"...The threshold we cross with closed eyes-
Where angels hide behind their backs
The saws with which they mean
To saw the present from the past,
Oblivious to the scarlet threads
That prove to be hiddenn among
The filaments, those red rivers
Running through the theme of time..."
from Angels Grieving over the Dead Christ -Gjertrude Schnackenberg
Mark Christensen, our friend, died this morning of complications from a stroke.
My husband and Mark were friends from their early, wild man years. They grew up together, were in and out of trouble together, were together during hale times, and saw each other through hard times.
Mark and I became friends when my husband and I met close to fifteen years ago. One of my favorite memories is of Mark and my husband sitting in my living room politely drinking Thai coffee from demitasse china cups and eating petite chocolate-covered cookies. I wish I had taken a picture. I didn't know either of them very well then, and I certainly didn't know they drank thier coffee black, or that they generally drank an entire pot of Folgers or gas stop variety coffee every morning.
A few weeks before his stroke, Mark came over for early morning coffee in my husband's man cave. I walked out to say hello and he greeted me with his usual kiss and hug. It's true that life changes on a dime. It's so strange and sad that he's gone.
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