In this thread, I mention the sudden death of a good friend of mine. But this past Thanksgiving vacation, I think I felt a lot of that fresh pain all over again.
Months ago, I’d booked a trip down to Texas to see him and a bunch of other, fairly tight-knit, friends who either lived there or were also flying in for a Thanksgiving feast. My friend, Reemul (to use his SD handle), eagerly anticipating our arrival.
Now, Reem was an artist. He drew some, but his first and best love was carving, everything from horn to stone to bone. I myself am the proud owner of a couple of his works, made especially for me.
Well, when the time came, he of course was unavailable, at least in flesh. But one of the group who was there helped Reemul’s mother sort through his stuff. Among the many many books and other items he had was a box, perhaps a keepsake box. Inside were various objects that seemed to be important to him, but a few in particular stood out. He was carving for us, for the very gathering we were at. He had small pictures drawn on bone ready to be carved, and a few disks of cut deer horn with the name of our little event, and the year.
Only little of it was carved. Most of it was in ink, the surface itself untouched. He would’ve had over two months to make the rest of those cuts, but he never did. The group sat in silence; I can only imagine what they were thinking. I thought, that’s kind of like Reem’s life. It was full of promise, with some of it done, but so many things undone, cut short by his passing, that it was painful to see what could’ve been.
It was the most I’d felt, I think, since I went to his memorial service. In the end, the items meant to be a souvenier of our gathering was passed out among us anyway, instead becoming a reminder of the man who made them… who left so much undone.
I’m a stubborn, lazy sort. I can only hope I take some of the things I’ve learned since Reemul died to heart, because it’d be an insult to his memory to do otherwise.