My mind is still trying to grapple with the disturbing news from the message that I received this morning: a dear friend "suddenly passed away last Saturday night, the 11th of June."
I scanned the dates on the exchange of messages we made. On the 6th of June, a greeting sent to my mobile asking me how my weekend was going, to which I replied that I'll catch up when I go online next time. On the 31st of May, a message on FB where he remarked how great the summer weather was at 22 degrees C. On the 27th of May, an archived chat convo on YM, of how he was just working on a DIY project with his brother-in-law.
Detailed in the messages still saved on FB, Gmail, YM chat, we talked about a myriad number of things, both the mundane and tragic parts of the separate lives we lived since we last saw each other more than 20 years ago when we were in high school.
From across the globe, he found me on FB first, tentatively commenting on some of my posts, where he learned about the difficulty of my marriage falling apart. I learned soon after that he had gone through something similar. Consequently, our respective misfortunes became the common ground on which we gradually re-established a friendship. The things we shared with each other were lessons learned from hurts, wisdom gained in our personal challenges as parents, and insights on the importance of having unwavering faith in God.
In the eight months that we were able to catch up on each other, he was hoping that things would take on a rosier turn and we'd eventually become more than friends. That is, to pick up where we left, where once upon a time in our teenage lives, we were each other's 'first love'.
"Who knows?" was his often-asked question. I could count a number of practical reasons why I wasn't keen on taking that direction. One of them was my need for a person to trust, who, knowing my history, could act as a ballast in the midst of my still unsettled storms in life. Even at this time of writing, I was not entertaining the idea of a second marriage.
He had a plan underway for me to visit his country at the end of the year. Admittedly, an "iffy" arrangement, but one that would, more than likely, make that often-asked question easier to answer.
In a carefully composed email, I gave him my honest opinion on the matter, though I can never tell how disappointed he might have been as a result. Weeks passed before he replied, and upon doing so he explained that there was a family crisis that prevented him from responding back.
My honesty might have slighted his feelings, but at least I was happy to be communicating with him once again. There was no more asking of "Who knows?"; probably it had to be temporarily set aside in light of other matters. I felt relieved that we regained the familiar, straightforward --- yet considerate --- and sometimes humorous tone our still-distant and voiceless communication carried.
Today, all of that changed.
The shock suspended any real emotional reaction. The only time I felt the sting of tears was when I started to use the past tense when I referred to my friend in an email message. The awareness that he would no longer be online leaves this hollow feeling deep inside.
We may have closed the gaps in time and in our memories, but now, eternity just took the place of the thousands of miles covering the physical distance separating you and me, my dear friend.
Sadly, I realize that nothing can be unsaid, undone, uncovered, once one reaches the end. There are things in life that will remain unknown, only that death makes that reality more certain.
