A year ago today my friend Vic got in his car and he never
came back home. The last week of 2011
was spent praying for him, getting in touch with old friends, sharing pictures,
tears, kindness, support, hugs, devastation, disbelief and the rest of the
emotions that accompany an untimely death.
I’m still, as I’m sure many are…in some sort of shock. The funeral is over, Vic is gone, but my gut
still turns at the thought. How horrible
it is when bad things happen to good people.
I didn’t want to write this post. I’ve put it off for a year now, even though
in the end I knew it would offer some sort of closure. Losing a friend so suddenly is surreal. I can only think of Vic’s death as his
realization. As if he figured out life
before the rest of us and he instantly ascended to the next level. That’s truly the only way I can stomach
someone so young and kind leaving this world so early. Vic could have done
that. It’s entirely possible that he
figured life out at the ripe old age of 32.
He had more energy than all of us combined. He was always smiling. His red hair glowed. If anyone could have figured it out, it would
have been him.
Before and after the wake and the funeral, we visited New
York City and attended Phish shows with the rest of our old college
friends. The energy was strange, but all
three nights Vic was in some way around us.
A balloon with his nickname “Partytime” landed on my toes in the middle
of the first show. We all hugged a
little harder and wore our emotions on our sleeves along with our Army
bands. As a group we endured the loss of
our friend and still kept on in the true Harris spirit. I was constantly reminded of the intense
importance of friendship, both local and long distance.
It was harder to say goodbye to these friends when the year
drew to a close. We don’t see each other
very often anymore. We’re spread
throughout the time zones “like leaves of an old maple” as the song goes. But I
like to think we all left a little stronger, with a sense of comfort in the
bond of old kinship.
Today, there are still a number of images and sensations
burned into my mind from last December. Vic is buried under two young red maple
trees. I remember wondering if anyone
knew that come autumn they would blaze just as crimson as his hair in the
sunlight. I wondered if anyone else felt
the odd warmth on their back at the tail end of December. Or noticed the V in the sky as they drove
away from the cemetery.
On days like this, days when I miss Vic and I’m sad about
losing him, one image in particular helps lift my spirits. After everything was said and done and
everyone had parted ways once more, we received a picture message from my
friend Kristen. She had been cleaning up
after her establishment’s New Year’s
festivities when a handwritten note floated down from somewhere above her and
landed on the bar. She immediately
passed the message on to our group of friends.
I like to believe that Vic had something to do with it.
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