Learning to live my life without you, old friend

Don and I in Vienna, 2002

I’ve had almost a week now to get used to the passing of my friend Don. In fact, I’m at peace with the idea that he has died. I’ve not at all accepted the fact that I will never again email him or read a new blog post of his or talk to him on the phone or see him. Communicating with Don was an integral – and almost daily – part of my life. It was so much at the core of our friendship that on the rare occasion that we went two days without conversing one of us would invariably write a message with the subject “You ok?”

I’ve therefore spent hours of every day since he died in his company, sort of. I’ve read 299 of his posts on Cogito, his blog. Still to go: 77 more.

I’ve of course read them all before and many of them bear witness to that with a comment from me. But at my age I forget things easily, so it’s been great fun to read them all again. Don spent most of his life making a living with words, so, even if you didn’t know him, a walk through his blog is a rewarding ramble. You can find him at http://nodelad.blogspot.com/

Don and I took a Rhine River cruise in 1995. The highlight of the trip was an overnight stop in Köln (Cologne). The cathedral is spectacular and the first glimpse of it, from the riverboat, made my heart race. Later that evening we toured the outside (the cathedral was closed for the night) as a misty rain fell, sprinkling the fog with slivers of light. In a blog post from August of 2010, Don had this to say about walking through Köln that evening:

I was thinking about our planned visit to the cathedral the next day, and then we looked up and saw it: the magnificent Cathedral of Saint Peter and the Blessed Virgin disappearing into the fog above, a timeless apparition that transported us -- just for a moment -- back to the Middle Ages. We were stopped in our tracks, stunned by what we beheld. Speechless. Awestruck. Never before nor since have I seen something both so moving and so beautiful.

I echo that sentiment and reading his words made that memory as fresh as it could possibly be. I will be always grateful for his words and know I will revisit them often.

As I sit in my home office and look at the almost 70 year-old light-up Santa face that I inherited from my parents, I think that I can hardly remember a time when this holiday gem, and Don Dale, were not part of my life. Don dispersed forever any guilt I have about displaying this tacky piece of plastic in a blog post from 2011:

Christmas is a time for memories, for recalling the past and for making new memories for the children in our families. Tacky is trumped by nostalgia.

I decided long ago that this is a good thing.

Tradition is to be accorded great respect.

Thanks, Don. As always.