FAREWELL ALAN. Ive never known anyone braver than Alan Schwartz. When he died last night, falling asleep in his chair and not waking up, the surprise, if I can apply reason through this fog of sorrow, isnt that he died (just 3 weeks short of his 65th birthday). The surprise is that he lasted this long -- 27 years after a stroke debilitated his body and his speech and his ability to walk. Alans mind was unaffected. But the harsh truth is that when someone has a stroke and cant talk and becomes physically disabled, they change because others view them differently. Its hard to talk - and especially hard to communicate in this impatient, fast-paced world - so other people stop talking to you. And then you stop talking to others... and life starts to spiral. I dont know many people who would have wanted to continue living like that. Because we could tell each other anything - because wed been doing that since the first day we met in 8th grade - I told Alan how brave he was. told him that many times. It is hard to imagine my life without alan it. we went through puberty together, learned to drive together, went to each others weddings (all of them), reveled in the births of our children, mourned each others parents, mourned the death of the mother of his children - his first and only love, the beautiful and smart and talented jeanne lott, who he met when we were roommates in college, and she lived in our dorm. It all seems like yesterday. it all seems like forever ago. Alan was a successful dentist when he had his stroke, and his life turned upside down. His two children - Nicholas and Hannah - were too young to remember the vibrant, physically active, life-loving, outdoorsy, lets-go-camping-and-fishing-in-Mexico guy their dad was. But I did. All his friends did. And, most importantly, Alan did. Im going through old photos and emails and texts from Alan (electronic communication proved to be a godsend for Al, giving him the ability to exercise his keen mind and insight - something most people who met him never had the chance to see). This is from an email he sent me nearly 3 years ago, as he was grappling, again, with pushing himself to be more social, more communicative, more active. Im fairly certain he wouldnt object, now, to me sharing this. His words from February, 2012: Most of us we are never satisfied with what we have. We all want more, (thats) human nature. And more for me at his point in my life is health. I feel lucky to be alive, but at this point it is not enough. My mind is almost 100%. I know that I have problems communicating with others. In fact I have problems being around others--initially that is. Once I spend times with others I feel better and can cope. I blame it on me, and my communication skills and being by myself for so many years. What I have a hard time dealing with is my physical limitations. It is hard for me to participate in any thing that requires any coordination, let alone the simple act of walking. You have seen me walk. It is a struggle. My balance is so off. I can ride the stationery bike for 40 minutes and follow that with walking on the treadmill for 20 minutes. But when I walk without hanging on to anything I become very unsteady and get fatigued. And i havent run a step in 24 years. I have to be very careful when I walk so that I dont fall which I have done many times. Again I know that I am fortunate to be at the place that Im in, but I want more. I know that I can never be the old Alan, but want to be more than the present Alan. I want to be able to enjoy the rest of my life, mostly travel comfortably--being able to walk and having a relationship which I havent had in 22 years. I am happy but could be happier. He really tried. Late Monday night, Hannah - who became something of Alans executive aide-de-camp this past year - called me to say her dad was depressed. I had, that morning, written him a very personal text, and hadnt heard back from him, which, coincidentally, had me worried. He wasnt eating, he was staying in his room. And he was anemic. Maybe, I muscled to courage to say to Hannah, maybe hes prepping himself and us. That night I texted Alan again and asked him to send me a picture. He did. Hey wise guy, I said after I saw the photo, can you send me a picture of you smiling? He did. It was the last picture taken of Alan. And Im including it in the collage of pictures in this post remembering my pal. I know I will at some point stop crying. But I know Ill never stop thinking about Alan, who was, at every important stage of my life, like a brother. I dont think I ever really thought it would end before we were truly old. And Im not sure Alan ever did either. Until, perhaps, this week. Bye Al, bye schvitz. I know you loved me. I know you know I loved you.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Dec 2014 20:35:00 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015