Dear Readers,
I keloid when I scar. Where a normal person would develop a smooth, slightly discolored surface with a cut or incision, my body sells the wound as prime real estate to those skins cells that are ready to settle down and multiply. The result is an obscene mass that's unsightly enough that growing up my mom would recommend covering them up. "Bikini's probably aren't the best idea," she told me once. Thankfully my shameful scars can be hidden by my clothes and hair, only viewable by my husband, doctor, and stylist.
As I write this a new scar is forming, still new enough that the tissue is bright and apparent. It has an interesting shape, long and thin with dollop of a feuxhawk on top. LoJo shaped, some might say. That would make sense, since it's mending that LoJo shaped hole that's been left in my heart.
It's a funny thing to think about now that I've had some time to reflect. Here was a person that I loved and cared for so much and then *POOF* he's gone. That's how it goes though, isn't it? Show up, share a few laughs, shed a few tears, down a couple drinks, and then the party's over and it's time to move on. Life doesn't care where you go, but you sure as hell can't stay here.
I'm fortunate in that I don't have any regrets concerning Loren. I said what I needed to say. I spent as much time as I could with him. I watched him age 70 years in 7 weeks. I was relieved when I got the call, happy that it didn't last long and he got to leave on his own terms. I didn't allow myself the option to grieve while he was alive, "...there will be plenty of time to be sad when he's dead." I said. And boy oh boy, was I ever right.
At work I've been approving applications for admittance to our lineman program. I love this part of my job. It's both humbling and humorous to read these applications where strong young men are vulnerable and nervous of rejection. A lot of them have their mom's or girlfriends fill out the applications for them, worried that their bad penmanship and grammar will keep them from training for a working man's job. I couldn't help but notice while going through these applications that some familiar last names came through: Lacy, Blevins, and Grady. I realized I recognized them because they are characters from the Cormac McCarthy book "All the Pretty Horses". Excited, I picked up my phone and started to text Loren about it. I got about halfway through the message before it hit me that he wouldn't get the text. And like a punch in the face, reality set in and I sat in despair at my desk knowing that had no one in my life to make obscure Cormac McCarthy observations to any more.
I think that's the hardest part, the little every day things. Listening to an Animal Collective song. Doodling on a Post-it note. Driving past the Library. Making a treat that he liked to eat. It's these seemingly insignificant things that rain down on you like a b.b. gun attack, making you flinch and irritable and angry, but not enough to take you out like a sawed off shotgun would.
Throughout all of this there have been moments of lightheartedness, laughter, and most certainly of love. Being welcomed into the Reed household with open arms has been a blessing. Receiving notes and gestures from people I don't know has been humbling and gratifying. Sharing a night of dancing and celebrating Loren left bruises on my shins, conversations in my mind, and a dance beat in my heart.
I meant for this to be more of a tribute to LoJo, but it reads more like notes from a counseling session. I don't know, maybe a friend's grief is a tribute in itself. What could a higher compliment be to someone than having someone full of sincerity say, "My life will never be the same, never be quite as good and lovely without you in it!"?
That scar I was speaking of earlier - not the unsightly scars on my head, stomach and shoulder, but rather that peculiar shaped one on my heart, I think I will display that LoJo shaped deformity proudly. If only there were a bikini to showcase my heart! A strange reminder of my strange and wonderful and very much missed best friend.
I love you LoJo, but you already knew that, didn't you?
Sincerely,
h.
