Leo

Our good friend Leo died unexpectedly at home on the last day of July. His wife Helene, one of my bestest besties, died nine months earlier and I am still missing her so very much.

 Apparently his heart gave out unexpectedly. Yes, Helene and Leo were “elderly” but also strong, brave, smart, vulnerable, feeling, interesting and interested- they were funny, caring loyal friends and individuals, and death is never easy. This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends. . . . and of course it always sucks,  whenever, however, and it does not seem poetic or illuminating.  I think I am speaking in the anger stage, but it alternates. 

Eloquence has forsaken me, so let me speak plainly. Can even a marriage of 54 years have worked out all the kinks when the time comes? Has the life of any single individual managed to come to terms with the way it was lived? Can you succeed at this even If you've had a nice, long run and were not terribly sick, aside from the inevitable baddies of old age?

I wrote down some of my thoughts about this remarkable, talented and accomplished friend and mentor in a more formal, memorialized style, something to be shared with relatives and friends, students, former coworkers, and perhaps to be posted along with other tributes that surely will arrive from these friends and relatives who knew Leo and will write into the newspaper to share thoughts about his legacy.

 My formal, spoken eulogy tells of Leo’s impressive successes and talents, his caring, vibrant and never dull personality, his many contributions to making the world a better place, his interest in life, family, music, literature, language, travel, the performing arts, ideas, politics and of course people.

My formal eulogy mentions his unswerving fealty to the daily print version of the New York Times in a speeding universe of smart phones and pixels, this habit prompting the creation each day of a permanent if somewhat mobile collage of large papers decorating his living room, along with the many books, the lively conversation and his beloved sheet music.

But carefully composed memorials never tell the whole story or even a significant part of the tale, and that includes the cleverly spoken remembrances too, or maybe especially the clever ones. It’s always “Rashomon” all over again when someone close passes away, with sudden, dramatic explorations into reasons, motives, meanings, family schtick, secrets, sadnesses and humorous memories for comic relief; there are questions, answers, viewpoints and vantage points from every angle in search of something resembling truth; there are analyses, observations on the purpose of life itself and philosophical surprises budding like wildflowers during the difficult process of acceptance. And often you do not know exactly what to do with all these unruly blooms and partial truths; they barely last when uprooted, and at some point you simply have to leave them there, in the field by the side of the road with the sun shining, nature prevailing and traffic moving.

I surely will miss Leo, he had the gift of gab. He knew how to be, to act, to contribute, how to live, speak, listen, and on many occasions how to imbue some meaning into our crazy, crazy world, this brief existence in which mortality holds its miserable, stupid little sword over our heads with unrelenting impassivity each and every day, daring you to live bravely and not to over think it, as he would say. 

And now I want to do more of that too. Take his advice. Not over think.  Live as if I meant it. More so each day.

 We always say things like this at these times don’t we? I say it anyway.

The supposed stages of grief often commingle, there’s no timetable  and it’s never linear; grieving cannot be categorized and neatly structured into a flowchart of emotions- there are too many thoughts and feelings flooding in all at once. It takes time. It all reminds.

In the end there still exist slews of memories but the feeling of loss remains.

That’s all.