I started this week,
feeling OK,
even,
good.
Spring was in full bloom,
I was looking forward,
to the visit of someone special,
the Habs were getting ready,
to kick the Bruins,
onto the golf course,
the town,
had Spring and Hockey fever,
and,
my birthday was coming.
I like my birthday,
I look forward to it.
I understand some,
would not look forward,
to a forty ninth birthday,
but,
I did,
I earned these years
but, right in the,
midst of,
the sunshine, the hockey wins,
and,
the imminent passing of another year.
A chasm,
opened,
right,
before my feet,
huge,
deep and dark.
My friend Francoys,
here one moment,
gone the next.
The sunshine,
went away,
a deep dark dank humid place,
replaced it.
It happened five days ago,
I know it,
but,
still,
I cannot,
believe it.
When I think that I will no longer,
share,
my hopes,
my dreams,
my fears,
my doubts,
that I will no longer,
share in his light,
his passions,
that I will no longer,
discuss books with him,
learn about history,
see into his brilliant mind,
that I will no longer,
hear his laughter,
or his always jolly and enthusiastic greeting,
that never again will,
I drink his delicious coffee,
sit in his wing chair,
and,
pass the time of day,
and,
shoot the shit,
share our lives,
learn from each other,
trust in each other,
be ourselves,
no persona,
ever,
and,
trust that no judgement,
will be passed,
ever,
truth,
friendship,
and all that,
that means to me,
all that it meant to him.
I am blessed in friendship,
a few true friends,
and,
they have been so supportive and sensitive,
in this time,
of dark,
of pain.
One of my pillars is gone,
my anarchist,
my noble gentleman,
he was light,
he was fun,
he was our own code and jokes,
and,
traditions,
he was unique in a world of sameness,
he was gentle and good,
he was strong and roaring,
he was a mensch,
a big beautiful,
man,
queer and feminist.
He leaves a chasm in my life,
that I will go around,
detour,
and reel from,
for a long time.
The world,
was a better place,
because of him,
it is lesser now,
truly,
but,
I will never forget.
I carry him in my heart,
the wound of his passing,
will,
eventually turn to scar tissue,
to keep him safely cocooned,
reading, smoking, laughing.
Bonne route,
mon ami.
Tu me manques,
deja.
BB
for those of you, who didn’t read this, here is, the tribute I wrote for his birthday:
http://bookishbutch.com/?p=4286
