Keith,
So death has finally come to claim you, and I am wrecked.
You surely would not have minded that I have sent this to a whole bunch of people, some of whom didn’t know you well (or at all), but all of whom knew how large you loomed in my life, geographic separation notwithstanding.
When I arrived at your house last week, even after great emotional preparation, I recoiled at the sight of death going about its grim business – rendering you largely paralyzed, skeletal, facially disfigured, near-mute and occasionally bewildered and panicked. You will perhaps remember the description of you by some besotted admirer from your youth - ‘the body of a God, the face of a devil’. To see you robbed of that, and the attendant sad and sodden ministrations on your failing body, carried out with efficiency and calmness by your heroic family and friends, ah, that just broke my heart.
I remarked with some amazement to Kerry (one of the many Florence Nightingale friends who could be found at your bedside at any given time) on the great river of people flowing through the household all day – old friends, new friends, people who cooked meals daily for your family, well wishers, Tzara and Samantha’s friends, neighbours. I remarked to her about the stunning volume and frequency and dedication of this flood. Literally scores of people. Every day, all day.
She said, simply, ‘It’s the mark of the man’.
Indeed.
Thoreau said, famously, the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. Not you, my beloved cousin. You brayed and roared your way across life, all abristle with passionate and sometimes angry opinions about matters of the day – politics, Jews, Israel, art, sport, architecture, bosses - whatever subject tickled or irritated your fancy – we heard about it. It was fun to be around you. It was fun to sit in on a Keith-fuelled argument. It defined you. No matter the merits – everyone wanted to be around you, to listen, or to take you on. Sometimes your roar pissed people off. Sometimes it made them laugh. But, damn, they all loved the engagement.
So then – you were heard, loudly and clearly. A rare achievement in an increasingly noisy world, and the mark of a man in full.
Your wife and children, the heroic Kathy, Sam and Tzara will hear the echoes of your loud passions in the house for a long time – I hope it will comfort them.
As you knew, I am utterly without any belief in any god or spiritual force. So I cannot be trite with ‘going to a better place’ or similar nonsense. But I will say this – if there is any point to this, your suffering, your early end, your life, the mourning that we will all go through, it is this – we are marked permanently by what is left when we go. The memories that are carried by those that loved you, or liked you, or even those who didn’t. In your case, the roar that was your life will resonate amongst all of us, until we too, depart.
And on that score, my beloved cousin, you aced it.
Boykey
