“Instant Karma’s Gonna Get You.”
We interrupt this week’s scheduled post due to an untimely event. John Lennon was right about that instant karma.
The last two week’s messages on supporting others in times of grief and dealing with your grief provoked more than usual reader responses expressing how much they needed and appreciated the posts. What I did not know when that grief post went live last Wednesday was that Eric, one of my closest friends for more than 25 years, was lying in a morgue.
Some of his last words are recorded in a voicemail he left me mere hours before he passed.
The Backstory
What started as a professional relationship quickly evolved into a close personal one despite never living within 1,500 miles of each other. Except for my nuclear family and cousin Scott, there is no one I spoke with more frequently than Eric. Our work schedules aligned for several years, and we talked nearly every day during our evening commutes.
We spoke about anything and everything, but most subjects were the middle-aged intellectual equivalent of boyhood fart jokes. We engineered opportunities to be in the same city whenever possible and broke bread together more than a hundred times. The investment of thousands of hours yielded a great trust; there was little we did not know about the other.
Perhaps the best measurement of our intimacy is him giving me the modern version of the keys to the kingdom, his phone password. He begged me to secure his phone and make the appropriate deletions before handing it over to his family if anything happened to him. From my side, he has literally taken some secrets to the grave.
Practicing What I Preach?
In light of Eric’s passing, how do I practice the lessons found in the last two blog posts?
First, a special thanks to Andrea, who proactively sent a LinkedIn message offering support to a guy she was aware of but did not know.
As for me, I called Natalie and their three sons, expressing my condolences and pledging my support and presence. I wanted them to know that my feelings for Eric poured onto them.
Eric was too young, full of life, and had a lot more he could do. I am heartbroken and not ready for our stupid calls to end. However, last week’s rhetorical question is correct; I would not surrender one iota of our relationship to relieve any part of my grief.
I also believe what I say; he is in a better place, and it would be unfair of me to wish him back.
Our friendship was the movie or book that ended too soon and left us grasping for more. Will I accept our relationship is complete or pine for what we might have done? Alas, I must be satisfied with the words spoken, the meals shared, and the treasure chest full of memories. Together, they form the basis of my immense gratitude for his love and friendship.
Usually, I like to give you some contemplation points or understated advice, and I definitely have some, but today is not the day to tell you to hug your children, call that friend, say yes to the family get-together, take your spouse to the museum instead of the couch, etc.
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Rather than a lesson, today’s writing relates life in action, a report card, and indulges my need to express my grief. If nothing else, you can be grateful for a reprieve from my prodding questions and thinly veiled admonishments.