Death Trinity

Every day when I wake and check my e-mails and social networking accounts, I’m either met with happy thoughts, annoyances, or tragic news. Yesterday it was tragedy times two.

I noticed my father had posted a Rest in Peace onto our mutual friend Francois’ page. Some years ago Francois was diagnosed with Cirrhosis, a disease my father, too, suffers from. Like my dad, he underwent various treatment options which included holistic medicine, dietary restrictions and finally pharmaceutical intervention by means of a drug called Interferon, an extremely potent anti-viral agent that is known to rip you to shreds prior to making a smidgen of a difference for the better. Patients who undergo Interferon treatment are often on their last legs and it is through the administration of this intravenous drug that they seek solace. There are various psychiatric and physical side effects that come along with its implementation – and it is not all that uncommon to hear of suicide attempts or addiction relapse while on treatment.

Francois didn’t go by either of these means. He was on a transplant list and time ran out. My father’s interferon treatment proved successful some years ago. He was being treated not for the later stages of Cirrhosis like Francois, but for Hepatitis C, which both he and my mother have as a result of intravenous drug-use – and/or possible intercourse. It’s hard to tell when you’re sharing needles AND having sex.

Later in the day I called my father to check in and see how he was feeling in the wake of his buddy’s death. They were a close knit team he and Francois. They’d often hang out together, go to dinners and do things boys like to do, like play racquetball and things of this nature. It’s never easy to lose a friend. “Bad day, Kitty… Bad day… Just got another call that Greg died this morning, too.” – I was a little confused. Greg who? Greg from our old block in Gravesend?? My father clarified it for me,“Greg – the guy that helped me move you out of the apartment with Daniel”

I’d only met Greg once – he seemed like a nice enough guy and he was there to help me during a time that I felt pretty alone in the grand scheme of things. He and my father joked around a bunch about breaking Daniel’s giant flat screen TV as a little going away present and at the time it really annoyed me. I believe in a lady making a graceful exit. Looking back, though – I can see where it comes from. My father’s little girl was hurting and where else aside from a punch to the nose could a man hurt another man but their expensive lavish electronics cache. Thanks, pop!

Greg’s body was found in a basement of a housing project in Brooklyn. Overdose. Everyone in the meetings he attended with my father up until his demise knew him to be a recovering heroin addict but this particular housing project he was found in is notorious for crack so who the hell knows. It’s just a sad scene all around.

I told my father that I’m sure he didn’t want to hear it but these events should have him stepping back and taking a look at the choices he’s made recently that have allowed him to be here another day. “Da, I know we could all go at a moments notice but I think this is sort of a spiritual way of the world letting you know you’re supposed to be here. Both of those kinds of death could have easily been yours” –

“I know, Kitty. I know”.

I’m truly happy my father has decided to move onward with his life in a positive manner. I hope – and I do guess I sort of pray that he continues on to uphold a drug-free life. It makes a world of difference for me. A girl needs her dad. A girl needs her mom, too – but I’ve always had a tighter relationship with my father if for no other reason than the fact that I inherited his intellect and sarcastic nature.

They say death comes in threes – and aside from hearing the news of a member of Slipknot passing on, I’m yet to hear of the final part to this trinity. On the train last night, however, I did sit next to a dude who was wearing the same cologne as my ex boyfriend who has been gone from this world since 2003.

I miss him.

When I took my seat against the window and facing the direction the train was traveling in, the bouquet didn’t immediately hit me. It wasn’t until a minute or two later when I was already engrossed in my novel that I caught the whiff. ¬I felt the sides of my mouth curl up into a sweet smile reminiscent of waking up and falling asleep next to that same scent for the better part of five years on an intermittent basis. Perhaps in an attempt to intoxicate myself once more with the heady scent of what once represented mad passion, I took a deep breath in, swallowing every possible particle of air around me.

I miss him.