On my friend’s death
Yesterday seems gigantic to me this evening. I got to know that my dearest friend passed away.
His death was absurd like a poor montage in a good movie. Lonely guy in his late 50s, living on the ocean in Massachusetts with his white lab. A loving father, he was a successful businessman who never believed in himself enough to become a painter. On some weekends he would open whiskey a couple of hours after he woke up, and started painting. Nobody knew him like that. He was open-hearted, shy, generous. He was a splendid writer, which I only knew by his emails. His sense of humor was so bright that he never needed a negative word to describe something he didn’t like. I wish he could read it now.
The way he died broke a huge piece in me. The illusionary footing of my own universe that made me believe that “in the end, good people win” collapsed. He was helpless, strikingly humiliated and almost handicapped before his passing. Not to go into further detail in the memory of him, I will only say that his death made me rearrange almost everything about my view of how and why people leave this world.
In the case with Dale — I now think some people leave this world because that is the only way for them to become stronger.
These people are never weak, they are just “not getting it right” about the whole system.
Some esoteric traditions say we choose our life before we are born so that we gain as much experience in a short period of time as possible. Sweet condolence, but — honestly — we don’t know.
I admire people who have sorted out their rules of life by whatever age. The web is now overflowing with this kind of listicles. Although some of them are pretty fair.
But even more, I admire people like Dale who never tried to figure out. Lived by feel. Gave all he could. Took all he was given. Not spiritual. Not religious. Not having any special talent to sell. Not meditating in the mornings. Not “trying to manifest”. Simply living his life. Sometimes getting drunk breathlessly. Sometimes kayaking in the ocean. Not always the one you will remember, always the one who will remember you.
Does it count? … Is it courage? Is it a Hero’s Journey?
Yesterday I was thinking about what could be his last thought. Knowing the horrendous conditions of his passing away I was struggling to believe he was honoring himself for living an honest life, that was probably nobody’s idea of a “hero” now…. Well, all “ideas” will fall in the end, but heroes will not.
Indeed, all people in our lives can be roughly divided into angels and demons. Even the most insignificant. Angels help you grow in many ways, level you up, show you the shades of love. Devils also help you grow and level you up. But seduce you. And never let you taste the REAL life. Devils veil you with illusions. Take life away from you. Knowingly or unknowingly.
Sadly, whether someone has been an angel for you, or a devil often only reveals itself with time.
But when your angels pass away — you always know.
How?
The death of someone who was your angel will make you see and weigh all the footprints they left on your lifelines.
As the last gift — their death will “leave you a note”.
Their death will ask you a question: Have you yourself been an angel to anybody … yet?
This piece is a dedication to my friend and angel Dale Trask who lived like a hero and passed away … like a human.
