Just now I learned that I lost a friend. One might think us an unlikely pair to befriend each other. He was old enough to be my father and from a socio-economic background and a side of Houston that in my childhood I would not have known existed. but for television. Still, we had some crucial commonalities: belief in God, a sense of fairness, trying to do the right thing, wanting to make things right when they're not, what marriage is supposed to be about (even though we are both divorced), an observation of folks' penchant for power and the corruptibility of such. He was no saint, and would freely admit it. Although I knew his name well and had known of him for 30 years or so, had he not needed my legal support services, we would never have met.
We had not known each other long, and our visits were generally no more frequent than bi-weekly. But during those visits when our work was done, we took time to converse. The subject matter of our discussions was not frivolous, nor their content pretty or politically correct. We both spoke in a plain, straight-forward manner, and while respectful of each other, we never shied away from the issues of race, gender, wealth, professions, or any other factor pertinent to our discourse. While we did not butt heads, he did observe and respect my willingness to question his positions and my unwillingness to rubber-stamp his declarations.
I expected to see him yesterday, but never received a call to establish a time for our visit. Since I last spoke with him either Christmas Eve or the day before (right now I'm now quite sure which), he has weighed heavily on my mind, more so than usual. As I thought of him early this morning, I realized that I was more concerned about not having heard from him for the sake of hearing from him, than not having heard from him for the sake of whatever task he would ask me to tackle next. And in my driving around Houston yesterday and today, I realized that I was thinking of him more than I was listening to my own music. Now I understand why.
My friend was as genuine and down-to-earth as any man or woman I have ever known. His voice was as rich and resonant as his face was smiling and friendly. His parents named him well, as in many ways he was his name personified, even while, during the time of our acquaintance, the last year of his life, he admits that he did not always do that name justice.
I soon recovered from the initial shock of the news. So, why speak of my friend now, especially in a way that says he is not due to be canonized? It is simply for the reason that I am reminded that none of us have come here to stay -- even if we want to, or try to. Life is a gift of indeterminate ticks of the clock. True, many of those ticks have been wasted by all of us in some quantity or another. In hindsight my friend saw that waste and was trying to do better. And today each of our "hindsights" can be used to plot a clearer, surer, more sustainable path to the future. Notice I did not say an easier path. As some of us can attest, it is one's quest for the easier path that can cause one to waste many ticks of the clock.
Well? What about you?
