Where to begin and what to say....

My friend died suddenly just before Christmas. I am still a little unaccepting of the news. It can't possibly be real. After my flight home to Vancouver Island yesterday was cancelled, I spent the night in the SeaTac Holiday Inn Express fully committed to the idea that I was, eventually, going to wake up from this dream. It must be a dream...because it is surreal to think I spent part of Christmas day sewing a button on the pants I was planning to wear to a memorial service...and surely, I couldn't possibly be spending New Year's Eve in the SeaTac Holiday Inn Express watching Animal Planet after a cancelled flight and wondering if I was having this dream over and over and over again. And I really, truly couldn't have spent the past few days among my loved ones grieving over his death, feeling useless and ineffectual in the face of their grief. This cannot possibly be real. Please wake me up.
At the Memorial, there was paper and pens out to write memories on to share with his daughters, that they may find pieces of him that they wouldn't know otherwise...memories of this man, this friend of mine, a father, a son, a brother, uncle, cousin, nephew, teacher, troublemaker, storyteller, game player...I found myself wordless in the face of those pages. I found myself wordless when the stories were told round the circle of faces of people there to share...I could find only tears, only wishes to be far, far away or wishes to take everyones' pain onto myself...I could only hold on to my friends, and my grief, and weep.
But that's not fair to Pickle. I can call you that now and you can't get mad! Pickle Pickle Pickle. Gotcha. I love you.
So, I will write out some stories for his daughters soon, but this post...this is for me and the entire family....
My memories of Pickle are so intertwined with his family(brother and mother) that I cannot separate them yet...in younger years, his family home was a safe haven in the chaos that could sweep over mine. Later, this family has saved me from myself a time or two, housed me in difficult times, made me remember my own tenderness, signed leases with me, held me while I cried, celebrated happy things. I have called in the wee hours, distraught, to have have someone sit on the phone with me(thanks, Pickle) forever until the sobs and hiccups subsided and I could fall asleep. I have eaten at their tables. They have eaten at mine. Their homes have sheltered me in good times and in bad times. I have been at the bottom of the dogpile of their accumulated children watching Disney videos. I have never played board games with anyone other than them (and Michael). The women these brothers have brought to my life are triumphant and beautiful and I love them as if I have always known and loved them.
I don't know where I would have been in this life without them...they have direct bearing on who I am, what I am, where I am and how I relate to this world. So, despite the fact that Pickle could be infuriating, stubborn, hard-headed, lost in his own world....despite the fact that he could really piss me off sometimes(I can say that, right? I still love him!)....I am at a loss because just knowing he was out there in this world with me, breathing the same air, meant something. Meant a lot, in fact. More than I might ever be able to say.


Forgive me if you are not living
If you beloved, my love,
If you have died
All the leaves will fall on my breast
It will rain in my soul all night,
All day
My feet will want to march
To where you are sleeping
But I shall go on living.

Pablo Neruda