It begins like this : Your high school or college alumni group for years posts only news of engagements, weddings, babies, people’s big job promotions and accomplishments.....till suddenly, one day, you see an obit. The name catches your attention even though the photo looks nothing like the person you remember.
https://www.dignitymemorial.com/fr-ca/obituaries/odessa-tx/mark-owens-5877045
You read the obit and wonder at small weird typos/ comments, and think: How can he have been the love of her life for all those years, when he was the love of mine for one? We met, sitting next to each other in class at Richardson High School, age 17. He begged me to go off to the same college he did. I did not. How might our lives differed, had we chosen another path?
Like popcorn popping, the one obit here or there suddenly picks up in frequency. 2014 produced Mark Owens, a young man whom I dated in 1979. This past 12 months produced two more:
https://haysfreepress.com/2018/12/21/eric-maag-1961-2018/
Eric Maag and I grew up in the same church, St Barnabus Presbyterian of Richardson, Tx. For 18 years Eric was part of a tight knit group of Sunday School, confirmation class, youth group summer camps kids I knew intimately, like brothers and sisters. I remember Eric’s pimply pre-adolescent boyhood self growing all the way up to a lanky 6’2” well proportioned young man, his frame sprawled out in Sunday School pretending to be asleep - no doubt dragged there by his parents, as I had been - pretending not to notice when I wore mini skirts to church. Looking at my legs from under his bangs. I noticed that he noticed. He noticed that I noticed he noticed.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/eric-maag-memorial
Martha MacGranihan was a friend from my college days, one of a group of smart, cute, fun, sassy girls who changed my alma mater forever by their arrival in 1979. Prior to this, females on campus had been of the chunky “thunder thighs”, greasy-haired nerds who filled my STEM university. Amy Farrah-Fowler from “Big Bang Theory” types. The wave of new freshmen arrivals in the fall of 1979 changed all that. We were beautiful AND smart. We loved to dance to New Wave music, drank heavily, had sex freely w young men we met, sampled drugs, embraced hedonism, were ardent feminists, didn’t take ourselves too seriously, believed we could have and do it all, including academic rigor. We were going to change the world. Martha was an integral part of that.
http://www.mykeeper.com/profile/MarthaCluett/
As 2019 winds to a close, I am still thinking and grieving for my old friends. A little piece of me, of my history, has died, too. My granny used to say that she was sad bc she had outlived all her friends. Once our friends are all gone, who remembers or truly knows who we once were?
https://www.dignitymemorial.com/fr-ca/obituaries/odessa-tx/mark-owens-5877045
You read the obit and wonder at small weird typos/ comments, and think: How can he have been the love of her life for all those years, when he was the love of mine for one? We met, sitting next to each other in class at Richardson High School, age 17. He begged me to go off to the same college he did. I did not. How might our lives differed, had we chosen another path?
Like popcorn popping, the one obit here or there suddenly picks up in frequency. 2014 produced Mark Owens, a young man whom I dated in 1979. This past 12 months produced two more:
https://haysfreepress.com/2018/12/21/eric-maag-1961-2018/
Eric Maag and I grew up in the same church, St Barnabus Presbyterian of Richardson, Tx. For 18 years Eric was part of a tight knit group of Sunday School, confirmation class, youth group summer camps kids I knew intimately, like brothers and sisters. I remember Eric’s pimply pre-adolescent boyhood self growing all the way up to a lanky 6’2” well proportioned young man, his frame sprawled out in Sunday School pretending to be asleep - no doubt dragged there by his parents, as I had been - pretending not to notice when I wore mini skirts to church. Looking at my legs from under his bangs. I noticed that he noticed. He noticed that I noticed he noticed.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/eric-maag-memorial
Martha MacGranihan was a friend from my college days, one of a group of smart, cute, fun, sassy girls who changed my alma mater forever by their arrival in 1979. Prior to this, females on campus had been of the chunky “thunder thighs”, greasy-haired nerds who filled my STEM university. Amy Farrah-Fowler from “Big Bang Theory” types. The wave of new freshmen arrivals in the fall of 1979 changed all that. We were beautiful AND smart. We loved to dance to New Wave music, drank heavily, had sex freely w young men we met, sampled drugs, embraced hedonism, were ardent feminists, didn’t take ourselves too seriously, believed we could have and do it all, including academic rigor. We were going to change the world. Martha was an integral part of that.
http://www.mykeeper.com/profile/MarthaCluett/
As 2019 winds to a close, I am still thinking and grieving for my old friends. A little piece of me, of my history, has died, too. My granny used to say that she was sad bc she had outlived all her friends. Once our friends are all gone, who remembers or truly knows who we once were?
'No Man is an Island'No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. Olde English Version No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. MEDITATION XVII Devotions upon Emergent Occasions John Donne |
Merry Christmas!
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