It’s funny the way our brains work, our ideas and our little rituals. When something happens, we start following the script as closely as we can. This is what we’re supposed to think. This what we’re supposed to say. This is the correct posture to hang our heads and the proper amount of wince to apply to our lips. I must shed exactly this many tears before I reach for a tissue.

This is what we're supposed to write in our web logs.

My friend Russell died today. He was twenty-six. It may be technically incorrect to call him my friend. I didn’t know him very well, or for very long, but the instant I met him, I felt as if he was going to be my friend. But then he went and died, so now he can’t. Please don’t post a comment that you’re sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry for on my behalf. I don’t matter.

Russell himself was not a big part of my life, but I put a lot of energy into his getting well. I conquered my horror of prayer meetings and attended four in which I prayed with all my might. To what and for what, I don’t know. Rob and I have been taking him books and videos, and Rob cooked a week’s worth of meals for Kevin, Russell’s husband. I’m not congratulating myself for what I’ve done. It obviously wasn’t enough. We thought he was going to get well, and then he didn’t. I can’t stop myself from thinking it’s rather like the recent presidential elections. I thought Kerry was going to win. I put so much of my energy into ensuring that result. He should have won. But he didn’t. Kerry lost. Russell lost.

I’m being melodramatic, of course. I just came home from the hospital, from standing over his dead body and “being there” for the people who really knew him. If that doesn’t call for melodrama, I don’t know what does.

The best thing I can say is that he died with a smile on his face. He really did. The next best thing is that people Kevin talked to from all over the country who told him that they woke up last night to see Russell standing over their beds, saying goodbye. He didn’t say goodbye to me. He barely knew me.

But I’m saying goodbye to him.