasn’t sudden, wasn’t unfair. That was natural, the way of the world. That felt okay—I was sad, of course, but.

It’s not like I knew either man (or, indeed, my grandma, who lived in a different state) all that well. But I knew the men pretty well, and they were both too young to die. Then again, who am I to say so. Not up to me, is it.

So, that’s it, everyone—I’m very tired, and I feel like I’m off balance, discombobulated, like I’ve had a rug pulled out from under me and I’ve landed on the hardwood floor on the back of my neck. The essay about Eulogy is not happening. Sorry. Go hug a person or an animal that you love, and make sure you get some sleep. Drink your water. Or, hell, your wine. Why not.

“Goodbye, friends. It was good seeing you.”

This is the little memorial altar we set up for Ethan. I haven’t done one for Marty yet—I don’t think I have the bandwidth, unfortunately. I’ve ordered his book of poetry, though, and reading that will be a tribute fitted to him.