The Cheap Seats

A good friend died last Thursday, a profound shock. The days since then have been just that, a daze , filled mostly with thoughts of his absence. If I were a younger man, I doubt I'd be ruminating on the nature of death and loss as much, just one of the many prices we pay for growing older, I suppose. And like so many of life's unplanned moments, death seems to be one of those things that come at us in waves, with long intervals in between where these stinging waters recede and leave us in peace. Of course, these interludes shrink as we get older, perhaps nature's way of steeling us for the coming years that are more filled with sorrow than we could have realistically borne in the sunnier days of our youth. He was a good man, my friend. Unfailingly generous, quick with a joke and imbued with an unwaveringly positive spirit, he was a tonic to every person who knew him. And now that he is suddenly gone (and far too soon), those he left behind—his family, the love of his life,