He wasn't my closest friend, he wasn't my friend of longest acquaintance. Nevertheless, the Frank-sized hole in my universe is immeasurably huge. Every time I think about it, the tears well up in my eyes until there are too many and then they pour down my cheeks. This makes driving considerably more challenging. You see, my friend Frank died Saturday morning.
I can't imagine how this must be for his wife. He'd just retired. They were starting their golden years (to the extent that people can when they're trying to put as much distance between themselves and the sterotypical "golden years" sponsored by AARP and the makers of Metamucil). They were not going to age gently and fade away. Together they held a fast grip on everything fun and vibrant, and I never saw one without the other nearby. I can't imagine being so utterly partnerless.
Frank was a bear hug, a quick-witted jester, a dapper fellow, a slaker of mates, and so many other things all rolled into a complicated package with a singular laugh, a chin dimple and a glint in his eye so bright it was cheeky.
When I last saw him a couple of months ago, I was thinking how much fun he is, and how glad I am to know him. I was looking forward to seeing him this coming weekend. Instead I'll be attending his memorial.
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3 comments:
I'm so sorry about your friend, QIR.
I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. That here today, gone tomorrow experience is a punch in the gut and yes, a hole in the heart.
There was a memorial on Saturday. It was a lovely gathering. That man was loved. Thank you for your kind thoughts.
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