“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
~ Maya Angelou
One of my best friends passed away unexpectedly on Wednesday. It breaks my heart that I can’t call him to talk for hours about anything or nothing at all. He was one of those people with whom I felt safe saying whatever came to mind because I knew he’d understand me. We were friends for almost 15 years. He’s seen me at my worst, and at my best, and loved me no matter what, just as I loved… LOVE… him.
So many times in the past two days I’ve felt myself reaching for the phone because whenever I’m this upset about anything, he’s who I call. I’d vent, he’d talk me down, we’d switch topics and laugh at someone else’s expense, and I’d hang up feeling better.
He went through a rough time a few years ago regarding a relationship. He’d need to talk and I was there, any hour, day or night. During one of these talks, he told me the most heartbreaking story about a morning that had gone from idyllic to horrible in a matter of hours. I was so moved by the picture he painted, I asked him if I could write it down. He said yes. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to expand on it and tell the whole story of what he was going through. We talked about it, agreed on what it should be, and he gave me permission to use it as I wished.
As I’ve worked on my book, I’ve never forgotten nor abandoned his story. I promise… I SWEAR… I’m going to write it. I always pictured it as a script. And when I was nominated for Best Original Screenplay, he was going to be my date at the Academy Awards.
He always believed in me as a writer, and he was no slouch with words, either. In fact, in the very first post of this blog I thank him for his humor and constantly reminding me how much fun playing with words can be. He finished his own manuscript, as a matter of fact. I’m sorry I never got a chance to read it, and I’m sorry he never got a chance to read mine.
One comfort is that he got his Christmas and birthday presents from me a couple of weeks ago. I sent them two weeks before Christmas, but you know how that goes. The last text message I have from him is telling me how much he loves it. (Regular readers of this blog might remember a painting I did of the San Antonio River Walk. I sent it to him so that he’d have a little reminder of home. I’m glad he was able to enjoy it for even a little while.)
I miss you, friend. I’m sad… we’re all sad… but we’ll be okay. You can rest in peace.
Love you forever,