Confronted with a loss.
I first met Portnoy in late September or early October of 2000. Of course, I didn't know his name then, that was to happen a few days later. I couldn't shake my mind of his face for the rest of the day. Our second meeting was later that same night. Mysterious forces at work, to be sure.
There was a connection right away. I just can't explain it. This is where most people would, though they've stated that they can't explain it, try anyway. It's beyond. I'd either insult you or prove myself daft in the attempt. There was a connection. Deal with it.
No one knew how sick he really was. Though I have a gut feeling that he did. We went to the clinic. When Dr. Sosumi called me the following day, I was devastated. How could something like this happen to a pure soul like his? Fsking wrong, is all it is. When I think about it, it makes me doubt that there's any justice or balance in this world. The doc told me that we were looking at a year, give or take. Immune deficiency. Treatment limited. Risks immense. Fsking wrong.
That one-year anniversary, of what was supposed to be his death passed, without celebration or remark. We all knew it was a matter of time, and there was a fear that by speaking the devils name, you summon him. We didn't speak of it until almost 3 years had passed.
In April of 2004, I walked into the room to find him crumpled on the floor, listless and drooling profusely. There was no warning, no complaints, just the sudden attack. I rushed him the Hospital. Massive infection in his teeth. In his weakened condition, the infection just overwhelmed his system. Eleven teeth needed to be removed.
This was a very bad turn of events. If he was on borrowed time before, this was the second mortgage.
In June of 2005, the true descent began. Repeated trips to the Hospital. Steroids. Antibiotics. He would lose his appetite and become dehydrated. We'd bring him back to the Hospital to get saline injections. He'd be ok for a week or two, then it would cycle back down. Each time, getting a little worse. On the next trip the doc found Lymphosarcoma. A form of Leukemia. The treatment, chemotherapy was just as likely to cure him as to kill him.
We went ahead with the treatment.
It was a stopgap to prevent his death for just a bit longer. Nothing more. The chemo was to run five weeks.
He made it two.
Portnoy entered my life late September of 2000, and departed 2005-09-06.
I'm changed from knowing him. And changed again from the loosing of him.
I'm angry. This isn't a part of the cycle of life. I watched him waste away, and there was nothing I could do about it. This wasn't a consequence of poor choices, or karma completing the cycle. It's out of sync. Wrong.
There's a fury in me that I have no one to channel at. There's no "one" to be angry at.
There are days, this is one of them, where I wonder at the 'reason' of things. The point.
Usually, I find it.
Today it is hidden from me.
I’m hurt, angry and lonely.
The connection to him has been closed on his side by his death, yet is still open and bleeding on mine.
It’s of little consolation that the pain that he bore for all this time is now gone as well. That pain was never his. And though I couldn’t take it from him, I seem to have my share now.
I walk forward looking of the good that will set this right.
Something that will close the hole that Portnoy’s absence.
Balance.
Today, everything seems to be sliding. Evil is on one side, and hope doesn’t carry the weight it once did.
Fsking wrong.
P38Pilot
N21 19.190' W157 51.734'
(accurate to within 91ft)
