A Year Ago Today...

I suppose since I started with one of these older pieces, the story should continue. This is dated October 9, 2008. In memory of.


A year ago today my telephone rang at 6:00AM. It was one of those not-quite-awake-moments when you're not sure if you are really hearing what you think you are, but I managed to get to the kitchen to pick it up before the fourth ring and the answering machine clicking on. I remember leaning against the wall with the phone in my ear still half asleep and frightened because it was still in that slice of early morning when no one should be calling. The voice on the other end mispronounced my name. Another bad sign.
In a heavy Jamaican accent, she identified herself as calling the nursing home Steve had been transferred to, and then said what sounded like "I'm calling to tell you that Steven has "aspired." I asked her to repeat it..."Steven has aspired," she said patiently. For a crazy moment I wanted to say "to what?" My sweet friend aspired to a lot of things...having a great band, being a good poet, having loving people in his life. I wanted to ask her which thing he was wishing for that morning when the sun was feeling its way toward my curtained windows... which I was bizarrely noting needed to be washed.
She of course meant that he had expired. That term the medical professionals think sounds better than "died" or saying, "so-and-so is "dead." Milk expires, the registration on my car expires, those stupid store coupons expire. My friend shouldn't expire. I know this because the doctors didn't stamp a date on him after his diagnosis, and he certainly had another half a lifetime of things to do before he was finished.
She went on to say that when they checked him at 4:00 AM he was sleeping. At 5:00 AM, they found he had "aspired." She told me that, according to the doctor, he went peacefully in his sleep.
I think it was his last gift to me. I didn't have to make the final decision he'd trusted me with, and I will always be grateful.
I'd asked to write his obituary. I wrote it that morning, and the words came without effort or editing. The paper printed it exactly as written. Steve was my cheerleader and instigator, always pushing me to "write! just write!!" He was the one I'd call and read my freshly finished pieces to, and the one who stood in the back of the room for courage the first time I read in public.
I'd met him in a writer's group. It seemed like coming full circle.