As with those of most young people, her death was especially sad, because she seemed to be on the verge of an especially bright future and would have graduated with a double major from a local college by the end of the year. Also, as is frequently the custom these days, her memorial service was an attempt to celebrate her life, rather than a sad, solemn affair, marking her death. Her friends and family all spoke of her zest for life. She had accomplished a lot, traveled a lot, lived a lot, in those 22 short years, and the tributes from her family and friends were moving and heartfelt.
A very different situation from Lionel...and yet they both seemed to have shared an adventurous spirit and desire to live life on their own terms.
I would be lying if I pretended that attending another funeral so soon after his, didn't get to me...especially during the more emotional moments. And it didn't help that the funeral home where her memorial was held was ironically situated directly across the street from the funeral home, where, a little over two weeks ago, I had dropped off Lionel's good suit, shirt and tie, so that the undertakers could prepare him for his own funeral.
I had some rough moments, but I tried to honor the spirit of my friends memorial for his daughter, and for the most part was able to keep my emotions in check. Until later.
After returning to finish out the day at work, I faced a second...and in some ways more difficult, challenge. Another close friend, also an actor -- one who had appeared in quite a few of my own plays, was hospitalized with diabetes-related complications and I had promised to visit him.
Completing these two difficult commitments in the same day, turned out not to have been as good an idea as I had intended. I was already in somewhat of a state after the funeral earlier that afternoon. To make matters worse, the hospital where my friend was in residence was not the one where Lionel had died, but one where he had been hospitalized at least ten times over the years. One where I had visited him often, and one where I felt the treatment of his illnesses had been far less than optimal.
It felt exactly like I was going to visit him again, as I had so many times in the past: same bus ride, same lobby -- still decorated for the holidays. Lionel had been a patient there so many times that I was very familiar with every area and floor and nurses station. My friend wasn't in the room when I arrived. I sat there waiting for him to return, and it seemed as if Lionel would walk into the hospital room any moment, returning from the smoking area outside, to sit on the bed, asking if I'd brought him anything to read or eat...not necessarily in that order.
I had a long hard, cry sitting there in that empty hospital room amid the sounds and smells that had become so familiar to me. The sense that Lionel would suddenly appear was so strong that it actually caused nightmares that prevented me from sleeping when I returned home that night.
I dreamed that his death had actually been a dream itself. I was so happy and relieved that he was still alive, especially when he stood up and hugged me reassuringly, that it was agony to awaken and realize the actual reality was just as I had feared. Unable to sleep I began blogging on this site about previous days, a process that lasted until I was finally able to fall asleep...just as it was time to shower and go to work.
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