“Larger than life” is the phrase that comes to mind when I think of my friend Alex. Big man, big voice, big smile, big laugh, a big touch of the outrageous. I’ve known him and Teresa for 34 years now, as we’ve lived out our lives around the world.
Recently I received a short email message:
Alex passed away suddenly at home after returning from Mongolia.
And with that, everything changes.
After hearing the news, shocked and shattered, I took myself to the forest to try to find some peace. At first I couldn’t even see the woods as the chattering mind took over completely. Why? how? what? – speculation – questions – imaginary answers – noisy in-between-the-ears. Then after walking awhile, I realized something and spoke to him directly. “So, Alex, now you know,” I said, out loud, and with that, the monkey mind chatter faded, and I was once again able to see my surroundings.
A sudden, screeching turned my attention to the bushes to my left along the path. I moved closer to see what it was. A large Stellar Jay, with beautiful shimmering deep dark blue feathers, creating a huge ruckus in the dappled shade. I stuck around to watch it. A squawking, screaming, preening beauty of a bird – the first time I’d seen it this season. “Alex?” I whispered. Larger than life.
As the days pass and flashes of memory rise to the surface I find I’m always smiling. I remember things. A boisterous evening in Amsterdam, where on an evening cruise on the canals Alex got in a spirited discussion with the boat staff about the true meaning of ‘unlimited’ complementary wine. His unique fashion sense at the cottage, as he headed down the path to the beach, towel draped over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a Speedo with cowboy boots and hat. The seemingly outrageous stories that you’re never 100% sure whether he is actually serious or pulling your leg big time. Could be both.
About a month before he died, he called one Saturday afternoon from Mongolia, where he was working on what was to be a year-long contract. I hadn’t spoken to him for a number of years but, as with all good, long-time friends, the years melted away at the sound of that so familiar voice. As usual, there was much joking and laughter and we talked about them coming to visit once his contract was over and he was back in Canada. It seemed we had all the time in the world.
Understanding – believing – that he is gone is, I’m finding, a slow process of absorbing this and incorporating it into my new reality. A reality that is now intertwined with thought and feeling, spirit and above all else, memory. What is real? Certainly the sound of Alex’s voice echoing in my head today is as real as anything else. I can’t help thinking, and rightly, that this marks a beginning of something. At the age I have lasted to (Alex was a few years younger), inevitably more loss is to come. Already I’ve been thinking about how I am accepting the idea that some people in my life I may not see again, but who nonetheless live strongly in memory. As the love endures, the spirit, the echo of voices, the smiles and laughter, remain a strong part of my entire being. Never to be forgotten.
Alex Jurshevski with Teresa
