When we are young, most of our interactions are with people whose acquaintance is either established or new to us. Meeting new people is a greeting – teachers, classmates, performers, and allies of various kinds. Later, as we age, we continue to have new greetings with workmates and mentors, albeit fewer than when we were children.
After a hiatus, a time of stable relationships, we are faced with farewells. We bid farewell to our parents and their siblings, at first. Later, we say farewell to some of our friends and siblings, who only yesterday, it seems, we were greeting. Sometimes, we must say a farewell to our own children – nothing could make a heart ache more, I think.
Susan and I have said farewell to both of our parents; we have been orphans in one another’s embrace for a few years now. I have lost a few good friends from the real world, and I share a certain burden of disease with others still among the living and for whom I have great affection. One has Multiple Myeloma. Another has Parkinson’s disease. Still another has battled cholangiocarcinoma. An old mentor has surrendered to lung cancer, and another friend has lost a battle against glioblastoma multiforme.
We are all getting old and fucked up, and we need to prepare to say farewell not just to friends, but perhaps to everyone we have ever greeted.
My friend Jerry, a computer geek-nerd, whom I have known since 1982, was diagnosed with cancer a couple of years ago. I did what I could to help him navigate the healthcare system in which he had lost faith when his partner was treateded for pancreatic cancer a few years earlier. I do not blame him. Jerry accepted a palliative intervention for his cancer but not what was offered as potentially curative treatment. I think that I may have made the same choice, but probably for different reasons.
For a diagnosis that often has a prognosis of months survival, Jerry seemed to defy the odds. Months and then a year or more passed; Jerry did fine. We met every now and then for a meal. We kept in touch by email. Last week, I called Jerry and left him a voice mail message. In the days that followed, there was no answer. Today, I called again. The voice mail system didn’t come on. I decided to call his brother.
It turns out that Jerry died last week. He lost his battle with cancer. He will have a memorial next week sometime, says his brother. I plan to attend, of course. I must say my farewell to my friend.
Too sad, but true.