No More I Love Yous

Alone and melancholy at 35,000 feet can bring out the emotion. Most of the time I can deal with being by myself – an all too familiar trend – but being lonely is where I struggle. Stuck on an airplane, with hours of solitary confinement and too much time to think, seems to stir up memories of recent and long ago losses. It’s difficult not to acknowledge there’s been too many.

I nearly always think about my mom and dad along with Betts and Fred and even my grandma, whose death didn’t sink in until I was on an airplane. I’ve had to learn to set aside the frustration that comes with facing things you have no control over and I am thankful for all the memories from them that stick with me still. I wish the journey with them could have lasted longer but I have no complaints about the ride. Just the same, I’d give anything just to see them all again and tell them I love them one more time.

Tonight is a bit different, though. I can’t shake two strong feelings, try as I might. One is a flood of feelings about Bill brought on, perhaps, by hearing a song I connect to him, the Wind Beneath My Wings sung by the sweet-voiced Hawaiian singer Israel Kamakawiwo’ole who himself died young with far too much life left to offer.

I really shouldn’t be this bad off when I’m thinking about Bill because I had more time with him than probably anyone in his life except for Sue. Cass and Janee lost so much by his early death but I know they feel fortunate they had such a close relationship with their father. Of course that’s the point of this particular tragedy: because he gave so much is the reason he is so missed

Curiosity and nosiness makes it nearly impossible not to occasionally visit Cass and Janee’s My Space sites to see what they’re up to. Both have their father listed as their hero and a goofy picture of him as goofy is how he will end up being most remembered. I can’t tell you how it pains me to see a comment written by Janee on how much she misses her father. I wish I could reach through to the other end of the computer and hug the little Creep. I know she’d tell me it’s OK, but it’s damn sure far from being OK.

Thinking about the weaker moments for Sue and their kids’ nearly breaks the heart because I know about my weaker moments. No word has yet been invented to explain in proper terms what should be said about the shock of Bill’s passing so I’ll borrow a line from one of our favorite movies said in the spirit of utter contradiction, “He will not be missed.” One day the tears will dry up.

The other depressing and common agenda item I can’t get away from tonight is ruminating about the number of my friends who are no longer much a part of my life. Some have been lost out of our mutual laziness, some have moved, some have moved on, and still others have passed away. Some friendships proved to be more fragile than should be the case and others’ bodies proved to be more fragile as well, no matter how much they were abused.

Even my kids have had to endure loss beyond their grandparents and uncle. One lost a crying shoulder and the other the promise of a harbor in a tempest. Losing people shouldn’t be such a big part of their young lives but I suspect they have become stronger people and have so much of their life ahead of them, including learning to love again.

And I guess that’s the lesson here – we’re supposed to gain strength from loss and grow closer together. I think we have, too. Mrs. Laz and I have never been closer; longing for the river to skate away on as we reach the empty-nested part of our relationship. The Boy works with me and we’ve found we have shared ideals of business and life and are actually more open to each other’s political views then we’d ever admit. And the Girl and I have become so close we’ve developed our own language patched together from all the great movie classics such as Zoolander and Anchorman – much to the chagrin of Mrs. Laz who wasn’t given the secret decoder ring. I’m actually happy she didn’t get the apartment she wanted because it gives us two more months of watching AI and AI, two things we’ll always remember, I suspect.

As for friends, I actually told Mr. Sladed I loved him just in case he’d lost sight of that, because I sure haven’t. And that goes for the Wop too; what a pleasure it is to finally be working together. I’m even fortunate to have old and new friends to work with, a stroke of luck that can’t be ignored.

It’s difficult not to notice there is a plan or a certain serendipity developing here. As we lose people, our hearts are opened to allow more room for others. The spark that Bill left in all he touched, and the friends who passed our way have given us all the ability to love better and love more, even if they only stayed for a short visit. I’m even slightly cheered up by this discovery, although that will about do it for long plane rides for a while.