Ray Ray (1974-2010)

My heart is broken. Into two million little pieces. It’s pain I haven’t felt since Matt died in 1998. Apparently this has been laying dormant all these years, for it’s right back up at the top. The only way I can describe it is that it’s like having your chest ripped open, and then your heart torn out of your body with someone else’s bare hands.

My dear friend Ray died last Friday. Former roommate, crazy guy, open heart, and the most wonderful, genuine person you’d ever meet. He was always mellow, always concerned about how you were doing, and always ready for an adventure. I don’t think anyone else would tell you otherwise.

He’d been sick for almost two years with wildly metastic Stage IV melanoma. It’s amazing he survived two months, let alone two years. But through it all he had the most amazingly positive attitude – brilliantly positive! – and I just knew he was going to beat this thing. I never really let myself consider otherwise. He was in remission for 10 weeks this summer, during which time he was
healthy enough to travel to NYC, and where we had a huge party celebrating him.

This fall, it came back, but he remained everly optimistic. Seriously, this is a guy who was sending upbeat text messages less than 12 hours after having cyberknife surgery on his brain – who is gonna mess with that?

But as we know all too well, cancer can mess with the toughest of the tough. I knew he had to be going downhill, as I hadn’t heard back from him in a while, despite my emails, texts, voicemails and Facebooks, and there was a nagging worry. When I began reading other “hey bud, just let us know you’re ok” messages on Facebook over the past few weeks, I knew I wasn’t the only one getting fearful.

So while it didn’t come as a surprise, it still came as a shock. My brain is still struggling to get my thoughts around it, and my heart is way, way behind my brain. I am so grateful I was in Scottsdale when I heard, as not only did Marisa and Geoff know him, but the little shiny faces of the kids could give me the best hugs and reasons to smile (indeed, the best hug I’ve had in years was from Jazz, after we told her why Auntie MoMo was so very sad).

This week has been a mix of returning from Scottsdale, reclaiming the dog, returning to school, and trying to function. One minute I am fine, the next I am a blubbering mess. Fortunately, Turkey is an excellent crying pillow; unfortunately, I feel incredibly isolated and alone in NC, where no one knew him, and where I’ve told only my closest friends of his death. He didn’t want a funeral, soon his parents will host a celebration for him in PA and I will go to that.

As I’ve made my way this week, he’s been everywhere. I tried watching The Godfather, Part II (3 hours? Really necessary?) – I forgot how much Ray resembled a young Al Pacino. I moved on to old episodes of “Lost.” Ah, Ray sounded just like Desmond. Yesterday, driving to school to do an admissions interview, the car in front of me had a license plate marked simply, “Ray Ray.”

Another one lost way, way too young. It is cruel and unusual, and it really just isn’t fair.