It’s a trip I began planning a few months ago. Taking advantage of the break between my academic quarters, I’m spending ten days in South Dakota. It’s been nearly twenty years since I’ve visited the grassy prairie, the rugged Badlands, and the grand monument to Crazy Horse, the Lakota warrior.
I made several trips to Rapid City in the past. During those trips, I led workshops and seminars on topics like HIV risk reduction, the passages in the Bible that affirm LGBT people (btw: none of which condemn queer folks), spirituality and spiritual development, and some basics of community organizing. In my five or six trips there, I met some interesting and colorful people. I enjoyed being there so much that in 1996, I considered taking a job in South Dakota.
As I was preparing for this trip, I decided to look up an old friend from Rapid City. We got to know each other during my visits. Between my trips there we would telephone and write. Joseph was about ten years younger than me, frail because of health issues, as well as bright, engaging, kind, and compassionate. When I’d visit Rapid City, we would spend evenings talking for hours, sometimes sitting in my rental car on a ridge outside of the city looking at the night sky.
Around 2001, he was taken to Denver for a kidney transplant. I was living in Tucson at the time and not able to offer any tangible support. But we picked up our conversations and correspondence again as he recovered from surgery. He told me that he met someone in Minneapolis. He planned to move there to give this new relationship a chance to bloom. Our contact faded. My life was busy and I assumed he started a new one in the Twin Cities.
I thought I’d search for Joseph online prior to my vacation. In doing so, I discovered that he never left Rapid City. Instead, I found his obituary. My friend Joseph died about seven years ago. Even though we had not been in touch with each other for about fifteen years, I felt awash with grief. From what I could piece together, following the transplant, he did travel and seemed to have a full life. But other complications set in and the bright spark of his life faded.
Grief and bereavement make sense to us when we lose someone like a family member or loved one who is part of our day to day lives. One of the hidden experiences of grief we rarely consider is the loss of those who were once dear to us but with whom we’ve lost contact. As with my friend Joseph, our lives just went in different directions. There was no incident that ended the friendship. We were simply in different parts of the country and the distance between us grew wider. This happens for all of us with classmates, colleagues, and people with whom we once shared some part of our lives but then we moved on to other places, careers, or pursuits.
I don’t have any special insight for moving through the grief related to the loss of a friend, colleague, or companion who hasn’t been part of one’s life for many years. Instead, I can only acknowledge that the experience of grief is real. Since I found out about his death, each day my mind drifts to visits and conversations with Joseph. I’m thankful for having known him and saddened that his life ended far too soon. In my prayer, I’ve expressed gratitude for having him as a friend. When I visit Rapid City, I plan one evening to drive to the ridge overlooking the city and perhaps salute him. And, yes: writing this posting is part of my way to memorialize him and the friendship we once shared. All of these simple acts are ways to acknowledge the reality of grief – a unique kind of grief that comes to each of our lives.
Throughout our lives, we experience all sorts of losses. It’s difficult enough to work through the obvious losses like the death of parents, loves ones, or close friends. But then there are hidden losses, like when a dear old friend we once enjoyed but who moved on from our lives has died. Out of respect for the friendship and for our own care, it’s important to remember, to share stories, and make our private memorials. So it is that I remember Joseph, the confidences we shared, the dreams we imagined, and the funny things we laughed about. His life enriched mine and I am thankful that I knew him.
Photo by thor_mark on Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA
