Member-only story
Every Easter I’m Reminded of Your Death
We had been left alone in your living room to debate living versus dying. You were sick. I was scared.
“You are such a positive force. Go remind him of all the things he has to live for. Give him some of the hope you have”, your wife asked me.
She left to sort laundry. My husband headed outside to play catch with your sons.
And I was hopeful. You felt helpless. And here we both were. And let’s be real, things weren’t perfect. Maybe I should have approached our conversation with more honesty and sympathy.
Instead, like an attorney, I carefully stated my case based more on facts than feelings. You had a wife and three children to live for. You had a family that loved you and friends who drove to Buffalo to be with you once a year. You were a talented musician, actor, teacher. Your students needed you.
Two couples, friends since our early twenties, all working in theater, we’d all married young. We each had big dreams. Lots of things fell in place and later fell apart.
I missed your wedding, far across the country where we couldn’t afford to fly. I think you were at the party in Vermont when I pledged my life to one man. Years later, we’d discuss how such sweeping romantic gestures may have been overly optimistic. But we were so young and so in love.