Where the Road Narrows

My best friend Marc died last Wednesday.  I wrote and submitted his obituary to the LA Times today.  I'm still trying to process how this all came to pass in 2013.  This happened about 25-30 years before it was supposed to.

I'm 45 years old and I can now say I've seen a person die, in person, up close, as it happened.  I just wish that it wasn't my favorite person in the entire world.  And I hope I never have to do that again.

He was surrounded by about a dozen others at the same time, as well.  Friends, family, a woman he recently started dating.  Some wept, some sobbed loudly, some stared silently, some looked away.  I kept my eyes fixed on his face, hoping to see any glimmer of life, something that could indicate he would snap out of it, like a child faking sleep.  If only he could have pulled off an elaborate stunt like that, to piss us off so greatly, but yet also give us relief that he was still with us.

Marc died from complications brought on by his weakened state while fighting leukemia.  The chemo was working; it was producing non-leukemia blood, but also compromising his immune system.  He developed a respiratory infection first, and later more that spread to his vital organs.  His oncologist said that he'd had just about every complication possible.  Without the major complications, beating this form of leukemia has a very high success rate, on paper.  Not this time though.

Marc was a fighter, one of those guys that doesn't give up when he fails.  If anyone could weather something like he went through, surely it would be him, right?  It was a forgone conclusion in my mind that very soon, there would be clear skies, and I would be coming out to visit him in his new house, and reintroduce him back into the world outside a hospital.  I probably would have had to fight for his time though.  He has many friends that would also have the same idea.

This writing is not flowing the way I hope it would.  I have a hundred mini-topics in my head related to Marc, and they're all fighting to get out and into this post.  I'm not going to fight it, I'm just going to go with the flow and whatever sticks, sticks.

Back to the obituary.  In trying to figure out how to place one, I've learned that obits have morphed into a money-making venture by the newspapers, whereas in the past they were treated almost like public service.  The 26-line (extremely truncated compared the original copy) was quite a bit more than I expected it to cost.  I have no doubt that if Marc new the cost ahead of time, would not have wanted us to submit one.  This Friday's Times should be running this:

(There are no red lines in the final print product; those are just from the rudimentary tools at my disposal)

The best thing about submitting the obituary is that the LA Times' website is automated and I was more focused on how easy the wizard flowed; it took my mind off the task at hand.  I am grateful that I didn't have to talk to a live person about this, as I most surely would have broken down.  And submitting by mail or through another method that doesn't give me an instant approval of the content would have been murder to wait for.  So thanks for that, Times.

I have to go now, but will write more about Marc soon.