Shaken not Stirred...

A Cocktail of Sadness

Less than a week after leaving my fortress of solitude, the definition of

“little to zero side effects” swings into focus. I’d be remiss to avoid talking about the occasional avalanche that is bestowed upon me, for I am sure that many others who have cancer and are on some form of chemo experience it. Depression comes barrelin down without warning, for me this time I should have seen it coming, but one never can. The chemicals I’m on , Lupron and Casodex are notorious triggers, loaded with all the gunpowder necessary to blow up any dam. Yesterday I was a wet rag, doggin around, not knowing which end was up and frankly numb through and through. Yesterday being September 11th. I didn’t have the energy to even know the date, but of course it was buried deep and somewhere I knew. I thought as I always do on that day about Steve. A few days a week in the 90’s I’d drop into my favorite bar on the lower east side, DBA for a Belgian beer on tap. The place was usually empty at that time, it was quiet and a safe spot to think and write. I met Steve here. He would come in after his shift, around 3. Steve was a fireman working out of the lower east side and lived on Long Island. We formed an immediate bond and met almost every Wednesday . Just two guys that had a love of good beer and empathy. Beer and empathy… that rolls well. Our conversations ran the gamut , family, work, cars, and yes troubles, but not the usual cry in your beer shit. It ran deep. Meeting each other in this scenario and the people we were gave us that sacred opportunity . We were best friends without the burden of the past. Then September 11 2001 came and I lost a best friend. The few times I went back on Wednesday , it was empty. I will always remember him, his face, his smile and his empathy.