He had a dream,no, he said he had a vision, where he felt lighter and he laughed.Pinpoint lights popped in minute recesses of his brain, flooding it with light and as it faded, another one popped and flashed, swathing his brain with lightness and he felt as if he was floating in blue air above a green and gently sloping landscape where fluffy sheep grazed and purple flowers turned shades as the wind ran through them. He could now see the world around him in new light.He was finally awake from the darkness that had clouded his mind and he could see and understand more now than ever before .He saw a world that could be experienced and understood from above rather than just being visualised by the eye at ground level.That was the last time I saw him alive,emaciated and eaten from inside ,the only part of his body he could move was his lips and he had me bend close to his lips and he whispered this to me with an inner effort that I could feel his life ebbing away.
'Darren died'. The terse message from his wife on my mobile said much more , said of a life of benefaction and allure, of a life lived casting magic spells that touched our lives in ways unimagined, life of a miracle worker, arriving in our lives when misery and pathos ,crises and pain hit us and he did that that changed things and changed it by working his magic , taking the edge of the residual biterness left behind by feelings of being used and being betrayed ,of having being compromised and taken advantage of.He let it all subside and helped us get on with life .We were his flock.
His death was imminent a few months ago, he was diagnosed with advanced cancer of the colon ,which had spread so rapidly , and as he described it , "death has me ". So he had refused treatment, believing it to be a prolonging of pain and instead chose death, with pain killers and the warmth of a death bed as company for the journey to the end. He counted his days to death. And he died . But for me and probably for the rest of us,he couldn't be dead and somehow it failed to register, as if it were some surreal event outside the plane of normal human cognizance , refusing to arouse the emotions, of empathy or a feeling of remorse, of loss and sadness . Nothing. Nothing except a vague realization of a distant event , his death ,an ephemeral tableau where we were mere spectators ,watching a play so detached that it failed to connect in any significant manner.
But why didn't he beat death, which was what he was about, winning,winning for himself ,for his friends, his side ,his team, his school.his firm..........? We were all so used to Darren winning it for us, wherever, whenever or whatever. He would be there for us,gracious in triumph, stoic in defeat , but always leading us out with a sense of accomplishment. Why did he choose death instead of fighting and winning .?Anyway that was Darren, brave enough to take his call , to take it upon himself to answer and put an end to all questions.
One instance remains etched in my mind . In school. We were the perennial champs but that year we were being run close and with only the half marathon to be run,we were even on points with our cross town rivals.It was a new event and being a long race, it started somewhere else .We didn't have marathon runners and Darren, our hope ,couldn't participate as his mother was sick. Stories spread. Darren was there at the starting line,that Darren had actually started but was pulled up by a biased official, he had to leave half way after leading by a mile as message reached him that his mother was seriously ill, he was late and disqualified . We milled around as worse news spread, when the waiting drums picked up, rolled and reached a thundering crescendo and a pack burst through the entrance ,scattering the milling crowd , and there was Darren leading the pack, streaming sweat, eyes bulging in it's socket ,stomping the earth, clawing the air and running for us, for our lives, running for every striving soul so that we may never be branded losers. I've never cried more . And that Darren was dead. My god.
