I knew that quiet was a bad thing. I talked about it in my last post. About how quiet often means the kids are into something. That I had been quiet lately because we'd been sick. It's true. That's why I was quiet here. But alas, in the wake of quiet comes questioning and disbelief.
Kevin Jones is dead.
It's unlikely that any of you reading this blog know who Kevin was, but that's okay. Kevin was my high school classmate. We were in a small class. I believe it was 62 or 63 of us that graduated. Within that class there was an even smaller French Immersion class. I did not graduate in French Immersion in the end, but that is another post. I did do my grade ten year in that class. There were 7 or 8 of us. Kevin was also in that class. We weren't the best of buddies. I don't know his first pet's name or his favourite colour. But he was part of my life. I told my husband that we were "good acquaintances". It wasn't quite friendship, but more than just passing in the hallway. We shared a time and a history and a certain knowledge together. And in classes that are this small, there is a feeling among most of friendship.
If I had met Kevin in the street, I would have hugged him.
But that time has passed. Kevin is gone. I'm hard pressed to put a finger on the grief that comes with the passing of someone who was more than a classmate, but not quite a bosom friend. There is loss though. And surprise. Shock. Horror.
At 35, you don't expect mysterious death to visit a classmate. At 35, part of me feels a little like we are all invincible. We're not, I know. But we should be.
And this has been a hard six months: Lisa, Mary, Shirley, Stella, Rolly, and now Kevin. All gone. Friends, acquaintances, people who were almost family, my mentor, and now a classmate. We've only had a few weeks here and there since the beginning of October to try to make peace with these passings, before another one happens and sends me into another tailspin.
Honestly, I am not over Rolly's death yet. I still have no peace. No answers. No closure. And no idea how to go about having those things. Forming them for myself, because of distance.
And then Kevin.
I really want someone to tell me that this will end soon. That this pattern of deaths will break. That I will not wake up tomorrow or next week to yet another loss. Yes, I know that no one can assure me of that. No one knows one way or another.
So I am blundering my way through these deaths, just as we all blunder through death, and hoping that there will be enough time before the next one, so I can gather myself together.
For now, all I can do is say goodbye to Kevin. And honour those who have left us by trying to live my own moments as fully as possible.