Heart-broken At Loss of Friend

May 31st. It’s approaching midnight. I’m trying to scribble in a notebook, but my heart is breaking. My dear friend, Craig Holland, lost his courageous battle with cancer this morning, and my heart is breaking. Craig was my college buddy, fraternity brother, and one of maybe five people on the planet with whom I’ve shared belly laughs so loud and so long I was certain I’d broken a rib. Even though he rooted for the wrong teams and voted for the wrong politicians, we were kindred spirits, soul mates.

And now he’s gone, and my heart is breaking.

It is very sad, of course, that he died barely a month after his 60th birthday. (Remember when 60 seemed so OLD? We had a good laugh recently talking about that subject.)

It’s very sad Craig’s illness prevented him from attending his daughter’s college graduation last month. And he won’t be around to mentor his 15-year-old son into adulthood. Saddest of all, his grieving bride Maggie has lost her best friend.

However, another reason my heart breaks is because I now realize I squandered the past quarter-century. Oh sure, Craig and I emailed and texted. But our face-to-face visits were way too infrequent. I’ve always considered him one of my closest friends, and I assured myself we would finally spend some time together — one of these days.

You know how it goes, right? Life is hectic, with work responsibilities, raising kids, and a zillion other obligations. All those years I kept saying, “We’ll get together really soon. Maybe we’ll meet in New York City for dinner and a ball game. Hey, I know, maybe I’ll take the ferry over to Long Island and spend the weekend. Or you come over here and I’ll pick you up in Bridgeport and you can spend the weekend in Connecticut. Yeah, let’s definitely do that really soon. Yeah, let’s.”

The years flew by. Then, a couple months ago, I got the call: Craig is really sick. The treatments aren’t working. It doesn’t look good.

Well, I finally made it to Long Island to visit him just weeks before he died. Embarrassingly easy journey, too. Drive to Bridgeport, get on the ferry, then grab an Uber. Exactly two hours and 30 minutes door-to-door. It took me 25 years to figure out Long Island is not a million miles away? Sheesh. Real smart, Bill. I should’ve taken that trip two or three times per year. But I always thought there’d be time in the future, when the busyness of life calmed down.

Now, he’s gone, and my heart is breaking. I was certain life would slow down and free up some precious time, and my old buddy and I would reconnect and see each other on a regular basis once again. Well, I was wrong. Life did not slow down and free up some precious time; instead, all time was snatched away.

I’m really gonna miss you, my friend. Say hi to Jesus for me, and save me a seat. When we meet again on the other side of eternity, I promise I won’t take our friendship for granted again. I promise we’ll get together often and laugh like the old days.

And I promise not to take my other friendships for granted anymore either. All you other buddies of mine out there, get ready, I’m going to start bothering you big-time, so I never make this mistake again. Yeah, I’m talking to you, Pete, Ross, Lefty, and Toto. Life is too damn short. I know that now. 

Finally, in Craig’s honor, and in violation of my Red Sox Nation oath, my battle cry for the rest of the summer will be, “Let’s go, Mets!”