Thursday, January 29, 2009

Three Years

Randy died three years ago today. I'm not quite sure what to do with that information today. Three years ago I was inconsolable. Two years ago I couldn't bring myself to do much but mention it. Last year, I was able to reflect about that day and the days since in a relatively calm manner. Today, I feel like it is something I want to acknowledge but don't know how.

This year, I don't work with or socialize with the same people that knew Randy (except Deano, of course). I don't even work with anyone that I would feel comfortable with just saying, "Hey, my friend died on this day three years ago." But yet, I feel the need to do let it be known.

I know I've written a few times about how much I think Randy would have love helping me when I was doing cat rescue. I really think he would have ended up a cat owner even though he swore up and down he didn't want one, he just wanted to enjoy other people's kitties. But somehow, I suspect that he would have left my apartment one day with a scared little feral. They were a ragtag bunch - those kittens - something he and I (and frankly our whole group of friends at the time) could relate to. Some days when I think of Randy and I'm at home, I look at McLovin, the fiesty three-legged dumpster refugee, and think about just how much Randy would have gotten a kick out of him.

I've been playing his piano a lot lately. For awhile I wasn't playing very much at all. I went through a very long stretch of not playing where it seemed like a long uphill road to climb to regain my former skills and I'd look at it feeling sort of guilty wondering what he would think of his piano just sitting there gathering dust. But since we moved to Providence it has once again become a part of everyday life. It sounds good with the hardwood floors and open floor plan. And I'm slowly working myself back up to the more complicated pieces. Some songs I just shake my head at when I listen to them on my iPod while reading the sheet music. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get there, but it's the exercise of trying that makes you better. And of course Allie still enjoys the music, espeically the trills and the higher registers. She ends up either sitting next to me on the bench or rolling on her back behind the music stand.

I know that as the years pass, January 29th will more and more be just another day. For a few more years it will be like today. A little off, a little raw. A little like I just wish it were tomorrow.


Jeni said...

Just know there is no appropriate time length for mourning -whether it be a close family member of a very close friend. Everyone differs in how these things heal. I have lost close family members -some I remember the exact date, some just the approximate date. Two very good friends of mine who died though -one by suicide, the other of cancer -I always remember the exact date, every year. Think of each of them frequently too throughout the year and the suicide was 32 years ago January 11th, the fried who died of cancer, September 19, 1988. Kind of like the assassination of JFK, MLK and RFK, dates that stand out in one's mind where you remember where you were, what you were doing at that tine.
That you are beginning again to play the piano, his piano, now but you couldn't do that before is a good indicator too of the healing taking place. The people and their importance in our lives never leave us -just that with time, it is a would less raw and thoughts turn often to doing little things that would serve as a way to honor and remember the person.

Hot4Teacha said...

Nat, I know how you feel - I will always feel "off" on June 29th, remembering how we lost Brian (Cindy's hubby) were there that day when I came over to the Whatmuff's from the hospital, and I was a mess. One year later, I was pretty rocky. We'll see how I do this year. It just stays with you - and I don't think that a lessening of the pain means we miss them any less. It's just that we're adjusting to life without them, bit by bit, and that's okay to do.

dr sardonicus said...

No, it will never be "just another day" for you, and that's not a bad thing. January 29 will always be a part of your memory, and as the years pass, it will be a day to recall a dear friend, and to reflect upon life in general, both alone and with Dean. Although you are no longer in contact with that circle of friends, thank you for sharing your thoughts with your blogfriends.

Beth said...

I think the way I deal with sadness is to kind of just not dwell. I don't mark the day of my dad's death at all. It happens, it's over. I know that seems cold, but for me, I just try to say very in the now with death so that I'm not stuck in all that sadness.

I really do hope today is a better one for you.

Big Feet said...

I get it...and give special homework to my kids-go home, and while it may sound corny, tell your family you love them. That's it. I have to be able to call and ask if they did it, but it's on their honor. I have 23 kids, and 10 of their parents called me or came to school to tell me that they thought it was really special homework and that they'd forgive me for having one night without paper homework.