Life is so fleeting.  Guess I’m kind of in a funk right now, partially due to this reconnecting resolution that I’ve made for New Year’s.  You see, reconnecting with people brings up memories of OTHER people from the past.

My ex-husband and I had a friend, L., who was from Switzerland.  Whenever the Euros gathered for BBQs in Golden Gate Park or at house parties, L. was there with his vibrant French-Canadian girlfriend, V.  V. had a daughter, who was probably around 12, from a previous relationship.  Mostly I remember L. from BBQs, Halloween parties and being in the French bars on Bastille Day.  In fact, the last time I ever saw him was at Café Claude on Bastille Day.  I was drinking in the back when he walked back there and recognized me.  We were having a nice little chat about my husband and his girlfriend.  He’d told me then that V. was in Brazil.  Shortly after she returned, he was going to take her daughter and her to Venice, Italy, as she’d always wanted to go there.  I told him what a great boyfriend he was to do such a thing.  We shared a few drinks, then he gave me a ride home, with both of us promising to keep in touch more.  About 3 months later, one of the French guys stopped by the apartment unannounced one morning, asking to speak to my husband.  He seemed a little out of sorts.  When we asked what was wrong, he began to cry and told us that L. was dead – he’d been thrown overboard during a boat party on San Francisco Bay.  We were in shock, but asked for details.  Apparently, L. and V. were at a Halloween party aboard the boat during the evening.  Another man was blatantly flirting with V., which L. did not appreciate.  According to him, the men started arguing while V. walked away and left them.  That’s when the other guy heaved L. overboard.  Can you imagine being thrown into San Francisco Bay on a cold October night?  To make it worse, we knew that L. couldn’t swim.  Not being able to swim in water deeper than 6 feet myself, that would be one of my worse nightmares.  Although his body hadn’t yet been found, his parents flew from Switzerland a week later to attend the memorial.  Many of us had taken the ferry to Tiburon to congregate at a restaurant for the occasion.  Mainly American, French and Swiss people were in attendance.  The first thing I saw upon entering the restaurant was a photo collage, which included many, many photos of L., V. and V.’s daughter in Venice.  That’s when the tears started and basically never stopped.  A somewhat close French friend, I., was crying so hard from the moment she entered the restaurant that she could barely walk to her seat.  Eulogies were in both French and English.  People spoke of his love of video games (he worked for EA Sports), his love of music, his love for V. and his love of life in general.  When V.’s daughter spoke of their trip to Venice, it made it even harder for me to maintain.  I was pretty hysterical by then, at which point some unknown Swiss woman came up and gave me a huge hug.  Everyone then walked outside to drop gardenias into the ocean in his memory.  His body was found about a week later, floating near Treasure Island, I believe.  V. accompanied his body home to Switzerland to be laid to rest.  His death still affects me, though it’s been more than 10 years now.  It still makes me cry, if I give it more than a few minutes thought.  Since then, I always vowed that, if any of my friends or a boyfriend/husband, were involved in any type of a spat with someone, I would never walk away, unless they were with me.

An older friend of mine here in San Francisco was diagnosed with throat cancer.  The reason they found it was because his teeth/throat had been bothering him, so he’d made an appointment with a doctor.  I can’t even remember if he said he used to smoke in his younger years, but, if he did, he’d quit many years ago.  He went through operations, chemo, radiation, the whole nine yards.  About a year into all of that, he wasn’t looking very good.  I didn’t think he’d make it to the end of the year, but he did.  Unfortunately, he didn’t quite change his lifestyle around completely.  He said that, when he was sick, he’d made so many promises to God, but once he got better, he found it hard to keep those promises.  I told him that he shouldn’t laugh in the face of death twice.

Two of my exes, both of whom were younger than me, passed away in L.A. several years ago.  I hadn’t even been aware until about 4 years ago, when I’d asked a mutual friend about them.  R. died of pancreatic cancer, which hit suddenly.  B. died after falling off of a fire escape when he was drunk.  The mutual friend had attended the funeral of R.  He said that he lost it when they showed a video collage of R. backed with “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin, which prompted him to leave.  Actually, the mutual friend himself is no longer in good health.  He’s been in and out of the hospital for the past couple of years with breathing and heart problems, constantly having tests.

Another ex of mine in L.A., with whom I’ve had quite a history, was diagnosed with colo-rectal cancer more than 20 years ago.  Although he’d known about it then, he didn’t even bother to tell me until a few years after I’d moved to San Francisco.  When I asked why he hadn’t told me earlier, he said that he didn’t want my sympathy!!!  I explained that it wasn’t out of sympathy that I cared about him, but out of love!  If he would have died and I hadn’t found out for years, I would have been completely devastated.  After several operations and a year of chemo, he’s cancer-free now.  God willing, he’ll stay that way.

Then there was that crazy, wild girl, H.  She’d had an unhappy childhood, was a drug addict and alcoholic, and was in a relationship with a boyfriend that was also a drug addict.  She could be a lot of fun sometimes, but was usually on the edge.  Her boyfriend and she would go back and forth, arguing and breaking up, at which time she’d occasionally call me crying.  The bottom line was that they were bad for each other.  They supposedly had made a commitment to help each other stop the drugs, yet they were both doing them behind the other’s back, though I think he was worse.  After a particularly bad fight when he went out and left her home alone, he later returned to find her dead.  She’d OD’d.  I swear to you that she did it purposely.  Don’t ask me why; just my gut feeling.  I really, really wish she’d called me then.

A co-worker of mine died of AIDS back the 80’s in L.A.  B. and I always had lunch together, always ate cheesecake together and sometimes had drinks together after work.  His nickname for me was Miss Cuteness.  We worked in a very casual engineering firm and, for most of my time there, I was the only female in the office.  I used to hide under his desk when another co-worker that I didn’t like was looking for me.  B. and I also barricaded that same co-worker in his office by moving a bookshelf in front of his door so that he couldn’t get out!  When B. first came down with AIDS, little was known about it, in comparison to what people know today.  He’d obviously taken time off from work.  When he was getting ready to return to work, he called me to emphasize that he didn’t want people to treat him differently when he came back.  I told him “Boy, I’m gonna’ treat you the same way I always do – maybe even worse!”  The last time I saw him, 3 of us had gone to his house to bring him all of his favorite foods to eat.  He was so weak that he could no longer cook his own meals or could barely walk his dog.  I brought cheesecake for him, of course – not homemade, though!  I wanted to bring champagne, but he’d already warned me that he couldn’t drink bubbly things.  We even walked his dog for him.  When he passed away and we went to his funeral, I was too broken up to return to the office afterwards.  I went home and cried for hours.  What made it worse was that I had a “date” that night with a man from Chicago who always took me out whenever he was in town.  I remember that we went to dinner, then I sat in his hotel room in the dark with him, drinking, looking at the pool and crying.  After that, I dreamt that B. called me from Heaven.  Strange, huh?

Just the other night, when reconnecting with someone from my college days, I found out that another dorm mate, G., had also died of AIDS years ago.  He was always so happy, always lifting me up emotionally.  I particularly remember him picking me up and twirling me around and around one night in front of the dorm; we were just happy and laughing.  Miss you, G., and wish you peace.

There’s more, but that’s enough.  Life is hard, but so much shorter than you ever think it is.  Count your blessings.  Thank your lucky stars.  Always tell that person that you love them, care about them and are there for them.