I went to a memorial service for someone very unique last Sunday. He was a very talented photographer and lovely person. Every time I was around him, I felt a warm generous spirit in his being. There were a lot of people there I hadn’t seen in a while because the “celebration” was a few hours travel from my house. The evening was very gentle, with people telling stories, reminiscing about Nat. We could all have dissolved into puddles easily but somehow it did stay light and celebratory of a life lived well.
Even though I spend a lot of time alone, I like people, enjoy being with them, and usually call someone a friend until proven otherwise. But that evening, one person I talked to told me he had seven friends die in the past year. I said: “Seven friends! I don’t even have seven friends!” Sometimes I feel that way. Mostly what I don’t have is the kind of friend you tell all your adventures too at the end of the day. I guess right now that’s my dog. I did say to someone (someone I hadn’t seen in a long time) that my dog is my best friend, maybe even the love of my life. Now, isn’t that pathetic! But that’s the way it is right now. I do tell him everything because he is here, he’s a compassionate being and listens. I love having conversations with him. His responses are not so verbal, at least not the human kind of verbal. I like to think he enjoys our conversations too. Altogether, he’s a different kind of friend, one who stays young until he dies, or until I die, whichever comes first.
I’m not afraid of dying, I think, but I feel I need to pack every minute with importance, even if it is just relaxing well. And from what I understand, relaxing is important.