Mother Hen

(I would just like to take a moment to point out that I am a full 20 POUNDS THINNER than I was when that picture was taken. Yeesh.

This is a very classic picture. I appear to be giving Max the same face that I give my first graders when they need to learn a very important life lesson. I am most definitely three sheets to the wind here, but I'm pretty sure I'm lecturing Max about something, or expressing some sort of deep concern.

Max is, of course, looking less than amused. Suffice it to say he didn't exactly enjoy my little (drunken) lectures. People seldom do enjoy these. The last time I saw him we had a brief and intense heart-to-heart with lots of hugs and he told me he felt badly about the times when he would roll his eyes or get annoyed with me when I was drunk and ridiculous and, well, would get my lecture on. I just laughed when he said that and reminded him of the fact that I can, in fact, be pretty ridiculous when drunk (which, I've said it before and I'll say it again: my days of heavy drinking are behind me!). However, the truth is that even when sober I frequently had to suppress a compulsive urge to be a mother hen to him.

There was a fragility about Max, and also a recklessness, and this combination always scared me a little. He was so kind to everyone, and so generous, and I worried about people taking advantage of him. I worried that he wasn't taking sufficient care of himself. I wanted him to be successful in school and in life and I think my wishes and worries came out in an inarticulate stream when combined with copious amounts of alcohol. The fact of the matter is that Max had a GIGANTIC heart and a lot of talents that he frequently underestimated. The fact of the matter is that he was so good to everyone in his life, even if they didn't return the favor. The fact of the matter is that sometimes I just wanted to put him in a bubble--filled with all of his retro accoutrement and animal companions--and keep him safe forever.

So I guess now this is where the shock wears off and the sadness starts to set in. The various members of the family of friends that I had in Phoenix are reuniting this weekend for Max's funeral, coming together once again in that fabulous desert setting that I'd imagine will just never be quite the same again, and it absolutely kills me that I can't be there.

I just wish I could be there to say good bye to my friend. I wish I could be with our group again in order to fully REALIZE his absence and allow it to really HIT me. And, well, I wish I could be around some of my favorite people now as the pain this just keeps a-walloping away and there's no one close by who understands. I miss his husky voice and his laugh and his liberal use of the F-word. I miss the weekends in the mountains and the wine nights and the car trips with that indescribable security of being surrounded by people who just, well, GET you and the brunches and that understanding of the "once in a lifetime" closeness of this group of friends. Max was a central part of it all. And I hope (no, I KNOW) that through all of it, even when I was being a ridiculous mother hen, Max knew how much I cared about him. I hope he knew how incredibly much we all loved him.