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When I was younger — must be close to 40 years ago now — a couple that were close family friends died in a house fire. They were alcoholics. They were terrible examples for a young person and offered dubious life pro-tips. He taught me to drive. They both had a passion for life that I don't know if I've seen before or since. We hung out with them pretty often.
One of them woke up one morning, lit a cigarette, and passed back out. The place burned to the ground. I miss them to this day and wonder how things might've gone differently had that not happened. I didn't cry. I was emotionally numb. I didn't know how to feel.
For me, there was no moment of catharsis. Not at the funeral or when they were buried. Not driving past the house. There is just a hole. And memories. So many memories, and somehow still vivid in ways that other memories aren't. Sailing. Camping. Cooking. His stories of growing up in England. Her love of horses. They named their sailboat Dulcinea after the character in Don Quixote. She (Dulcinea) was ugly, but Don thought she was beautiful. The boat was not ugly, but they had a great sense of humor.
I was never able to pack that stuff away in a memory to be opened only on special occasions. They are still present with me now in a lot of ways. Things trigger memories of them all the time. I love that I had the opportunity to know them. I wish I could have known them longer, but my memories of them are all happy. Many of them are hilarious.
We were at a fish ladder once, where fishing is prohibited, and ran into a guy who was fishing there. Rich grabbed the pole right out of his hand and threw it into the river. Fucking legend.
I wish I had actual advice for you. The person who linked to the waves post on Reddit probably has it right — that's some great advice. I can only say you aren't alone, and 40 years later I'm still not entirely sure how to process their absence, but I'm used to it. I miss them just like I miss everything about that time of my life. And I still see them everywhere when I look around. Every time I pass a lake with a sailboat. Every time I try to drive a stick shift. Every time I play euchre.
Your relative will probably always be with you. Enjoy their presence every time you remember them. Time will see to the rest.
Be well, friend.
This was beautifully written and helped me heal a bit, even though I'm not processing much grief at the moment. They clearly had an impact on you, and you've shared their legacy to us in response.
Thank you, friend.