Ghost of Ghost

It's been twenty years since one of my best friends died in car accident. I wrote about the night I found out here (holy cow - eight years ago).

Twenty freaking years.

It was a lifetime ago and now she's been gone longer than she was alive.


A few months ago I wrote a poem about a very specific memory I have. I would explain it, but I would rather it speak for itself. I don't think it's a very good poem, but it means something to me all the same. Give someone you love a hug today.

Ghost of a Ghost

No one else will know how close we came.

It was so long ago, like some half-forgotten dream, a ghost of a ghost.

I awoke to this memory and felt ashamed, for I hadn't thought of that night in so many years -

when I held you a little and you held me.

We were children then, brother/sister/lovers.

Reaching for something beyond and figuring out how to be.  

Suddenly, the barrier came between us.

Between two worlds  

Forever intertwined

Forever apart

And the only thing left is this lonely memory

That will one day fade away like a ghost of a ghost.  

Fun With My Scanner: Casper: Grown Up

Working on a update of fragments. Also thinking about finishing up my Peru trip blogs (just thinking about it though, so don't get too excited).

In the meantime, I was scanning some personal ephemera and documents and came across this little gem. It dates from 1996 or 1997. I drew this picture in church of all places and passed it to my friend nearby who wrote the note at the top of the page.  For those scoring at home, Casper is sporting a "666" on his forehead and his t-shirt reads "Pervert".

Now, on the surface, it's just a silly little drawing.  Ok, it's stupid, but I was 19 or 20, ya know.

What turned this from a throw-away to a keepsake is who wrote back to me. 

It was from my friend, Mikey who passed away a few years after this was written. Isn't it funny how something so meaningless can turn into a treasure? I don't have many notes from Mikey so everything I have from her is precious to me.  A simply piece of paper that was seemingly destined for the trash but somehow rescued and now it "lives" on a bit longer than expected.

This brings me to the idea of changefulness. Buddhists would call it maya; that is, everything is an illusion. Most especially time and the temporary things we fill it with. I know this all too well. Everything is ephemeral, nothing is permanent.  And that's another one of those facts about the universe I am still struggling to understand and cope with. 

Comparatively speaking from the cosmological scale, I am a sentient piece of dust on a slightly larger dust ball floating in this massive soup of galaxies.  Everything we come in contact with today or tomorrow will cease to exist. Including this world and the star it orbits. I understand that's a long way off but still, major bummer.

I'm not Buddhist, but I get the whole non-attachment thing. I get it so well, I don't want to embrace it. I don't want to get rid of my attachments (clinging or non-clinging, even if it does create suffering).  I follow a Vicktor Frankel/Camus/Agnostic-Theist, eventually Christian position on the universe (at least I am trying) so, I have to make due with what I am and what I do have (even if it is temporary).

 In the meantime,  I hold onto my silly little things, treasuring my ephemeral existence surrounded by temporary objects, smiling back on all the eventually forgotten memories. Hey, at least it will get you a cheap laugh from time to time.

February 12th: Time, Loss and Memory

12 years ago on the February 12th I was watching the Spurs v. Sixers in a bar in College Station, TX. It was a Friday and I was out having fun. It had been a long, hard week (as much as a typical spoiled college student's life could be called "hard").

After my roommate and I had finished our weekly radio show, we grabbed some food, cleaned up at our apartment and joined some friends to bar-hop. I somehow managed (with a lot of help of my friends) to become plastered. It was the drunkest I have ever been, before or since.

I remember lots of beer, shots and laughing a lot. We went to regular bars, shot bars, and at least two different dance clubs. At the second dance club I began to find the whole scene really pathetic (this often happened around 2:00 AM for me). In my inebriated state I couldn't find my friends at the club so I decided to walk home.

This might have been a good idea if I wasn't all of the below:

A) Drunk, really, really drunk

B) In cold weather with no jacket

C) about 2-3 miles away from home

D) 2-3 miles from home and having to cross major thoroughfares

Nonetheless, I left. I wasn't mad, I just wanted to leave and I was ready to sleep. So I began my journey and I kept repeating to myself, "don't get hit by a car", "don't look drunk" -- over and over again. Finally, I arrived home.

I had a message on our answering machine. I pushed the button and there it was.

The worst message of my life.

I called my friend back as she didn't say exactly what had happened. I thought she was stuck somewhere drunk without a designated driver.  I soon found out that one of my close friends had died in a car wreck earlier that day....probably sometime during our radio show.

I told her she was wrong or that she didn't know for sure. It was a classic denial stage setting in. However, the initial shock and disbelief was quickly fomenting into anger. I was seething with life, everything, God -- I kicked and punched the walls. In my drunken stupor I squirmed on the floor like a child writhing in rage. How could God take my beautiful friend? How could he take my best friend’s little sister? I screamed and repeated obscenities over and over. I expected to somehow black out so it could all to go away. As I recall these flashbacks so vividly - it’s like a tiny glimpse of hell itself.

It was so hard to understand. It's still hard to remember but as I write I feel just a shadow, a ghost feeling that still lingers just a little while as I write about it.

Mikey was special. Not in the "great person" special - she was special because she was different. She was moody, funny, fun-loving, jig-saw puzzle and old movie loving, quick to anger but most of all, my friend. She had a way of making you do just about anything for her. Maybe she was manipulative but more than that I think she was magnetic. When we weren't fighting or annoyed with one another she could make me feel special. She did this to everyone, because at her memorial service, she had just about everyone convinced. Everyone thought they were Mikey's best friend because she made everyone feel part of her world.

So, why rehash all this?. Is it some kind of therapeutic thing? A need to story-tell as to feel better about it? No, I got over Mikey's passing a long time ago.

I'm writing because I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because every year, Mikey fades away a little more. I think about her a little less than the year before. I had a little photo of Mikey next to my bed for years that I finally put away about five years ago. Assuredly, I probably forget more every year; the way she would smile or how she would say a certain word. I feel guilty because I have moved on.

This isn't to say I have forgotten her or that I don't think about her. She still sneaks into my dreams every so often. The last time I was a time traveler trying to warn her not to get into the car. But, cruelly and inevitably, time keeps moving. Mikey's still 19 and now I'm 33. She's staying in college and now I'm a father of two (with another on the way). She's still young and vibrant and now I'm older, mature and settled.

God willing, I'll keep getting older. I'm sure some details will continue to fade and there's nothing I can do about that.

However, blurry memories, are still memories. And its true, I have moved on, but I won't ever truly forget. I'm sure Mikey would want it that way.

So I'm writing today because I want to feel sad again.

I want to remember that the world lost something 12 years ago this month. It lost a true individual who was loved by many. We still miss you, Mikey.

yeah, she was crazy, but ya know, a good crazy.