Death Marched On Without Me

Some time ago, I popped into the Author's Lounge to kick around my stories.  Eventually it became apparent that the Lounge wasn't that kind of a place.  It instead was a venue where writers and readers could blow off steam, kick around some ideas and argue until they were satisfied that some problems existed along with potential answers to those problems.

Bill, one of the poets of the Lounge, was an interesting soul, with a screen name that suggested death or at least a challenge to defy the living. His words were contrary to the names he chose for himself.  He was kind-hearted, a muse of mine online; so I took our relationship to another level.  About a year ago we exchanged numbers and began a series of conversations that will keep Bill alive in my heart for the rest of my life.

He wasn't like some of those I speak to by phone riddled with contrary passivity or who are sexual combatants undeserving of a dual; no, Bill wasn't like that in the least, not with me, not ever.  Always the gentleman Bill showed genuine concern for others.  He deserved the same from us but was often deprived of it especially by those he most loved, his mother, brothers and sisters.  He had Tom and Tom's brother, he had me and two others from our Lounge; and he had them, the women outside of our cyber saftey net.  The two different ladies, if that is what you choose to call them ,were also the end of him.  One cared for Bill but she also found him to be taxing.  She had always been somewhat a free spirit and most patient.  He would feel her weakening and then would step back to not lose her out of his life entirely; but then there was the other gal who Bill never lost his taste for.  I'm sorry Bill, for writing about them in this manner, but the fact is, they never told you the truths you needed to hear from them. 

The first time we spoke, he spoke of his religious beliefs.  He made it known to me that death was important because it meant he would get to come back and live anew.  That is what he wanted to do because this life was so disapointing.  I really let him have it when he told me of his attempt to exit life.  Not long after that he filled the bath waters, got out a large beer and took his meds.  I spoke to him as his words grew more slurred and we went around and around about how selfish he was to deny the Holy Spirit. I get really pissed at those thinking of suicide. I told him there was only one sin man could do that was unforgiveable and he warned me that he doesn't subsribe to the hypocritical religion of his family.  I just kept talking (yelling) telling him that the Holy Spirit, whether he believes it or not is powerful enough to get us through anything that to deny the Holy Spirit is capable to change us from the inside out is to blaspheme the Holy Spirit.  So, together he and I headed off his urges to vacate this world--for nearly a year.  I won the argument, but for a small moment in time; either that or he was just being his gentlemanly self and decided to allow me the grace of his presence for a little while longer.  He could be like that you know.

In the end he had seen that the people around him  are some screwed up lifeforms, inconsiderate asses even.  It became clear to him that while he may have suffered the judgment of his family for suffering severe depression, his family at times were lower than the lowest of animals on earth.  He got one last reprieve he did, when one of the women came back into his life, one more destructive hope giving hope raping time from his precious love.  He moved in with her and thought things would become normal, until he read of her sexual trysts with his brother in her journal.  So he shot himself in her basement on Christmas Day. 

You know something?  I believe the Holy Spirit is capable even of seeing to it that our Bill, kind and gentle, gifted in poetry, has peace--at last.