Mortality visits us all, and the funny thing is, on the day we pass, for the people around us; the trash will still need to be taken out, the yard mowed, dinner made, diapers changed, etc. Life will go on for family and friends. This year so far, I suppose the theme that I can apply to 2026, can be one of death. During February, as I approached my sixth decade of life, a feat I figured decades ago may never happen; a snap diagnosis of a blood sugar disorder nearly ended me. Then the emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder in April, which I welcomed, but with any scalpel applied to the skin, there is always a risk.
I am not unused to odd things happening about my person. I remembered several months back when I inquired to a tire shop technician about one tire whose pressure was low, only to witness a Veteran have his tires purchased by an anonymous patron, then be told by the technician that my tire had no problems and its worked fine ever since. Or the hospice attendant, on the evening that my father passed away in early May 2012, was rerouted to my residence to care for my father in his final hours. The lady knew the priest that ministered to me during my darkest cancer days.
Last month I attended a concert at the Houston Symphony on May 22nd. Gustav Mahler’s 9th. Written in the closing years of his life, faced with the death of youngest daughter, and a horrible diagnosis with the condition of his heart. Mahler wrote his life, of the good times, and bad times, and of the stillness and sadness as we start our down time to meet our maker. I had written on Mahler 3 the previous year, which just came to me with no problem, but with Mahler 9. Well, I tried and tried, and nothing. In fact, I fell into a sort of funk, a sort of depression that had me in a malaise of inactivity, and long sleep periods. I did write, but it was in short story form, trying to set right to a life of wrongs, begging for forgiveness that will take multiple lifetimes to fulfill.
That’s why I couldn’t publish anything last week.
I didn’t know at the time, I was essentially mourning a death that had taken place in Louisiana, of which I had not yet been informed, and it was just another one of those odd things that I have experienced; call it ‘sixth sense,’ extrasensory perception, intuition, gut feeling, or even a spiritual connection. The same thing in my war, and on the road when family was trying to contact me. I’m somehow connected to a wider world, and by evidence of this piece written on Monday night, June 1st, I appear to be coming out of my low period, with the keys being tapped and the words flowing freely again,
I received word this past week that a childhood friend had passed away on May 24th, and it came as a shock to me. He was 57, the age of my youngest sister, which is still very young compared to life expectancies of today. And with a good number of my friends and acquaintances in their mid-70s and higher, I still get the old phrase told to me, “You’re still a kid.” which when I look at my face, I don’t see any pockmarks or the roughness that many display, and still see a dimple or two reminds of my younger days. My beard might be a little grey, but my thinking seems to interest a fair number of readers, and having lived a life that has offered many opportunities for my own demise, I’m still in awe that I’m able to draw breath.
Life rarely goes as planned, and in all cases we can only see it in retrospect, and my friend, James, lived a life that if you take it at face value could be seen as a failure. But when you look behind the curtain it can be better explained, that his actions were reactionary in more of trying to forget painful episodes with drugs and in regards to domestic abuse. In fact, I’ve written on several occasions about him, as a warning to parents to be mindful when raising their children, but I did not remind the fathers to respect their wives and children as the most precious things in The World, because they are.
My family and James’ folks got along together. We lived across the street from each other in Pearland in the mid-to-late 70s, and we had many outings and even vacationed together. We never knew of their internal hardships. James enjoyed interactions with my sisters, if I was off doing something else. Since James’ parents were professionals, they eventually moved to a newer neighborhood in town, when he was about 11 or 12, and I’ve been told by my friend’s father that he regretted the missed stabilizing influence that me, my sisters, and parents, impressed upon the boy. In his new neighborhood, with his new friends, and the easy availability of marijuana, James’ life path changed and it led to darker days with gateways to other drugs. I’ve had run-ins with drug episodes, but I did not keep it as a habit.
James eventually married and had two sons, but still the drug habit and difficulties with his wife were evident, and his parents had to step in with taking their grandchildren under their belt and raising them. It was really a sad situation at the time, but as he aged, James started to come out of his era of self-harm, and the prodigal son returned to his parents and children; of course much worse for ware, but nonetheless still alive and able to participate with the family. His oldest son Tyler, died in an industrial accident years ago, and was as full of life as his father, but without the drug use. His youngest son Nick, is more timid, and lives a proper life, and is about to move in with his grandmother to ensure she is properly cared for.
When family, friends, and acquaintances from our own generation start to pass away, the reflection on our own lives begins to dawn upon us. And it makes us think. How could we have made things different? We make decisions daily for better or worse that affect how our lives play out. And if there is no accounting for our lives, then we can easily be led astray. Influences play a massive part in how we live, from work, education, friends, family, radio and television personalities; all have their formulas in how we become who we are. It’s a formula so complex that it will never be written on paper, and that’s just for one individual.
Money is not a true gauge of success in life, and for children of professional parents it can be a hindrance, or a mirage, especially if the means of success wane, and the child is unable to flap their own wings and provide for themselves. Again, life preparation means everything, and if you fail in that endeavor, you become that life lesson that I occasionally write about.
Technology over the past hundred years, with phones, radio, television, sports, video games, and the internet, has collectively robbed our societal intellect, and has offered numerous opportunities for misuse of our lives. Our ancestors in the 19th century and early 20th, were reading Walt Whitman, Tennyson, and Mill, in Carnegie, and other lending libraries of the time. The 8th graders of 1895 I would put up against any Ivy League student today in passing their final exam. I mean, who knows what ‘orthography’ even is?
My friend James was making a comeback. He was improving his life. Life had taken its toll on him, making him look many years older than he actually was. He was a victim of technology as well, perhaps being raised on video games too much, as well as not being visited by that life epiphany that I occasionally write about. If you have no direction, if you have no flap in your wings, you will never gain the air to see what life is really about, and your parents can’t live your life for you.
I look at James to see if I could blame myself, but there was really nothing I could have done. I started working at 15 on the complete opposite side of town, shortly after his family moved to the new neighborhood. His family lived their lives, and my family lived ours, and we still got together on occasion, but the natural cohesion we shared before had been broken. After I entered the military, James’ family moved to different parts of Texas and Louisiana, eventually settling near Lake Charles. When on leave I would join James’ family and mine on adventures at an Arkansas oxbow lake state park, Monroe, Louisiana, or in Nashville, from when I was stationed in Kentucky for a short period in 1987 between my European tours.
In eulogizing my friend, I spoke of our time in the old neighborhood, and how close we were. As a kid, James’ hair was pure blond and flowing, and perfectly punctuated his outgoing spirit. He was eager for attention, and got his fair share, but his ability to make you laugh was his strong point. I’m sure if there was a mulligan issued in life, James’ father’s decision would have been different, instead installing a pool. and my friend would have had a much more normal life in regards to career and family stability. Unfortunately, we only get one chance at life, and have to live it as best we can.
May God Bless my good friend, James, 1969-2026.