Member-only story
My friend of almost 30 years, John Stiborek, died March 25th, about 8:30 am. He was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme, inoperable Oct 1st. He went fast. Writing this is not about him. It’s about me.
I had sworn off funerals. I will be breaking that and going to his. Not for him not for me, but because his family loves me and would want me there. My friend is not the only one that died that day, that week. Easter is coming up. They won’t do a funeral on Easter weekend. The weekend after apparently is booked full. People die. Everyday. This is the part of life we don’t discuss much in our culture, and yet, it fills our dramas and movies.
The most significant death of my life was the death of my paternal grandfather. He died in 92. I met my friend, John, 2 weeks after his funeral. The details are likely only important to me. I was in a new city, a new work environment, and I when I met John it was like Deja Vu. I knew him. I went straight to him, a stranger that wasn’t, and we played chess and exchanged books, and it was an instantly solid friendship. We bought land together. He, his girlfriend, and I lived together. He and the girlfriend married, and I was still part of their life. We gave up the land, and they moved and I moved, but we continued the friendship. We traveled together. We went scuba diving together. So many movies and barbecues and books…
