Grief
My friend died. He was a father and husband, a brilliant writer, a social justice warrior, and a proponent for the first amendment. As a journalist, he had a singular drive to report facts as the story unfolded. As you can imagine, in a world that values sugar-sweet mush for the mind, his written word often offended. I think that is one of many reasons I valued him as friend and as a fellow good human—he kept going even though he knew it would not win any popularity contests.
I recognize he and I were alike in some ways. I, too, am a champion for the underdog, the misunderstood, and I just cannot fathom doing things the easy way when I learn so much more doing it the hard way. I think he had a similar approach—why share pleasant untruths when he could reflect reality in his written word, saying, “See? It isn’t pretty, but it is real.”
My thoughts keep returning to his wonderful family. He loved his boys, often discussing plans he had with them and sharing things they did or said that made him happy. He adored his wife who so obviously loved him in return. The two reminded me of two astronomical objects locked in mutual orbit. He had a softness for only her that was wonderful to witness. I had hoped for a similar kind of love in my own life.
I chose to write this article because I think he would have wanted me to do so, and I want to honor his life and legacy. I recognize that his belief system would suggest that he is gone and that is simply it; no magical reasoning to be explored, he would not care regardless of my writing or not. That thought is difficult for me to comprehend and accept; but I choose to write today because he inspired me to do so. His absence leaves a noticeable emptiness in the place my friend once occupied, but it comforts me to know I will not let him fade away. He exists in my memories; those kind eyes that did not miss much, that knowing smile, that sharp sense of humor, his distinct laughter, his love of good barbeque, and all the stories from his many adventures.
I have been fortunate to have friends reach out to me, offering various forms of sympathy and compassion as I navigate my own grief. Throughout all this, I keep asking myself how he would have responded if he was not the one who passed, but me. He would have something incredibly succinct and authentic to say, no doubt. He didn’t need the comforts offered by traditional religion or fluffy feel-good stuff. I valued his keen insight, that unwavering reliance on his own sharp mind, and his knowledge of what it was to be utterly human.
And now, with words left unsaid, laughter unshared, and business unfinished, I wonder how to move forward with one less friend in this world. I ruminate on how his life made mine better. He taught me to be brave in my writing, reminded me to speak up when I witness injustice, and to think—really think—instead of relying on easy, less painful avenues of response to a complex and ever-changing world.
I now move toward gratitude. I am grateful I met him and enjoyed a kinship with him that seems so rare in a superficial world. I am grateful that he met me, and upon meeting, he saw a friend. I am grateful that I was able to bear witness to his journey. I will find a way forward, as we all must in times of sorrow.
I offer one suggestion for coping with grief this week to honor my friend and his beliefs. Grief Be yond Belief offers secular resources to navigating through grief outside of traditional Christian or spiritual ideology. http://griefbeyondbelief. org/library/
Please remember that kindness transcends all faiths, religions, and ideologies. Remember that we are all in this together, and that our differences are what make this world such a beautiful place.
Thank you, Bob, for befriending this country bumpkin.