Death
06/26/2008 11:21 a.m.


I don't know what came over me, but I was wondering about my friend, Marc Beebe, who was diagnosed with cancer in 2005. He and I had become friends after my marriage to John failed. We found one another on a dating site, but a real romance never materialized, even though he did ask me to marry him. But, he had his responsibilities in Wyoming, and I had mine here in Oregon, so we settled for a deep and rich friendship.

He was so good to me. He sent me flowers "just because someone as lovely as you deserves to see something pretty, even if it's just for a little while." He specifically requested the flowers be sent in a cobalt blue vase, because cobalt blue represented "the color of a true blue friend." He was that to me. He sent me a barage of cards, encouragement and love and self-esteem boosters. He was interested in the kids, and I remember one online conversation via web cam where he and Kate (my daughter) were talking about her first dance. The whole time our friendship was in full swing, he inquired after the kids and their well being. He offered to send money when things were tight (though I couldn't accept it). He would say things like, "Honey, just come to Wyoming. I'll take care of you. I have great health and dental insurance. We'll fix your teeth, and there's a great health club here you can join so you can exercise to your heart's content. Your kids will love it here..." Well, I never did go, of course.

Marc and I lost touch when John and I tried to reconcile one last time. When Marc and I finally reconnected in May of 2006 and the divorce had been final for several months, he told me that he had been diagnosed with cancer, but that he was in remission. Not long after that, around November of 2006, he had a relapse. He didn't have a significant other, so I offered to come and be with him, to take care of him, as his prognosis wasn't good. He considered my offer a good long time, and then finally decided that he couldn't ask me to leave my family here just for us to get close and then lose one another. He thought it would just make things worse for him if we both took on the deeper loss of our friendship in the event that he did die. "Besides," he'd said, "I'm going to bounce right back from this. I beat it once, I'm going to beat it again."

I'm not exactly sure why we stopped emailing and talking on the phone, but I think it was just too complicated for him to expend any energy on anything other than his recovery and his son in the end. I respected his space, and hoped he was recovering. But the cancer, apparently, had different intentions. I had asked his son to notify me if anything ever happened, but since I'd never actually met his family I'm sure a stranger from Oregon wasn't on anyone's contact list. One day, I emailed him just to check in, and it bounced back to me as undeliverable. I tried to contact his son, but the old number had been disconnected. I don't know why I didn't think to look in the online obituaries, but it didn't occur to me back then. Or maybe it did but their local paper wasn't online yet. I don't remember.

Well, it occured to me today. I found the newspaper for where he lived, and searched the obituaries. He was there, having passed away sometime in May of 2007. It's weird, to experience a loss so long after the actual event. But Miah reminded me that last year, around that time, I woke up one morning and said, "I think my friend Marc is gone." I looked again online, but didn't look for the newspaper of his home town. I was really hoping I was wrong, of course. I wasn't. What a loss of a kind and moral and wonderful person.

So............fast forward to this evening. I am talking on the phone with my son, Joey. He's 23. And the subject of his father, Paul, came up. I had left Paul back when Joey was only 3 months old as Paul had some severe anger and violence issues, and I knew I couldn't raise Joey in that environment. Paul only visited Joey three more times after that, and then my second husband adopted Joey when he was nearly 3 years old (with Paul's consent of course). Paul had said that he would agree to the adoption if he could continue to see Joey. I agreed, with the stipulation that Paul needed see Joey on a regular basis, at least every three months, or the deal was off because it would be too painful for Joey. Well, that was in the spring, and Paul didn't call back until Thanksgiving and wanted to take Joey for a weekend. Well, Joey had just turned 4 and hadn't even seen his father for over 2 years and really didn't know him. I couldn't just let him go off with someone I didn't trust, even if it was his dad. I was willing to let Paul come to where we were to see Joey, so Joey could get to know him, but Paul didn't think that was a good idea. He never called back.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep track of Joey's father. When Paul's dad died when Joey was about 7, I managed to track Paul down to offer my condolences. At that point, I gave him our phone number, but he never did use it. After a few more years, I tried but couldn't find him. He wasn't listed in any of the phone directories I looked at. I would hear of him now and again, but by the time the news reached me, the person who mentioned it didn't know where he was.

It doesn't surprise me that Paul never got a phone in his name. I contemplated paying for the information available in one of those online searches, but never did. Then, before I knew it, Joey was grown up and didn't want my help finding Paul. So I quit trying altogether...

Until this evening, when Joe and I were on the phone. We talked about finding his dad again, and I offered to go ahead and buy the information online if I could. I also mentioned that I would search the obituaries, since it had occured to me to do that earlier with my friend. Joe said that whatever information I could find, that would be cool, so I could sort of feel out the situation and see if Paul would be interested in reconnecting with Joey.

I found Paul in the obituaries a little over 2 hours ago, three years too late. Apparently, he died on March 5, 2005. The obituary spoke of Paul being survived by some foster family who reported he'd moved to that little city when he was 14, which wasn't accurate because Paul and I had moved there when Paul was about 20. The obituary said:

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He ... enjoyed working along side his foster brother Craig.

He was a childlike person who enjoyed fishing, the outdoors, TV sports and his dog Rocky. He was a kind person who kept smiling in the face of many adversities.

He will be greatly missed by his adopted family.

Paul is survived by his foster mother, Peggy.....; foster sisters, Cori and husband Frank ..... and Jae ... ; foster brothers Cort ..... and Craig ....;

Paul’s son, Paul Jr.(P.J), and his father and mother, Joseph and Leona, preceded him in death.

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So here it is, 4 am and I'm still awake, grieving. He was my first love. He was Joey's dad. The obituary doesn't mention another wife or any more children besides P.J. The last time I spoke with him, he must have been 28 or 29, he'd said, "Ali, I want to tell you something. You are the only woman I will ever love. I know that now. I was too young to know, and too young to figure out how to work things out so that you could stay with me. I will always be sorry for that. So, I just wanted you to know, there will never be anyone in my life like you, and I wish you so much happiness." I cried and cried tonight, and I'm not quite sure why. He's been gone for over three years, so why should my awareness of him actually not being here anymore change anything?

How does this happen, that we lose touch in our relationships, and before you know it, it's too late. No possibility of communication. It just seems so surreal.

I am currently: bereft
Listening to: the echo of years