Sparks from the Fire

Everybody mourns in his own individual way.  Some wail, some must crawl off by themselves, some need to be with others, some need to get drunk, others prefer to pray.  To each his own.

I prefer the silence of meditation and memories.  I prefer to mourn quietly.  I don’t want to do it for a long time as I’d rather celebrate the life, but I do honor the act of mourning even though I believe in life eternal — especially for those who leave us seemingly early.

I lost over a hundred friends in the AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s.  Back then, when someone you knew was diagnosed as HIV positive, that’s when you mourned.  By the time they passed, you were grateful the ordeal was over for them.  It wasn’t fun and I’m sorry to say that I got used to it somewhat.  It became a regular occurrence in my life.  Who was next, one wondered, and it was always somebody.

Two wonderful people that Julia and I knew lost their son, Maurizio, in the late 90s Swiss Air crash over Halifax.  We went through this experience with these two loved ones and shared their grief.  Up until this point in life I pretty much left grieving to all the others and tried to focus on the positives of the life lost, but in this situation I got caught in the middle of it and fully experienced the parent’s powerful grief.

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In my religion we’re taught not to mourn the dead – primarily because we understand that life is eternal. This was not always the easiest concept for me to grasp, especially when someone close to me passed away.

When my dad died, that was probably the first whopper that I had to face. I was in my 30s at the time and remember taking the adjustment that he did not die, but instead moved to California and gave up his telephone.

This helped. Often, over the years we have had little visits in my dreams and I’m always grateful for those times together no matter how intangible they are.

Lately, dear friends seem to have been dropping right and left. So many, in fact, that I find myself feeling slightly accustomed to the experience. The Aids epidemic in New York where I live was a rough stretch also.

Working in the theater where there has always been a large gay population, I lost over a hundred friends and cohorts over time. That disease decimated several generations of hugely talented artists and changed the course of the American theater.

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