I just found out that a very dear friend has left this life. I say dear friend even though I don't think I have seen her in over 5 years, if not longer. It's so difficult sometimes to put into words the complex emotions that make up friendship. I loved her dearly and have always so cherished the relationship we had. But it seemed as I grew older and came more to terms with who I was and my homosexuality that I developed the habit of separating my life into two distinct timelines. BEFORE and AFTER.
Jackie was BEFORE. The irony being she was one of the first people I ever came out to.
I don't think this has been a conscious decision. I know that I don't make an effort though, to keep in touch with many of those from BEFORE. I don't know if it's because I really question how they will take me and the truth of my sexuality, or if it's just the simple fact of being reminded of who I used to "be" and the lies I told to protect myself from the fear of losing great friends over a revelation of who I really was. Jackie had never given me any reason to doubt her feelings towards me. She was always so accepting and loving. We never went through a parting of the ways other then when I moved to a new city. I don't even remember when it happened. It just seems that people grow apart over time, and when I returned it was just too easy to maintain the status quo.
I try and try to recall the last time I actually saw her. I can't for the life of me. But I can recall a lot of the wonderful times we did spend together. The ups and downs of both our lives, the birth of her beautiful daughter; my coming out; her brother's marriage; the trials and tribulations of her relationships... She always had a smile and a laugh to share. And it was wonderful. And so was she.
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| you can't see it, but she is gleefully tugging on a co-worker's hair. This was Jackie. :) |
When I first found out about her cancer I planned on going to see her and catch up. I thought she was in remission but I was horribly lazy and ambivalent and just never bothered. When I was told that she was in the end stages on Friday I thought about trying to see her but I was reluctant. I tell myself it's because I wanted to continue remembering her the way I do; laughing and vibrant and full of life. I didn't want to be plagued with the images of her in the hospital with machines maintaining her life. But ultimately I worry that I was being selfish. That this was that one opportunity to let her know that I cared and rejoiced in the life she lived with me.
But I couldn't. If there is one thing in this life I have become very good at, it's distancing myself from most of the painful emotions that make up our day to day existence. It's a coping mechanism that I have developed over time, and it works quite well. But I am less for it I think. I just can't seem to break it. Being confronted with the reality of mortality in such an explicit way is a bit more than I can take. It would force me to address the issues I have with death and dying. There is a big history for me with this and it is a huge part of what caused me to lose whatever faith I once had. Seeing my grandparents die and visiting them in the hospital as a kid, most specifically my mother's mother, who had suffered through multiple strokes, it was just something I have been unable to face. When my own father was in the hospital I couldn't visit him, even though I knew he wanted me to. I was able to visit my mother after her aneurysm and I am surprised I was able to do that. But I have learned that I am getting really good at compartmentalizing; in many aspects of my life.
I think I am experiencing the first casualty of that division. I have lost someone that I had always assumed that I would one day see again. And it hurts. I think not just in the loss forever of her presence but also in having to confront some issues I have worked very hard to disregard. Ultimately this choice was taken out of my hands since as soon as I was off work I was headed to Vegas with a bunch of my AFTER friends and Jackie passed pretty much when we were sitting down to eat. I had no cosmic revelation that this had happened, no disquieting feeling that something was amiss; she went quietly into that good night and I was oblivious.
It always seemed like Jackie and I had all the time in the world to run into one another again. I know in my heart that somehow, somewhere we will meet again and pick up where we left off and all the pain of this world will have passed us by. I hope then I can thank her for being who she was and loving me for who I was, and ask her to forgive me for not being there all those times I may have been able to give her support.
To Jackie I can only say; I'm sorry for missing out on so much, but thank you for all that you selflessly gave to me. You will be missed. And once again you have taught me something I didn't realize I needed to learn.