And then they were gone. One big fireball. This family I knew died just before Christmas. Natural gas leak. Electrical storm. And boom. Grandma, mom, dad, son and his wife. I imagine they were all home getting ready for Christmas, drinks in hand. Mom, running around making her list, checking it twice, telling her daughter in law some story about how she triumphed over some obstacle. I see the grandmother, lying in bed, napping. Dad and son are in the living room, watching sports.
Or maybe not. Maybe there was a big family argument in progress. Names being called. Scabs being ripped off only just-healed wounds. In any case, no one had a clue. In the space of a moment one reality is split apart by another. And they're gone.
The news was jarring. Shocking but not particularly emotional for me. That surprised me. I don't have a lot of experience with death and when I do, it has been a blow to the heart, physically debilitating. But this time, the experience was dry, almost like they were some random name pulled from a newspaper article. But they weren't. I knew them. I have shared experiences with them. Shared moments. Mom, pulling out her breast, to show off her nipple piercing. Chatting with the oil men who frequented their establishment. Mom and Dad telling the story of how they met in their southern small town. A sherrif's son and a minister's daughter. First loves. Dad drunk by the sea, always quick with a story about power brokers and millionaires. Son, he was a tough one. I flash on a vodka-soaked memory of a trip to his house. A toilet on its side in the front of the house. His girlfriend at the time--not his wife--and me and a few others, fresh from a hard-partying evening, making a last stop. We sat outside drinking and smoking weed. After that our friendship faded out. I was friends with their enemies.
The last time I saw Mom and Dad was here in Prague. They came for a party; not at all an unusual thing for them to do. I asked her about the town where they were, where I knew them from. She was particularly bitter, attacking more than her usual assortment of enemies. These were all friends of mine. I stopped thinking of her as a friend then. I have no idea what she really thought of me. But, still I respected her for her strength and devotion to her family above all else. And for a true lust for life. If anything, this tragedy puts a magnifying glass on the preciousness of the moment. My mind compulsively, almost obsessively, looks for a way to make the end of their story fit the rest of their life. But I can't. Instead, I turn it inward and, at least for now, try to make more of my finite moments.
