I don’t need to remember many deaths. I guess as I get older, and I permanently lose more people who’ve affected my life, I’ll add more repeating memorial events to my calendar. Maybe I’ll eventually create a separate calendar like I have with birthdays.

Memory aids aside though, one of my favorite people died recently. I’m not sure he knew how much joy he brought me. He would probably think it incredibly silly that his words to me have gained so much significance now, in retrospect, now that he is gone. An old pervert with a twinkle in his eye and a mouth that could make an escort blush (with words!), he never claimed that his advanced age brought wisdom along with it. And yet....

I like to think that he was wise. He was so kind to me, after all. And kind in the way I like the most — not gentle, saccharine sweetness, but lively, bawdy, irreverent curiosity. He teased me mercilessly but was just as clear in letting me know he thought I was awesome. He was so unequivocally dismissive of the justifications I used to put up with other people’s nonsense.

When people did nice things for me, he’d say of course they did, why wouldn’t they? Because I deserved nice things. And when people weren’t nice, he’d insist that I was worth better and that anyone with sense could see that. He told me that I was a good person, and that I was beautiful. It can be hard for me to feel that way, but on the days I saw him it always seemed a little more believable.

He was who he was, unabashedly and without apology. I’m sure he rubbed some people the wrong way in the process. But others of us loved him for it.

As I age into my own variant of dirty old lady, I hope to be so brave. Real connection is impossible without that honesty, and that openness. He understood that, and as I remember him, I’ll strive to remember that too.

Rest in peace, friend, and thank you for everything you’ve given me. I’ll miss you.