I cried myself to sleep last night because I’ll miss Nick Karasch, my sweet friend, my fellow insomniac, who kept me company online in the wee hours between dusk and dawn when no one else was awake. And last night as I lay in bed I felt his presence around me and I heard his voice telling me that I was right about it all. That he’s ok. That I can rest. But in that stillness, at 2:34 in the morning when I awaken, who will accompany me until my eyes grow heavy again with the weight of night? And I say, “Goodnight buddy. Talk again soon.”
Sometimes, I would see the little green dot next to his name and I didn’t reach out. I was just comforted that the dot was there. That Nick was there, somewhere in the same sleeplessness. And that the cancer hadn’t yet claimed him.
Now I see his name above my Facebook chat, but no little green dot next to the icon of his smiling face to let me know he’s there. I write to him anyway. I tell him Fuck cancer. Fuck it! and that I miss him. I tell him please come see me in my dreams.
Yesterday before I left the gathering of the celebration of his life, I touched the top of his shiny blue urn. It was encircled with Peace Lilies and various flowers in white; his name engraved on an ornate tag, like the ones on fancy cut-glass liquor bottles filled with potions like Gin, Rum, Vodka. Nicholas. The whole of him reduced into a container of ashes.
He was a great kid. He stayed positive and hopeful until his eyes closed for the last time and the green dot by the circle of his smiling-faced-icon disappeared. All of our conversations lost forever to cyberspace.
Grief is for us, us ya know? The ones left behind. I know Nick is in a place we can only imagine. The freedom. The release. The bursting forth from the constraints of bodily living. It must be incredible. And almost all of me is happy he’s there. The selfish part of me still wants him back, and the comfort of the little green dot of him too.
Goodnight buddy. Skate on. Goodnight.
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