.... it's sort of a funny word. I looked it up today in my Oxford Unabridged. It defined it simply as "An Old Testament book of the Bible whose authorship is attributed to King Solomon." Not all that helpful, I already knew that. It did refer me to a likely root word "ecclestiast" meaning simply "Preacher." Fair enough. I have always found Ecclesiates to be one of my favorite books of the bible. It is just so plainly spoken, almost blunt, and just so "common sense" that it sort of strikes a chord with me. The entire passage about "...a time to live, a time to die, a time for peace, a time for war,..." is so profound mostly because those things are so obvious the we generally all overlook them. The statement "when it's time..." is one that I have found myself using often in my own life, a way to calm my innate impaitence with things.
I thought of this Saturday as we heard many references to that book of the Bible at a funeral service, held in memorial to the husband of a dear friend of ours. Maybe 30 minutes before we left for that service, I got a phone call from the brother of an old friend of mine. He was calling to tell me that my friend John had died a few days ago, the apparent victim of an aneurysm on his aorta. He had told a neighbor he was not feeling well, probably the flu, went into his house and died sometime later, likely in his sleep. He was less than one year older than I am.
I have known John since I was maybe 10 years old. He was one of very few close friends I had in highschool in spite of the fact that we attended different schools. We were both part of that curious highschool caste of social non-entities, the round pegs that never bothered trying to fit into the square holes. Most weeks we would spend at least a few nights and part of nearly every weekend hanging at one of our houses, mostly just talking. We spoke daily either on the phone or via CB radio, all the rage at the time. That friendship endured into our adult lives, though our respective lives were very different, me with my big family and him having never married or had children. Allthough we did not cross paths often lately, he would always call out of the blue for no real reason, or just appear at our door because he happend to be in the area. He loved to talk politics, science, computers and anything else with me, the dicsussions usually lasting several hours and always full of laughter, as we long shared a similarly cynical sense of humor. I'm really going to miss John mostly because he was one of those assumed constants in your life. I always knew even if we had not talked for a year, I could call up and we would pick up like we had spoken the day before, no questions, no awkwardness, no "where have you been", no nothing. Just someone who you understood and liked and accepted, and who did precisely the same for you. You always knew what to expect. I know lots of people, but such friends are few and far between in anybodys life. Rest in peace, my friend.
We seem to have had a bumper crop of funerals this year. When I told my boss this morning that I had to attend another funeral on Wednesday, his comment was; "I don't think I want to know you..." Everybody seems to have such phases in their lives and if you haven't, sadly, you will. I'm certainly not shocked by it all, but it does get a bit tiresome after a while.
nothing gurantees your next breath.
laugh when you can.
hug your loved ones.
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