Love Letter 12

I miss you Eric. Your friend Simko, (and he is such a good friend to you), told me you died last night and I feel now like something beautiful is missing from the world. I don’t mean something pretty you understand, but then you’d know that. I mean something real and alive. Baldwin said it’s what comes from “dealing with the roar rising from the void and imposing order on it as it hit the air.” That’s what’s missing. You did that for me, more when I was younger, but now that you’re gone it’s like an anchor has come loose, as though the “logic of events” can no longer hold sway. Chaos seems the natural course of things. I can see your rueful smile. You always knew it’s the chaos that yields the beauty. You didn’t like it, but you knew it.  You had a thing or two to say to the author of all that is when your life was done; I think we both know there is no heavenly court where you’ll get to try your case – life’s last injustice – but God it would be great if there was some way for you to be the clear, humble, relentless plaintiff you would surely be.You taught me, no, you showed me that no matter the horror, no matter the outrageous pain this world and its bitter conflicts may produce, if the heart remains open and the mind maintains its focus on whatever is next, wisdom and beauty emerge. “Achhh,” you would say, “from your lips to God’s ear. Let us hope it is so.” Amen dear friend; I’m not certain either. “That is good,” I can hear you say, “those who are certain are terrifying.”Nevertheless, (and that’s the word of the faithful you know), beauty did emerge in your life. Beauty emerged as you befriended this young, talented, yet essentially un-trainable watchmaker.  “I will do this thing if you want me to,” you said when Tiffany management asked if you would train me to take your place, “but you do not want me to.” No, you knew there was some other kind of work, some other gift I had to give the world, (though you wouldn’t have put it that way), and so you waited patiently and listened, and listened, and listened, (God, how did you do it? I was insufferable), then you would carefully and logically (of course) explain how things work – watches, corporations, washing machines, human beings. “Everyone carries a cross as heavy as he can bear; any heavier, you would change.” Yours was heavier than it should have been but somehow you found your way to lay it down and find some measure of freedom. I think you found it by creating beautiful things. “Nonsense,” you would say, “I did what I had to do.” Not true dear friend. I’ve looked through a glass and seen the precision, the invention, and the care you gave to your work. Inspired is the only word to describe it. No one does work like that unless beauty is essential to who they are. Really, no one would ever even know how beautiful the work of your hands was unless they put a 10X glass on it; hell, even then they’d have to know what they were looking at. That’s what beautiful things are like. You have to look hard in order to tell what’s real from what pretends to be real. You were always real. I really miss you. But how glad I am that you are free dear friend. I’m so sorry that the last months and weeks were hard, so sorry they called up the terrors that took up unholy residence in your brain. I have loved you, Eric. You changed me and you let me change you. As the roar continues to rise from the void, I will listen for your voice and know better how to offer the world what is beautiful because I’ve known you. Shalom.

Love,
Sam