Ten years ago today the last photo of one of my dearest friends, Paul, was taken and I was touched his wife sent it to me after his death. He died the year prior at 28. For one of those unknown reasons, Paul’s been in my thoughts a lot lately.
As a result, I began to go over old letters I have hidden in a treasure box that’s filled with voices of friends throughout my life, from elementary school to my 20s. I felt it was time to sift through the ones which really meant something to me and those that can finally be discarded. I’m in that clearing out the cobwebs kind of mood and found one of my favorite pictures of Paul, Dana and I just before starting college.
DC artist, Dana Ellyn, Paul and I in 1989
Paul and I befriended in our high school senior year. He was one of the few people who “got me” from the inside out. I always thought of him as the big brother I never had, though reading over his letters while he was in Italy during a break from college, I think he may have cared for me more than I thought. When his wife wrote to inform me of his early death, I was devastated and having been caught up in a very chaotic life at that time, I mourned his death years later.
I think of him often, always fondly and feel like he’s with me sometimes. I can hear his laugh, which was so odd that in itself it was funny. Though, it’s been so long I can barely remember what his laugh sounded like. That wasn’t the case just a few years ago. I’m so pleased to have known him. It’s amazing though, how sometimes I wish I could just pick up the phone and say hi and then that devastating, empty feeling slams me when I realize I can’t.
My life didn’t really begin until my 30s. When I think of Paul I often think about all that’s happened since his death and realize how fortunate I am to still be alive even when it’s gloomy. Paul isn’t the only friend I’ve had who’s passed. My best friend in high school was killed by a drunk driver. An acquaintance type friend in elementary school was murdered by her brother and Stacey Weinstein, a popular Florida case of a pre-teen murdered in Dade county in 1981, was in my 4th grade class.
I’m in that mortality funk in life. My dad had his second heart attack recently and my step-father had a stroke just a couple of weeks ago. Add his mom, Great Ali’s death in February to the dreary topic and my recent contribution to the art exhibition A Book About Death, Paul and thoughts of old friends gone and the reality that time is just clicking makes for some interesting thoughts –and actions.
My priorities are changing and I’m unprepared for where they’re pointing. I hate that feeling. However, being that Paul’s existence in picture and letter form has been scattered among my house cleaning finds this past week – almost creepy that the date of his last picture was dated September 11th, 1999 and I found it this morning, I think today is a good day to reflect and sketch out some modified directions. It’s not what I planned but then, it never works out the way it’s planned does it? Paul reminds me of that.
