PORTRAYAL 36. For the old friend who died too soon. In memory...
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It was only a matter of choice, reaching past what I knew, to proffer what was needed. But encompassing your heart was a kind of murky philosophy you used to protect your cache of despairing memories; the depression you struggled with from your parents failed marriage, your personal failures, and all the gnawing fears and grievous calamities you’d endured. As it turned out - in our ‘never die’ years - you became reticent after I’d unwittingly touched you in a place you guarded carefully from the world of exploiters, and kamikazes, and the un-doers of genuineness.
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But INSTEAD OF persevering I drew back, because in the circumstances it seemed respectful of your space. Fearing your discomfort, and the draining complexity of myopic sentiments, I opted instead to be calculating.
INSTEAD OF being another poetic-buffoon trying to sway your tender thinking (with difficult to fathom spiritual truths, or the pomposity of personal perception) I became the stoic observer. INSTEAD OF espousing wisdom I rationalized the sinister forces in your life as the inevitable harvest of a season of bad choices.
INSTEAD OF choosing to press forward with you, I stomached your dysfunction in the hopes of being seen as non-critical. And I used all these self-justifications in an attempt to remain open to the modern tenets of tolerance and the broad-minded thinking of circumstantial pragmatists.
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Our college years, however grueling, were those days of lovely delusions when all had been manipulated by the narcotic of youthful imagination. In those days the gang lived life innocently, and to its fullest, and all our identities were defined simply by the intricacies of our imaginations, and the writing and music we were sure would redefine the subsets of contemporary society.
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As it always does… time passed. We all graduated. And then everyone’s lives were thrust in the direction personal choices empower. With a flood of tears each of us said our goodbyes and then set out to find success, and respect, and what we’d each envisioned would make us whole and happy. But, as time passed, the excitement of what we’d originally imagined became jaded as life’s onerous survival-burden slowly sapped our vitality. As it turned out, I’d forgotten about you until last week when an old friend (from those days) called. In choking sobs he informed me that you’d died from an overdose of morphine. I was shocked and sat down hard as a host of ‘what if’s’ and guilt flooded through me. Leaving behind only a simple note, you’d asked:
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“Why did everyone give up on me?”
(C) richard lloyd cederberg
2016
Forgive yourself for not having the foresight for now what seems so obvious in hindsight.
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This first reading was particularly familiar and painful. However, reliving a painful memory can be an opportune moment, one that can gift us with clarity once unattainable because the wound had not yet scabbed over.
Your memory of your friend and your honesty are appreciated.
~jeanne
If ever you choose to join a small poetry cafe, twice a month, let me know, I'd be honored to have you as our guest.
Your Mystic Rose.
it pulls at my heartstrings....
Hugs
Love and Light,
Lily
My brother wrote me last year of the death of a college friend who had become estranged because of "political disagreement" in recent years. He regretted not being in touch before his friend died.
Keep in touch. You are one of the best writers around. inspiring with your work.
Ron
The last line is gripping, I am always amused when people ask, "would you have done that differently?" Well, of course you would. Everything is clear in review. Youth, the times , any factor can contribute to a change of course , if you will. A thoughtful write!