I Will Follow You into the Dark

Listen while you read:  Death Cab for Cutie

Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light
Or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In Catholic school, as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
I held my tongue as she told me, "Son,
Fear is the heart of love," so I never went back

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me, we've seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary, and the soles of your shoes
Are all worn down; the time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about
'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

I'll follow you into the dark

~  Ben Gibbard (Death Cab for Cutie)

"It's just this idea that what if somebody dies and we're just floating, just stumbling around in infinite darkness, and I'm just trying to find some kind of spiritual kind of peace with myself and the world." Ben Gibbard performs this solo acoustic beauty on Death Cab for Cutie's 2005 release, Plans. It was the first song to come into my head when I learned of the passing of my dear friend Bill early this morning.

And no, I have no plans to follow Bill just yet. It's not my time. But it's comforting to think that souls reconnect in whatever darkness may await us. Love transcends.

I've written about Bill in this blog before. He was my high school best (guy) friend, my pen-pal during his service in Viet Nam, and then, as our lives moved in different directions, that dear old friend that I was delighted to run into in the A&P. After not having seen Bill for many years after he moved to North Carolina, I had the chance to visit him there after his ALS diagnosis in early March. I knew it would be the last time I would see him. And I am grateful for the memory of a sad but loving reunion with him. We reminisced, we laughed, we cried. We remembered that time when we were young.

Of the many friends, relatives, and acquaintances that have graced my life, a few stand out as being more than just people I know or love. They are the ones that connect with me on some higher level, the ones that make me believe that we spent time together in a different lifetime. Bill was one of those. Perhaps we belonged to the same tribe, one in which Bill carved arrowheads while I stirred the pot over an open flame. Or maybe we occupied the same jungle, where Bill scouted for the big cats that he was never able to kill, while I beat the drums to keep them away. Or maybe we were gardeners in some primitive Eden, waiting for the hummingbirds to distract us from our chores. As Bill always said to me, "No matter where you go, there you are."

And now Bill has gone into the dark. I imagine black velvet. I recall black onyx, like the bracelet he gave me the Christmas I was fifteen. I see obsidian, the volcanic glass found in the Southwest. Legend has it that an Apache tribe, outnumbered by the enemy, chose to jump off a cliff to their deaths rather than surrender. The women of the tribe cried dark tears of grief which fell to the earth to become the stones we call "Apache Tears." Consequently, the stones are said to relieve grief and sadness. I put a piece of obsidian in my pocket this morning, along with a picture of 16-year-old Bill. I will carry him with me today. And in my heart forever.

The time for sleep is now. Rest easy, old friend.