My friend John died on Wednesday, October 3rd or maybe the 4th. I can't be sure.
If this sounds suspiciously like the opening to Albert Camus' book "The Stranger," that's because it's what I thought of when I heard the news ("Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure." is how the book begins).
Camus aside, I actually wasn't sure when John died. The phone call came on Thursday from a friend who had only sketchy information about the when and the why (I subsequently found out it had been Wednesday).
John had retired 6 months ago at the age of 60 and was spending several weeks in a condo he had purchased in Rocky Point, Mexico. He evidently had a heart attack (his sister and only living relative does not want an autopsy) and was alone when he died. His body wasn't discovered until two days after he died by friends who heard John's dog barking furiously when they approached the condo. The dog had been with John's body for the two days. This news was especially poignant to me, a dog lover.
John's death was shocking. I've had people close to me die, but never with such stupefying and unexpected suddenness. He was full of life when I last saw him at Christmas. We talked regularly on the phone, but I hadn't seen him since then. Every year he hosted a Christmas party at his house and invited people, like my wife and me, who don't have family in Arizona.
John had a well thought out spiritual belief about what was going to happen after he died and I hope he has been proved right.
Having someone close die and especially die without warning is a good reminder that I'm going to die and I do need to be reminded of that from time to time, especially when my anger, jealousy and selfishness get the better of me. Since John died, before I say goodbye to people on the phone or in person, I always ask myself, "Is there something I'm not saying that needs to be said?" I'm not thinking of what I might say out of anger. I'm thinking of what I might say out of love.
It's too late for any last words with John, but it's not too late for those who are living.
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