I went to this witchy Imbolc celebration thing last night. No dancing naked, but it was spiritual in the rough, belly laughing women-centric way I love. While I was there, my friend died.

I found out on facebook the next morning.

I came home from the Imbolc gathering with a little jar full of salt and pebbles and dried flowers. Full of intent for the coming year. And as I lay down last night to go to sleep, he was dying. I did not know that. I couldn’t have known that. I hadn’t checked facebook.

When I found out the next morning I cried, and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself after. I asked several people through facebook – how did it happen? Was it quick?

Yes, it was quick. Yes, he died sober.

That unasked question got an answer every time. It’s important to people like us. 

I then found myself answering other peoples’ questions, inadvertently participating in a game of whisper down the lane. It’s a day later now and my facebook is still full of obituaries. I’ve given up on writing my own. At first I’ll admit I was googling poems, trying to find the great post about death written by someone else about Him, my friend, who I don’t know if he really liked ee cummings.

This is what I wanted to say:

He had no hair, but acted like he had curls. He put post-its on his bathroom mirror that said things like, “you’re a cool dude!” He was very tall and skinny and loved his cat. He, like a lot of drunks, was frozen to some degree at a younger age. He was beautiful at that age.

He helped me move once and didn’t complain the whole time. He made jokes often, and was a person who, when he saw someone crying, would open his whole heart immediately to envelop them. He didn’t like swear words. He built a lot of things. He refurbished furniture and made it brighter colors. He was beautiful, and it was reflected in everything he made, everything he touched. Child-like in the wisest way. 

It’s not ee cummings, but it breaks my heart anyway.  

I love you. I’ll miss you. I wish I could say with the certainty of others that we’ll see each other again. I wish, in these moments especially, that I could believe that shit with my whole heart. Like you did.