Last night my mother called to tell me that one of my old friends had died.
I hadn’t spoken with David since early 2005, but from age 12 to 21 he was a prominent fixture in my life. Memories of him span these years. When we were 12: David gets a brand new bright green velour Izod pullover. Shelly (his future wife, my first real “best friend” through junior high and high school) and I change the lyrics of Elton John’s “Little Jeannie” to “Greedy Greenie” and sing this rendition every time he wears it to school. When we were 20: David calls me at 2:00 AM. David: “Melanie, can you come and get me?” Melanie: “Where are you?” David: “I’m lost. Can you come get me?”
Like a number of people I’ve been close to, David was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when he was older. He had a hard time coping. They couldn’t seem to find the right medication “cocktail” to help. He wasn’t able to work, leaving Shelly to support and raise their three children. They’re doing an autopsy to determine how he died. He passed away while he was sleeping. He was 39.
It’s hard to describe these moments. These shifts in life when you’re reminded how important it is to treasure each day, take advantage of the opportunities that are offered to you, and be grateful for every minute that you’re allowed to spend with the people you love.
I’ve had several “life isn’t permanent” lessons. The first one was my paternal grandfather. I lost him to a heart attack when he was in his 50s. I was seven, and had a hard time understanding that PawPaw wasn’t going to be picking me up after school on Fridays in his blue Datsun pick-up truck anymore. No more listening to The Carpenters or watching him use a Zippo to light filterless Camels.
My uncle died about three years later, when I was in 5th grade. He was my mother’s very sick younger brother. Kidney problems, tuberculosis, all kinds of other things that I don’t really remember and probably never fully knew.
There were others, but none can compare to losing one of my two younger brothers when he was 21. I was 24 years old and had long forgotten the lessons of my youth. We were invincible. Sure, things might happen to other people, but not to us. Then came Saturday, June 18, 1994 and my life was forever altered. It’s hard to explain how it feels when you wake up and the person who was laughing, crying, working, sleeping, thinking, talking, annoying, and loving just yesterday is no longer part of your world. I will write about it sometime. Just not now.
Today my goal is to be in this world. Savor each experience and moment that I have been given on this sunny February Seattle day, and love the people that are in my life.