My friend Maurice died this Saturday. I’m not sure if he was in the hospital or at home. If he was alone or with friends. I don’t know if I was such a good friend or not.
What I know is what Maurice was to me. A teacher, a brother, a father, a critic, a supporter, a writer, an artist, a cat person, my first grown-up friend, a chef, an old school coffee maker, a claustrophobic, a smart sarcastic mother fucker, a blue eyed devil, a cheeky saint, a technological noob, a focal point, a native american.
I knew he was in the hospital a few weeks ago. I will regret fearing to see him the rest of my life. My mother kept me from seeing my grandfather who was in the hospital when I was 13. She said she did not want me to remember him that way. I would have liked them to have seen me. I would have wanted them to see that I was there. I could have reminded them how they impacted my life.
I could have given him a hug.
These are the words I would have wanted to say to you were I to have had the courage to stop by.
You were the single best teacher I ever had. You were the second best father I ever had. You had the best coffee maker if you liked grounds in your mouth. You will always be in my heart.
I will miss you Maurice. I hope you know I loved you.