The passing of a friend leaves a hole in one’s heart. . .

Within the past few weeks, three friends have died.  The first one was the elderly mother of my best friend.  I had known her for many years, of course.  And while it was true that she had many health challenges, and deserved to be quietly at peace; it was still with great sadness that I said my good byes.  I would have to say that I felt even greater sadness for her family.  Even though, they, like all of us, knew Audrey deserved to be free of her frail, restricted body, her tenderness and gentle spirit had remained very much alive until the very end.  Many fond memories will comfort me.  Much like the ones that will comfort her family.

The second death was a man I had known from the rooms of AA for more than three decades.  He was a good friend to my husband too.  In fact, Joe had had lunch with Tom two days prior to his death.  He had suffered a stroke but was doing reasonably well, or so we thought.  He had returned to meetings and lunching with friends. But death came for him any way.  We all heard the sad news a day or two later when another friend went to his home to seek him out.  Like with Audrey, it appeared he had had a peaceful passing.  He left no family behind but he did leave a crowd of loving friends.  Hundreds of them, in fact.

My husband’s family will especially miss him.  He had been “adopted,” more-or-less by the Casey’s many years ago.  He was always invited to the family celebrations, holidays, and special events of any kind.  And he always came.  It’s with great joy that I consider him one of my “angels” on the other side.  I’m convinced he likes that “assignment” too.  It’s one that will allow him to continue “coming” to the family gatherings.

The third death I want to acknowledge here is of another man.  His name was Ray.  I met Ray within weeks of my getting sober.  We worked on a committee together that was organizing the big Thanksgiving celebration for people in recovery.  It was an annual event and I was thrilled to be getting involved with a group of fun-loving people.  Ray was particularly kind.  He had been sober 3 years already when I met him and that seemed like an eternity to me.

We remained in touch throughout my recovery.  I saw him often, particularly in the early years.  It was always a special meeting when our paths crossed.  Unfortunately, Ray had a lot of depression in his life.  He had served in Vietnam and suffered from PTSD.  Even though his own life was often sad, he helped hundreds find a seat in the rooms.  And then he gave up his own seat.  It was a sad ending for Ray but I hope a quietly, peaceful one.  He will be missed by hundreds.  Perhaps thousands.  He had volunteered at Intergroup for most of his own recovery.  I have a feeling he is still guiding many of us “from the other side.”  I would be honored to think he might choose to be a guide for me.  His heart always led him.  I imagine that may still be true.

I wish all three of you a safe journey.