A dear friend of mine died this morning.  When death enters our lives it comes as a gut punch even when you are expecting it.  And when I became aware of his death I too died a little.  That’s how it is with the rare and few friends that we have; we lose something when we lose a friend.

It comes slow, the grief and the realization that the face of that friend will never grace our doorstep again.  It is natural, this grief, just as natural as death itself; but, it is never easy and neither should it be.  We have, our ancestors have, spent eons fighting the illusive scythe of death and some of us still do.  But we will all lose to death’s inevitable appearance in our lives.

My friend would not have me grieve too long, and so I raise a glass of single malt to the skies and to his memory and to the memories that he has given me; those I will always cherish.

“You realize you loved how the light waned through the kitchen window in winter when afternoon gave in and let night flood streets with cold, with dark that swallowed shadows.”

-Dream of the Leaving, from Asleep Beneath the Hill of Dreams

Chris Ransick