Remembrance

Participated in the remembrance yesterday evening for my former housemate Randy. We made it a potluck, and I hard-boiled a dozen eggs for egg-salad and purchased smoothie ingredients from the list he shared with me. A small veggie pizza, carrot juice, very green liquid drink, homemade tuscan beans and rice, and tinned mackerel complemented the ecclectic evening.

A bit hard to type about it. I take a big gulp of air every once in a while to stay at peace.

Randy had made the place immaculate. It must have taken him weeks. Inside and outside, front yard and backyard. There I go again, imagining him doing all that. He arranged pieces of art in the front bay window ledge. On the front porch, he put out a few possessions. In the garage, he left his collection of antique bottles, most likely found while on the Rail Yard cleanup.

At some point on or after July 4th, he went to the backyard and chose to end his life with a gun. He chose the 4th of July so the gun report would not alarm neighbors. He returned a part of himself to the earth he grieved for.

There was no note. We lit a candle and a small sage branch and visited the location of his final moments. In turn, we shared our thoughts, wondering what sort of protocol might be appropriate. I shared how someone told me once that losing someone is like a hole being in the world. There is no one on the other end of the connection anymore. I also shared how this area was shady and cool, a favorite spot for the wildlife that shares the space of that home. Randy had cared for it.

It was not all melancholy. We shared dark humor, and laughed. My other former housemate (the homeowner) shared information about his fledgling art business. We ate by candlelight and shared stories. Randy's final days at the house with new roommates had been difficult. He was alone when he chose his exit.

This evening, I felt tired and relaxed in our backyard hammock under the branches of our catalpa and pear trees. I read, napped, read some more. As I lowered my magazine momentarily, I found myself looking straight up at a bird house Randy gave us as a going away present. He had purchased it and it was well made, detailed, and thoughtful. When we arrived two years ago, we put it up in the pear tree and shared a picture with him to thank him again.

Even though he was human, with all our faults and frailties, seeing it reminded me of him, his thoughtfulness, and his desire for peace and order.

Another deep breath. Some people believe in an afterlife, reincarnation; I do not. Death for me is final, the end, full stop. Randy is gone.