Awakening

Leaving flowers on your grave
Show that I still care
But black roses and hail mary’s
Can’t bring back what’s taken from me
I reach to the sky
And call out your name
And if I could trade
I would

--The Offspring


"The best thing about our friendship is that I feel like we're immortal when we're out together." These were the words uttered by my friend John at a point when we were younger. He felt that when we were all together, all eight of us, that we couldn't be touched. And it was true... until it wasn't anymore.

Twelve years ago, Mike Catizone passed out on a familiar carpet after a night of drinks, smokes, and unmentionables. When everyone finally went to sleep, Cat made sure it was quiet in the night, grabbed his keys, and went to find his way home. None of this was abnormal. As ridiculous as this sounds, Cat was the best drunk driver we'd known, and if someone wants to do something, there's really no way to stop him. So, off he went onto the Auburn roads. I never heard from him again.

Cat went into a coma and was brought to Elliott Hospital in Manchester, NH. We sat in peaceful unrest and waited for any word to tell us how our friend was doing. We got there early and we left late (and some, not at all). We received word that if he came out of it, he would have brain damage and wouldn't walk normally again. We had conversations about how he'd never want to live like that. That he'd be miserable in that setting. So, knowing that he could hear us when we spoke, I let him know nobody would be mad at him if he quit and faded away. That night, he was gone.

For a period after that, I left the world, too. I was here, but I was numb. I drank more than I ever have, I listened to nobody, and my grades, which were more than passable for a guy that didn't study much, had begun to sink like a stone. Who cares? What's it matter, anyway? We all leave sometime and this, what we see and do, is irrelevant. It's safe to say I was a little fucked up. I was angry, bitter, cold and desolate.

And out of that desolation came an appreciation for the time when that wasn't the case. When I was surrounded by great moments and conversations. When I felt like I couldn't be touched. When I felt as part of a community of friends. And I began to embrace those friendships that meant something, because I didn't know how long they would be around for. Sometimes, as I slip back into a sense of entitlement for what it is that I possess, I reminisce to the time when I thought there was no purpose to anything, and I re-grow an appreciation for those that have graced my life.

And for those that left too early.

I love you, buddy. And I miss you dearly.