The internet is so not free. Nor open. Searching for an old friend from overseas is frustrating, to say the least.
I have an address and land line.
I also found a death notice that claims L died at the age of 45.
Searched for an obit. All afternoon. Found nothing. Plenty of places I could cough some money up to, places that may or may not have any further info on her. No word from the message I sent out to her daughter. Found her husband, after a prolonged search. His online status lists him in a relationship with someone other than my friend.
I’m thinking of dialing that land line number this afternoon.
…Not even sure I want to know the truth. In some ways, people who live only in your memory are already dead. You think of them in terms of the past.
Keep telling myself it’s just an online mix up. One of those bullshit things that happen. I searched for her name and a death certificate; obviously, some site out there is gonna claim to have one. Thinking how silly I’ll feel if I call and she picks up. Of course she’s still there in Wisconsin. Of course she’s alive. How silly, how silly!
Yet…we’re talking about someone who was working with computers before computers became the thing. I have a difficult time believing she would have no social pages, no posts, no professional links whatsoever if she were alive.
Dead? At 45? That would make it 2010. Seven years ago.
And what does that make me? If ever you’d ask me, I would have said L was my best friend ever. Never had another connection with anyone that rivaled the bond between us. If she’s been dead for seven years…and I didn’t even know…
Can’t wrap my head around this. I’m in denial.
Want to find her photograph in my pile of memories. Look at her face. Demand her to be alive, be real.
…Goddess. I have to make that phone call.
Is it silly to mourn so belatedly?
The strange thing is, when people from your past die, a part of your memory dies. All those things we did, we crazy 20 something young women – now, maybe, I’m the only one to carry those memories. There is no one to reminisce with. The memories becomes stories, the stories become legend, the legend fades away and becomes forgotten. Somehow, thinking of L as alive – even tho we lost touch and hadn’t spoken for years, even tho we parted on less than ideal terms – it made the world a little less cold. There was someone out there who remembered me.
Now…now I have a four hour wait before I can dial the phone. A four hour wait to think, and remember.
A vigil. Light a candle, and pray like hell.