For John

The death I write about is not fiction. These words represent how I felt after a friends death. Please let me know what you think.

In his life he had been a white hot ball of burning light that drew you in, like a moth to a flame.

I thought about his death and thought how futile it all was. How wasteful. 22 years of life just snuffed out, like a candle drowning in its own wax. I mourned the lost of my friend and I wept over many things: the fact I would never say goodbye, that we didn't talk as much as we should have in the last year of his short life, how I had never thanked him for saving me. That he was so incredibly young. I realise you are never too young to die but to me it seemed unusually cruel to take someone so vital. I considered the black hole he had left in the world and I felt as though we had been pitched into sudden and complete darkness. Inescapable. The light he created as he lived was gone and a ‘better place’ was no good to me as that better place should be here. The darkness of my grief grew and stretched on in an immeasurable spiral that I hardly tried to escape from.

Then I met with his parents. I saw our friends and met all of the people who, like me, where left in despair without him. They often say misery loves company and that's how I saw this occasion. Another day of tears and sadness. I believed I was with others like myself; seeing the black hole in our lives where the light of him had once burnt so bright. But… Blackness was not what I saw. As I listened to stories of him from the parts of his life I did not know and heard people laughing at his adventures, sharing the ways he had touched their lives, I realised that the loss of that shining orb of life had blinded me. For in its absence there was not darkness at all, but a multitude of flames, each held tight in the breasts of these people who loved him. He had touched each of us in some way; be it a passing moment or a life changing one. And each of those moments still lingered, flickering on, keeping some small part of him alive. I was not in the darkness of grief as I had thought. Instead, I was surrounded by hundreds of candles, ones that could not be extinguished by death. Indeed I had been carrying one myself. I realised that life is not measured by the number of zeros on your bank account, or even by the number of years you have lived. The quality of ones life is measured in the number of flames that flicker for you, long after you are gone. And in this respect, he may be the oldest man I ever knew.

Author's Note

Any comments welcome.

Reviews

[Glen Weimann]

I completely agree with you. In an increasingly secular UK where most folk see no relevance in religions of any kind, many folk see concepts like heaven or everlasting life quite differently. I'm totally with you that everlasting life is through the memories of those who remain and the imprint a person's actions has on the world, albeit diffuse and mixed with those of others. Living without someone close doesn't necessarily get much easier, but there is some consolation.

Writing something as personal as this is never easy. There are a couple of grammar spelling glitches (where should be were) (one's life) (burnt ... not sure but burned may be more correct) but they don't get in the way of the progression you describe from personal grief alone to collective recollections and finding comfort together. The only other writing suggestion I'd offer is that when you refer to black hole for the 2nd time you perhaps could say something like 'their own black hole' or 'the same black hole' whatever seems right, i.e. acknowledging that you know the term was used earlier and is being used again to reinforce.

The not saying goodbye thing is so hard. I know of someone who I socialised with every now and then, so not massively close but close enough. She found out she had about 3 months to live and seemingly chose not to tell anyone outside very close family. It was probably a year or more since I'd seen her when I heard she'd died. To this day 'she' comes back from time to time, and in a few weeks I'll be meeting up again with a mutual friend, and we'll exchange stories and reminiscences.

Nice job!

[.]

A very nice story. Sad but grounded in reality, unfortunately.

We have all experienced a loss like this. Different circumstances, the same end result.

A nice write.

[Coyote Poetry]

Death does teach us lessons.
"The quality of ones life is measured in the number of flames that flicker for you, long after you are gone. And in this respect, he may be the oldest man I ever knew."
I liked the wisdom of the above words. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Chartheteacher]

Thank you. Hard lessons to learn but yes, I think losing someone like John has taught me so much.

[Coyote Poetry]

I understand and you are welcome.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

oh my, this was so well written and open....but hurt...i lost my best friend in '84--Paula was only 27...taken in a fire...she was such a beautiful person inside and out...help start a circuit breaker school up north...just gave and gave and didn't know how to take...

i miss her every day...

thank you for this poem...

j.

[Chartheteacher]

That's heart breaking and I'm sorry to hear that. The passage of time doesn't help much. Thanks for the review.