Daily Report: Life Experience

My life has not seen a lot of death, and has not seen a lot of loss. My family that have passed away have given me fair warning (in many cases, years' worth of warning) of their departures. The single acquaintance that I have lost — to put it succinctly — had it coming, and wasn't really missed.

Today, I had a special person in my life... a continual presence... an entity of certifiable importance... an expected lifelong friend... go from being the person next to me at the bar... go from being the person playing with my own child on the beach... go from being a vivacious life-loving buddy... to being a gray-blue human form which I vaguely recognized on a gurney in an empty, curtained-off corner of an emergency room in Thailand.

I write in that stark lanugage because, in truth, while this may not be my first encounter with death, it is my first encounter with the dead. I have never seen "lifeless" before. I write about it here, now because it is indeed an important life experience. Forgive me if it agitates you. It agitates me as well.

I got the text message on my phone from Ray at 1:07 p.m. I stared at the message for about 3 or 4 minutes, not doubting... but stunned and full of thought. After that, I started flipping through my pictures of Steve on the computer while I called up Stan on the phone and chatted with him for a while. He was crushed, as Steve and Stan go back almost two decades. Then I called Bob, who was at the hospital, barely holding it together. I decided then to head out and join him.

I got to the hospital about half an hour later, and joined a small group of about two dozen mourners. Pui joined me shortly thereafter, and Stan and Mem weren't far behind.

Stan and Mem, Pui and I viewed the body together. Pui and Mem stood back, hugging. I was half way closer. Stan was up close. He broke down sobbing, which took me out, which in turn went back to Mem and Pui. The four of us had a good cry there and then.

After that, it was an hour of standing around, expressing surprise and grief and outrage at the heavens above. And then eventually people started drifting off home... although throughout the day, the crowd of mourners would grow and grow and grow.

In the evening, it was off to TQ2 where all of Steve's friends had gathered. I had talked with Alf and Bob at the hospital earlier, and had recommended that the bar be open, music off, lights on. That's what they did. Of course, it was a crappy evening, but that's what we all wanted. We stood around, made corny jokes, compared ourselves to Steve, and concluded that we were all assholes who should have died instead, and toasted Steve's memory.

Oddly enough, my dear little Pui took Steve's death the hardest of all. Her heart is full of memories of the kindness that Steve paid to her little boy, Pot. While I remembered great times on the beach, or hanging out in the bar, Pui remembered minute little instances of kindness that Steve had shown, and her eyes put forth more tears than everyone else in TQ2 combined.

At the end of the day, we are one friend short of a full load. We shared our misery in the sterile corridor of a hospital emergency wing. We gathered in a ruddy bar in some semblance of showing respect. We cried, we talked, and we even laughed a little. We drank and pretended to forget. We changed the subject, and then returned to it. We had our moment of silence, and then a thundrous salut of raised glasses, "To Steve!!"

In the end, we paid our bar tab and we all recognized the fact that tomorrow... life goes on. What we do with our lives, what we have learned on this day, and what value we assign to this life experience remains to be seen.