rants: when death comes knocking
An old friend of mine from elementary (primary) and high (secondary) school died this past Sunday of a heart attack at the age of 43 — not too old for cardiac thrombosis. It could’ve been prevented, but he didn’t go to a doctor to inquire about the three-day chest pain he had.
Some of our old friends and acquaintances seem honestly heartbroken judging the various messages in Facebook I’ve seen coming from half a world away. These people (some still good friends of mine) might have really loved him or perhaps they’re merely reacting to their selfish mortality. In any case, it’s the second or third death so far and won’t be the last.
I personally don’t feel anything. Maybe I’m too used to the Reaper, having cheated death more times that I can remember — perhaps five (5) times. Of course, the specter of death begotten on 9/11 is burnt into my psyche too — especially the lingering stench of the ashes of thousands in the brisk air of that unforgettable September Tuesday morn.
Maybe I’ll remember him when I hear the first album by Black Sabbath or some other rock record. Perhaps he’ll simply fade and I’d unconsciously opt to ignore or forget him again. After all, finishing high school not only meant the conclusion of the worst years of my life, but also the end of hypocrisy and false friendships whether the other person in the equation knew about this or not.
My real friends of several decades will be shocked by these words, but I shouldn’t care anymore.
Le roi est mort. Vive le roi! *