Day 210

I'm in San Diego, somewhat unexpectedly. A friend's mom passed away and we made plans to be home immediately. Earlier that same day, we had been forewarned a little bit and I was wondering if we would be going down. The other times I've had good friend's parents pass away, I've been too far away, either across the country or out of the country. In this instance, I was just a short flight away. That afternoon however, I still wasn't entirely sure what to do. I mean, what's protocol here? Is there such a thing as protocol in this situation? It felt very adult and slightly bizarre to think about what "should" be done. The consensus was that if you could go, you did, because everyone needs support in times like these, even if nobody is quite sure what that support might consist of.

I know when my dad died, everyone flocked into town and we were surrounded by people. My mom was already in China but we couldn't go yet because I had a problem with my passport and it would take about a week to expedite a new one. That week saved us, I think. Instead of going straight to China to face whatever happened, or would happen, we had a few days to hang out at a familiar place, with close friends, and to have life normalize. I recall the first hour or two when everyone gathered. We talked about what happened, and what we knew or didn't know, but mainly we just hung out. It started off semi-awkward but quickly became totally just like any other weekend. Which was great.

Later, George and I were both struck by how seemingly unemotional it all could be. Like you picture mentally that you'd be in shock, or want to not do anything but grieve, or that your mind would wander to sad mysterious places. None of those things happened. It felt almost wrong to laugh, even as you were laughing, even as your cheeks and stomach hurt so bad because you were cracking up so hard. And I think that's the strangest part of having someone pass away. The eighty percent of the time when everything is perfectly, absolutely, normal. Like a cannonball has dropped into your pond but no ripples occurred. And you stand there waiting for a tidal wave but somehow it doesn't happen.

On Friday night, we had one of the greatest times in recent San Diego memory. Late at night, as we sat around the living room munching on snacks and sipping on drinks, we laughed like crazy as we read old emails. Emails from five years ago, at the height of San Diego hanging out, when everyone was around and (almost) nobody had jobs. We often complain that San Diego is the Black Hole, that it remains unchanged even after all these years. But there's something to be said for familiarity. There's something to be said for having the perfect group of people around you to inject life's lowest moments with some of silliest. I don't think laughing replaces tears, not in the long or short run, but it never hurts does it?