Not About Baseball. About Life. And Death. And A Friend. And Hope....

I have to write this, and it isn't light. I lost a friend, oh, in March of 2004. And yes, he loved the Sox. I'd known him since the 70s, and he was my closest friend for so long. But 2 Springs ago, Febrarary/March of '04, while the Sox were revving up in Florida for their 2004 season of forever, he was not a happy guy. He was seeing a doctor for therapy, but it wasn't until March, when he asked me, out of the blue, if he could drive over and use my garage. My garage? I said, "Stephen, you're welcome to stop by anytime, for a movie, or any sports event in HD." And UCONN was playing too. Long story short, he told
me the next day, in tears, that he wanted to park the car in my garage (unattached building, but right near my front door) and never come out. I was floored. He had been unhappy for some time, but there is a huge difference between being unhappy and scheduling a one way trip into someone's (his best friend's) garage. Well, he went into a hospital help center for suicidal people (I was still shocked), came home after 5 days,and seemed better. But he was not the Stephen that I grew up with, the one who enjoyed with me so many mammoth Bruce Springsteen concerts, a guy with life in front of him and we were doing our damndest to enjoy every fiber of that life. 2 days later, I got a call from his finacee that when she went out to the supermarket for 15 minutes...15 FUCKING MINUTES, he had trudged down the steps to his basement and pulled a noose over his head, around his neck. By the time she arrived at the condo, she found him hanging, still warm but clearly...not there. She cut him down and called 911 within seconds, but.....
For the next few days, until the funeral and burial, I wracked my brain, my being, agonizing if I had done something wrong. Did I not recognise the signals, only days after he was in the hospital? Everyone told me there was nothing I could do.
This is now coming up on on 2 and a half years ago. I miss him big time. A part of life? Bullshit. It was a part of death. And this is the first time I've been able to type about it, at least with my unmasked feelings included.
And go Big Papi...number 50, and then 51, and then 52! My friend would have loved it.....you see, Stephen would have wanted me to say something about the Sox. And thank you for being my constant readers, to borrow the words of another Stephen, Stephen King. I love you all. But you know that.