Early this morning I got word that Tak, one of my closest work companions, died suddenly in the night. He was not much older than me. Not even 60 yet.
Tak was one of a kind. If I were asked to describe my sweet friend I would do it this way. And it would come quite easily too. Tak was thoughtful, loving, intelligent, loyal, and giving to say the least. He was, to be completely honest, an amazing man.
Tak and I had been around for a long time in the company and had crossed paths in those years. It wasn't until 2004 that we came together in the same office and on the same shift. He had come to fill a vacancy on evenings, one that a former coworker had recently given up. We became fast friends and close confidants. Over the next 6 years we developed a relationship that was extraordinary. In every way we complimented each other. We worked closely and in many ways we knew what the other was thinking. We were a team. During the slow times we sat and talked about everything; practically nothing was taboo with us. Sure there were some boundaries but we never hesitated or questioned why they existed. We just respected them and went on.
Tak was there when I woke up to my abuse history and for the intense period afterwards, never flinching, never stepping back.. He listened intently, caring for me in the dark days of 2005 and 2006. He watched my back when I needed protection and I watched his. Ours was a deep and abiding connection. When we got word in late 2009 that we would both have to move to different offices we were resigned to the fact of it. We didn't like it but we accepted it. When our last day together came and we were leaving for home he grabbed me and hugged me. And I didn't want to let go; but I knew I had to. Since then we have crossed paths many times and had been lucky enough to work together a day here and a day there. And we both enjoyed it too. When I got word that I was going back onto evenings in a few weeks I was thrilled because it meant Tak and I would be able to work together again. That we could rekindle our relationship again albeit in a different setting. But now that is not going to happen and I am heartbroken.
A few weeks ago I spoke about my recovery. About how difficult it is for me to stay present in the best of times. I spoke about how someone had once told me that each moment we live is like a brilliant flash of energy from within and without coming together in a unique way and that these fascinating moments will never be repeated. That the whole of our lives are just a succession of these once in a lifetime flashes. An amazing spectacle of light. I spoke too about how life is fragile because we never know what will happen next. Life is like that. It could go on to its natural end whatever that means or stop abruptly in the middle of the night much like Tak's did.
For me that is the fragility of life as I see it.
In a world of instant gratification and mind numbing speed; am I willing to experience these brilliant moments in their entirety not knowing what will come next? That in a sense it doesn't matter really what is coming next. That the fragility of life too is not just about living. It's about dying as well. It's about how fragile the world around us really is; including our environment, and our families. It's about the fragility of all things.
I feel that despite what the tenets of any tradition tells us, we can never be sure of anything that comes in the next moment. And that is what I feel Rose Macaulay wrote about. And that is what Tak has given me among all the wonderful things over the years; the understanding that life is indeed a very fragile thing and that it is all about loving and living and cherishing all of the those unique moments; those brilliant flashes of energy as they happen. And knowing that; "...whatever is to come after it--we shall not have this life again."
Rest in peace my loving friend.
