I MISS THEM ALL

Monday, January 18, 2010

I MISS THEM ALL

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

I’ve had so many people disappear from my life.
The list is as long as my arm.
For 5 years, Ian Dennis was my best friend.
We went to movies every week.
Sometimes two or more in a day.
He moved back to England when I was 13.

I know that aching, tumbling feeling in my gut so very well.
When I came out to him at 18,
Ian wished me well and never answered another letter.
I had visited him, the year before, in Southampton in the warm, luscious summer.

Linda moved to New York and I never saw her, again.
She directed me in lots of good, fun theatre.
I loved working with her.
We were on the same wave-length.

When I had an affair with the husband of a mutual friend,
Linda stopped writing to me.
(No. It’s not what you’re thinking.
His wife approved of the situation.
Helen knew that was what he needed.
I wasn’t a home-wrecker.
It was already destroyed.)
Linda, who looked a lot like Loreena McKennitt,
Died in a house fire, a few years ago.


David hanged himself,
Dangling from the top of a tall staircase, in an old duplex apartment,
Because he was going blind.
Wayne hanged himself in the Don Jail.
He had broken his probation and was about to go back to prison.
He just disappeared.
No one knew where he was.
One day, years later, I found out what happened by reading a newspaper article,
At 3 am, about jail suicides.

So many friends and colleagues died from AIDS in the early 90s.
Too many to mention.
Too sad to think about.

I never went to my grandmother’s funeral
When I was very young.
We didn’t get along and I didn’t want to deal with death.
I wanted to push it out of my life.
Once, as an adult, I went to nine funerals in 6 months.

Cheyenne died, suddenly, at 47.
Her 8 year old son found her slumped over in the bathroom.
They still don’t know what killed her.

The night my mother left the Earth, I had intended to go visit her in the hospital.
I called my Father.
He said, “Don’t go, tonight. Come here, tomorrow, for dinner and I’ll drive you there.”
Around 2 am, he called back to say she was dead.
“I’m sorry I told you not to go,” Dad said, choking back tears.

I’m not feeling morbid or down.
I’m just missing everyone.

Sandra became paralyzed from the neck down, after an operation,
Then caught a bug in the hospital, and that was it.
She used to love to talk on the phone.
Near the end, all Sandy could do was blink her eyes and shake her head.
She could mouth words but no sounds came out.

Aunts, Uncles, cousins, lovers, tricks and friends.
Gone to the other side.
I miss them all.

The older one gets, the more one witnesses death.
It slaps you in the face, like a head on collision.
Sneaks around the corner, like a thief in the night.

Sometimes people drift away, out of your life, for no particular reason.
It’s almost like they were dead.