Saying Goodbye To My Friend
I haven’t written anything in several days. But tonight I said to myself: “Even if you just type a few words, you must say something.”
On the morning of Feb. 28, I was moving, (again) packing— when I saw a Minnesota number come in on my phone. But it wasn’t Richard. It wasn’t his number, and he never called in the morning.
I answered. “Is this Celia?” a kind voice asked.
He wanted me to sit down, and get myself stable. I knew what was coming.
He was calling to tell me that Richard had died that morning, of a heart attack, in the Minnesota veteran’s home where he lived. Bill was on his way to anoint him.
“I know how close you were, and how much you meant to Richard,” he said.
I’d been bracing myself for so many years, for this moment. I was very grateful to Bill, for the care he took to prepare me.
I’d spoken to Richard the night before while driving and I told him that one of his letters had arrived torn in half an empty envelope, inside a plastic bag. Neither of us could make sense of that but it was in keeping with the “thing” that was always after us, all the years of our friendship.
In the first year of “Covid,” we made a kind of pact to survive it together, by staying on the phone. There was a distinct feeling of two people in a cell, having to draw only on their memories. What we talked about repeated, went round and round, gathering minerals from the cell walls, trying to speak of a future we knew wouldn’t happen because the spirit of Covid didn’t want anybody to claim a dream.
I was aware of how we were eroding, but I didn’t know how to overcome it.
”Tell me about Abraham Lincoln,” I would say. And just like that, he’d tell me such astonishing stories that made it seem Abe Lincoln was right there with us. In our cell. Other times Robert E. Lee would make an appearance, having been smashed free of a statue somewhere, to join our conversation. “I didn’t surrender to the Union. I surrendered to Lincoln.” That’s the kind of thing Lee would say.
This Quaker hymn was one of countless songs Richard gifted me with. Always loved it:
Pay special attention to the remarkable, simple lyric.
Rest In Peace my friend. I’ll see you soon enough. I won’t let your works be forgotten, or your old-fashioned acts of civility.
Or the way you had of telling me about the real history of this country. Our monetary story.
“The skirmishes at Lexington and Concord are considered the start of the Revolt, but the point of no return was probably May 10, 1775 when the Continental Congress assumed the power of sovereignty by issuing its own money.”
http://www.richardkotlarz.com/columns/#Column_2_A_DISTURBING_IMAGE_FROM_THE_PAST
I’m so sorry, Celia 💔😭🥀 Losing a soul friend who understands you so deeply is like losing a part of yourself. Here’s some Wendell Berry to help you heal.
“Three Elegiac Poems”
by Wendell Berry
I
Let him escape hospital and doctor,
the manners and odors of strange places,
the dispassionate skills of experts.
Let him go free of tubes and needles,
public corridors, the surgical white
of life dwindled to poor pain.
Foreseeing the possibility of life without
possibility of joy, let him give it up.
Let him die in one of the old rooms
of his living, no stranger near him.
Let him go in peace out of the bodies
of his life—
flesh and marriage and household.
From the wide vision of his own windows
let him go out of sight; and the final
time and light of his life’s place be
last seen before his eyes’ slow
opening in the earth.
Let him go like one familiar with the way
into the wooded and tracked and
furrowed hill, his body.
II
I stand at the cistern in front of the old barn
in the darkness, in the dead of winter,
the night strangely warm, the wind blowing,
rattling an unlatched door.
I draw the cold water up out of the ground, and drink.
At the house the light is still waiting.
An old man I’ve loved all my life is dying
in his bed there. He is going
slowly down from himself.
In final obedience to his life, he follows
his body out of our knowing.
Only his hands, quiet on the sheet, keep
a painful resemblance to what they no longer are.
III
He goes free of the earth.
The sun of his last day sets
clear in the sweetness of his liberty.
The earth recovers from his dying,
the hallow of his life remaining
in all his death leaves.
Radiances know him. Grown lighter
than breath, he is set free
in our remembering. Grown brighter
than vision, he goes dark
into the life of the hill
that holds his peace.
He’s hidden among all that is,
and cannot be lost.
Celia... My condolences to you on the passing of your treasured friend. Thank you for sharing your heart with us at this time. The passing of someone who deeply affects our life's journey is one that hits us in the most tender way. I pray you be comforted, strengthened, and that the memories you shared with Richard convey solace and gratitude in a way that you might not have ever experienced before. What a beautiful treasure you have been privy to, in having someone who profoundly touched your life in, what your writing demonstrates, a soul friendship manner.
One of my brother's passed over when I was a young 12 yr old. In the 50 intervening years, he has come to me in dreams that were so real, and thoughts of our brief life together have been very close at times that brought strength, remembrance of interactions, and even desires that rougher times would have played out in a more positive way.
In the path you now trod absent the phone calls, letters, or any other means you interacted with Richard... I hope the memories carry you through the emotional dips. Blessings to you. I bet Richard values the time here on earth he shared with you.