I didn’t go yesterday. It wasn’t my place to. Some things are best left to family and friends, not to people like me. The rest of us just stand outside and take our glimpses in, burying in our minds that little part of ourselves that felt some connection. There’s a time for everything and everyone, names inscribed on some otherworldly scroll. We all leave part of ourselves in the hearts of our friends. That’s how you become immortal.
Oh Athens. You’ve suffered so much this year. Lost your sons too early and watched your house burn away in the early morning on a bright summer day. It’s all we can do some days to get out of bed and fill your streets. Lonely and broken-hearted.
We walk like zombies, living dead, still reeling from the shock. Battered, bruised, worn, broken and bruised. Limping, mumbling, crying, and yelling that there’s still hope over the next horizon. Surely there’s hope for another day. There must be hope.
And we cling to that hope. Even if it’s just the hope that we can make it through the next hour. The next day. The next week. The next month. The next year. Just a bit at a time. Crawling. Then limping. Then walking. Then running. And soon, we’re sprinting with borrowed wings, each feather a friend, our little lights of hope.
Oh Athens, your heart is broken and your soul is aching. But remember your wings. Those you miss dearly are the songs of your soul. The music of your life. Your friends now are family. And yes, it will be hard to listen for a while. And yes, there may always be a small twinge of pain. But you are greater than yourself.
A phoenix must rise from its own ashes. So must we. To not live life to the fullest would be an insult to those who have gone before. Shake the sorrow away, carry the memories of times past, howl in your pain, and laugh through the tears. A new day is dawning. Time to fly.
I feel yah!
Isn't this a bit melodramatic? I know it's useless to argue the authenticity of a sentiment, but does this truly come from yourself, or some collective notion of grief? I mean this not to directly criticize you, and I know these things can be disheartening, but it seems almost inhumane to treat someone like Vic in this way. Artists put themselves out there in order to find a connection with others. These grief-stricken tributes I've been seeing (sprinkled with a sentiment of deep admiration or hope) seem to create a rift between that connection, to make Vic seem like some kind of tortured artist plaything for the public. After all, it's HIS pain that we should be concerned about. I feel the public takes pleasure in lamenting the tragic death of a tragic figure. When we look at people like Vic and remark on the things about him which we enjoy, we forget that these eccentricities of character often cover up a deep disconnection or sadness. Maybe we should do more to help these people when they're alive.
This was something I wrote at 3 in the morning. It's not some great profound thought and it is surely not taking pleasure in lamenting in Vic's passing. Melodramatic? Sure. It was something I wrote as a reflection to myself on the many friends we've lost this year, Vic included. This year sucked. For a lot of people.
Please believe me when I say that Vic, while he had his eccentricities and depression, was also a plain funny person to be around. The last night I saw him, he was full of laughter and fun.
We all have our disconnections and sadness and we all need a bit of help, some more than others. But this post was just a place for me to do some healing of my own. Take it for what you will.