This isn't the first time I have experienced this type of thing. I am also pretty certain it won't be the last time as well. Nonetheless, it is still a sad occasion that causes some pain.
In many respects Don was just like me to a degree. A throw away person and a runaway. Thrown away by those friends and loved ones who buy into the crap peddled by current thinking in the recovery industry.
We also have the ability to run away from anyone or anything at a moments notice. We can, with a bit of aid from Uncle Vlad or a hit from a rock, be elsewhere while sitting perfectly still.
We can shut off the noise that screams in our ears. The voices from the past or perhaps fears of the future. The pain that we are feeling today and the perceived and real disapproval of those who may be around us.
That disapproval is often magnified by our own insecurities.
Anyone with an ounce of sense and eyes in their head knew this was coming. Don hadn't left his apartment to come for coffee in over a month. He barely moved off the couch in his living room. The last time I was there he was wrapped in a blanket and complained of his back killing him.
But we did shoot the shit, drank some Vlad and had some Chinese food delivered.
I spoke to him on the phone this past Tuesday. I invited him for coffee but he begged off as he didn't think that coffee was going to agree with his digestive system. I told him I would call later and we could have wings for dinner. He begged off again, but would see how he felt.
He said he had the shits.
I know calls after that went to voicemail, but wasn't too concerned. That happened more often than not lately. I did knock on his window last night as well. Again no response and again no concern from me. It's not like the lack of response was all that unusual.
Don doesn't have to be concerned with any of this nonsense anymore.
My landlord called this afternoon to tell me he found him on the floor in front of a window. He said the coroner thinks he had passed a day or so ago. But my weird sense tells me it was yesterday morning around 4:30 A.M.
But that's another story.
I do owe him 40 bucks, but I'm still gonna' miss that goofy fuck.
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