My primo pal Joe is trying to leave the coffeeshop, but I am blocking the door, I won’t let him go. We’ve already shared a bran muffin, a crack chat about love and death and a deep hug, much of whose inspiration I plan to use in the sprawling story I’ve been writing this past year about my coven of wise, old guys, but he just told me that he is – ready to go anytime – so, my voice raises an octave and my lips tremble:
Wh- what am I going to do when you die?
He throws his head back and laughs.
This self-dubbed average Joe, so remarkably zen and brilliantly young at heart is always cracking up. Or smiling, enjoying every moment, every day, no matter what. Trust me, I try to poke holes in his happiness and never spring a leak. Joe avoids the futility of neurosis and the vanity of self-torture by accepting his humanity, moment by moment, warts and all, as unreservedly and wholeheartedly as he accepts mine. It’s freaking hard to let go of our egos and the stories we tell ourselves, but this nondescript every-person does.
Joe likes to say we are spiritual beings having a human experience. Perfect the way we are.
He smiles at me- barricading the coffeeshop door.
I will always be with you, he promises. So, celebrate my death, my dear. Kick up your heels and have some fun!
Never one to forego a dance floor, I stop my grasping and crack a smile. Who could resist the freedom he offers? Who could defy those twinkling blue eyes? He makes me, and no doubt the legions of people who love him feel that no matter the shit-storm raging in our lives– in our souls, everything is wonderful.
Everything is love.
I move away from the door and I let him go.
A few days later, I walk back into the coffeeshop. When I pass by the counter, the owner tells me, Joe is dead. He was driving alone on the highway on New Years’ Day, pulled off to the side of the road, had a massive heart attack, and died.
No muss, no fuss, just like the man. And, that, my people, is that.
All is well, my dear, he says.
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Joe doesn’t want you to see him because he says he doesn’t matter, but he did allow me to show his hugs, and after a little coercing, his beautiful, rained-splattered eyes.
So much love to his family and huge circle of friends as we remember him with gratitude and adapt to our loss.
For more stories about Joe and the coffeeshop, click here.
For more stories about my old men, click Senior High, Puppy Love, My Father Died, A Family Tree, Stay Calm and How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Vote.
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26 Responses to All is well
“We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Oh, that made the very sad ending a tiny bit easier to take (and is something I will tell my children, starting today.) I’m so very sorry your human has passed, but I thank you for sharing his spirit so generously. xo
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The pleasure is mine, dear Jen, thank you. I am delighted you will share this insight with your kids. Repetition helps.
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Man, she always says what I wish I’d said. Yes, yes! I’m so sorry for your loss, and so grateful for the beauty of your friendship, and the fact that you shared it with us. LOVE these stories, even if they always make me cry. I love these tears; I’m human. Beautiful, Brenda.
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“I love these tears; I’m human.” Thanks for this, Dawn.
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Thank you for sharing this story. It seems I always need the reminder to accept all aspects of humanity.
I am glad he went so peacefully and happily, but I am sorry you have lost such a dear friend.
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Thank you, dear Susan. You don’t know, but you were such a delight to him! I wanted to include you and your amazing blog in this post, but it will come soon enough! Time is of the essence. xo
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May we all learn from Joe, and bask in the light he left for us to feel through your writing. Thank you for sharing his story with us.
Maybe we can all fill the space he left behind❤️
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Joe liked my open heart and maybe that’s the trick to keeping it filled. I love you and your blog, my dear Horse Heart. xoxo
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I like your open heart too❤️
Thank you, dearest Brenda.
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Nicely told tale, Brenda; thank you. Sorry for the loss of your friend.
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Always great to see you here, dear C. Thank you.
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Beautiful tribute to Joe the Hugger. Though he said he himself did not matter, the message he shared, and that you further share, most definitely matters. My condolences to you, Brenda, to Joe’s family, and to all his friends at Kokkino’s. Big hugs in honour of his hugs. Ez
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The message was what Joe cared about most and was always happy to share. Thanks and hugs right back atcha, dear Ez.
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A lovely, heartfelt tribute to a man of great wisdom! I’m sure he is smiling (and hugging), in his blissed-out non-physical, all-spiritual state…
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What a beautiful image, Sharonne, thank you for this.
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So sorry for your loss Brenda,but take solace in that you will see him again some day. Death is not the end, it is the beginning of a new eternal life. I believe this life is just temporary (a test so to speak) of what we will do with what God has given us in the short amount of time we are here. Will we use what talents and abilities He has given us or will we waste them? Whether we are rich or poor has nothing to do with anything.
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Thank you for your kindness and reflections, Francis.
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That we should all become so wise and remain so humble! 🙂
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Joe was a role-model for the ages!
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Thank you for sharing this old soul with us. I agree with Joe that accepting our humanity “warts and all” allows us to accept/embrace/love others. Or as St. Francis says, “It is in giving that we receive. In pardoning that we are pardoned, and in dying, we are born into eternal life.” I know in my heart of hearts that Joe is receiving, pardoned, and eternal. Hugs, Kozo
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How lovely, Kozo, thank you. Hugs!
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Thank you Brenda for this lovely heartwarming piece. This made my day. RIP Joe as the rest of us carray on our ride home. Peace.
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Thank you, dear Bev! Peace is right.
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Reblogged this on Web Design in Croydon.
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What a touching relationship. And Joe seemed to be a special spirit. It was indeed heartwarming – and sad, too – to read about your relationship.
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Thanks, Otto. Since Joe’s death, I have often felt a rush of his happiness, which helps when I feel sad.
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