Remembering an old friend

Tomorrow will mark the 2nd anniversary of my friend Dan's death. He died from colon cancer on Dec 15, 2002. It was swift. He was diagnosed in Oct. He was only 50. A young 50. Ate right, swam every day...in top shape.

Dan worked with a major newspaper up North. He worked in the hometown of my first college roommate. A handsome funny personable guy...short and balding...his hero was Bruce Willis. Mainly because he resembled Bruce. lol

One thing Dan and I had in commom besides the gift of writing, was heartache. We both went through a difficult breakup at the same time. His wife of 11 years left him for another man. And of course, if you read here you know I am referring to my breakup with Allen. I listened to Dan more than he did me though. You know how most friendships are--one person does more giving than the other. I didn't mind. I was stronger than he was. I could control my heartache, he couldn't. We rarely disagreed, except on one occasion--he told me that his heartache was greater because he had been married and I hadn't. He had invested 11 years and I had only 6 years of "dating."

Talk about setting off my sting! I disagree even to this day. Heartache is always devastating. You can't measure love in years! I loved Allen like I have never loved before or since. No one can understand the pain I went through, cutting him out of my life--going back out into a world that was less colorful because he wasn't in it with me. I did the right thing and don't regret it now, but when Dan said that, I felt as if I hadn't hung in there with Al like I should have. It took a while for me to get over his theory but if you're truly a friend with someone, you find a way to move over the rough spot in the road.

I watched Dan grieve. I listened to him cry, to his recounting the dreams that he and his wife had shared... and I lent my shoulder. I don't regret doing that at all. He loved deeply and it was only natural that he grieve as deep. He once told me that it takes 3 years to get over a relationship. At first I laughed but now I agree. So after 3 years of grieving, he was ready to start dating again.

So I became his sounding board about the dates he had and the 'actions' or 'non-actions' of the women he dated. He would call me the day after a date and we would discuss it. I would give him my thoughts and I always silently laughed at him. Because if my thoughts grooved with what he wanted, he was happy...but if I gave a different perception, he would spend an hour trying to tell me I was wrong.... and I would silently tick off time, waiting for the call that would always come...the one where he would say, "Ok, Sherrie Rose. You were right."

The last time I talked to Dan was in Sept of 2002. It was about a young Flight Attentant that he was attracted too... the same old conversation we always had about the women he liked, who sent out opposite signs and my advice that he was wasting time. I remember laughing at him, as he described what he was looking for in a woman--humor, good work ethics, kindness, someone not afraid to express themselves, sexy and supportive...the list went on. I laughed and told him he was looking for a Sherrie Rose clone. He agreed and we both laughed. And we knew that as friends we would never step over the line--because we had something special.

I tried to call Dan a few times after that conversation. But never got an answer. I sent emails, asking if he was ok. No answer. It wasn't until after the holidays that I decided to do a search to see if had written anything recently in his newspaper... and I got an obituary--his! The wind was knocked out of me and I couldn't believe it. I emailed one of the people in the section he worked in asking about him. She emailed me that he fought to the end, and how sad it was that he couldn't seem to grasp that he was dying. How those around him tried to get him to contact people that knew him and say goodbye. He wouldn't do it. I know how tenacious he was...and found myself smiling through the tears--he never could accept something that didn't go along with his plans for life. Even as he was dying, sadly he clung to that philosophy.

For a while I was mad at him, for not calling me and telling me what was going on, but then again, I would have been beside myself--feeling helpless. It would have torn me apart, watching him deny what was happening to him. I don't know how that would have affected me in the long run.

I miss him. Even now. It wasn't until this summer that I finally stopped picking up the phone to call him. The first time I did it, I cried. It ripped me apart knowing I couldn't talk to him about anything and hear his funny comments or flirt harmlessly with him, because I do love to flirt and he knew how to flirt back.

He encouraged me to write. He encouraged me to give others a chance to touch my heart. I learned how to listen and really hear what someone says...all because of Dan.

I loved him and still do. Because love never dies... it lives forever.