Jenny and I had lunch together today.  In the normal course of conversation, we briefly mentioned Derek.  That portion of the conversation lasted all of 60 seconds, and then Jenny sent me an e-mail shortly thereafter and said, “I have few days where I do not think of Derek and miss him deeply.  I keep the little remembrance card [from his funeral] in my daytimer.”

I responded by saying that “I think about him often — still.  The Kids are a big reminder: things I say to them, things I call them, things they do…  They are a constant reminder, especially Kako and Kazon who were adopted when we were living together (Grendel and Loki predate him by a wee bit, but a lot of their childhood was with him around as well).  I think about him quite a bit, sometimes casually and sometimes in depth, but almost every day.”

After responding to her e-mail, I sat and thought about him and the course of events surrounding his death.  I decided now was the best time to post what had been on my mind so much of late.  This is the first of two very different posts about him.

I was angry then and I am angry now, only this time it is for different reasons.

Derek passed away on September 7, 2004; now well over a year ago.  I have posted about him since then.  That said, I have refrained from posting what I am about to say because I did not wish ill will toward his family.  I still do not.  That does not change the anger and resentment, however, and I trust they stopped visiting my site when it was no longer necessary.

I was more than overjoyed when his family swept into town and took him home to care for him.  Perhaps it was the speed with which family and friends came to his rescue that prevented me from seeing the truth then, but time has a way of wiping away the clouds which often obscure our vision of reality.  Even then, I was not unaware.  Tolerant is woefully the more appropriate term.

Because I controlled all of his finances and health care, moving him to New York required my direct involvement and consent.  Failing to acquire that completely and utterly prevented their involvement.  I believe it is for that very reason that so many of them were cordial, friendly, gracious, and thankful for several months after I called them to inform them of his condition.  As I would later come to realize, nothing could be further from the truth — and even more upsetting was their apparent embarrassment of his true condition and lifestyle in addition to a blatant resentment of me and my involvement in his life.

We were not boyfriends.  We were not lovers.  We were friends and roommates, and our relationship was like that of brothers: it came with the good and the bad, but it was full of trust, safety, friendship, and love.  As I had lived with him for many years and knew far more about him than they, his family relied on me to assist them in understanding him, his life, his history, his needs and wants, his condition, and everything else they would need to know in order to take over responsibility for his welfare, a job I had dutifully held for two years as his life horrifyingly slipped away before our eyes.  He could not even take care of his own finances.  I took care of it all, from writing checks for bills, maintaining his insurance coverage, managing his investment portfolio (and making him a tidy profit in the process I might add, something I never can seem to do for myself…) and supervising all aspects of his medical care, to the simple yet alien task of conducting his job-related activities from the moment he was hospitalized in June 2003.  By that time, he was four months bedridden.

Derek amassed a tidy little fortune while hospitalized.  Concerned for his long-term needs regardless of how near I suspected his end to be, I made several strategic investment moves on his behalf that provided him a comfortable residual income.  Adding to that his stock options and other departure funds created a very comfortable nest egg.  Being the realist that I am, I knew he was not long for this world and needed only enough to last a year or so while providing for anything he might need or want.  I only erred by assuming too much time.

His family wished to assume all responsibility for him; hence, they engaged me fully on the logical and emotional fronts.  Let it never be said that I am blind to the machinations of humankind, whether observed in toto, at the herd level, in even smaller portions, or through individual experiences.  Fully comprehending what Derek represented to them fueled my cynicism and tempered my joyously gobsmacked emotional response.  Yet, I knew they must intervene.  I needed them to intervene.  Disappointment best defines the realization that I saw then where this would lead.  Why it was not shockingly apparent to me when they listed his death in the local paper as a cancer statistic is one for the history books.  As I said, this was not ignorance; it was more akin to lenience… or blindness.

I sit here holding the New York paper in which his obituary was printed.  It is sad and disappointing.  Is there a greater example of denial and avoidance?

Derek…, who worked as a regional training manager in Dallas…, died Tuesday… [in New York], after a battle with cancer. He was 37.

[He]… graduated from [high school]… and received an associate’s degree… and a bachelor’s in computer science…

He moved to Dallas in 1996 [when I met him and we became close friends, followed a year later by becoming roommates].

I helped them pack his things to relocate him.  I signed all the paperwork necessary to render control of his life, from power of attorney to his will to his directive to physicians, I put them in touch with all of his creditors and account holders and insurance companies and previous employer, I unlocked the laptop I purchased for him so they might gain access to it, I documented his existence as it then stood, and I walked and talked them through a sufficient understanding that enabled me to release him to their care.

I sent with him a significant amount of my own “stuff” because I denied to myself how soon he would die and thought he would have time to enjoy them more than I could in the coming months.  Long after he died, I eventually asked them to consider sending some of those items back.  They were not major items.  Most were sentimental only and would mean little (and certainly nothing financially) to anyone else.  A few things, like the laptop, did retain some financial value.  For this, I felt guilty in even asking.  Death is part of life, nonetheless, so I knew it would not hurt to ask.  A brother and Derek’s mother both promised these items would indeed be returned, especially those of sentimental value.  I dare say she even confirmed my street address.

That was 11 months ago.  Nothing has changed.

Jenny and I and The Kids sent a bouquet of flowers to his funeral after spending a week there shortly before his death, a trip which prohibited us from returning so quickly. More importantly, Derek knew and respected my feelings about funeral services.  Like a church service, they are contrary to my beliefs and represent a memory of the deceased which I do not want to replace my final memories of them.  Am I asking too much by wanting my last thoughts of them to be something other than a body lying in a casket?  He did not think so.  My true friends do not think so.  Most importantly, I do not think so, and funerals are not for the person lost — they are solely for those left behind.  I declined to attend his funeral because that is how I feel.

A few weeks after his burial — a funeral and burial I specifically made clear were contrary to Derek’s beliefs — I received a somewhat curt and gratuitous card from his mother.

Thank you for being such a good friend to Derek, and for taking care of him for so long. Please give one of the memory cards to your parents.

There was no signature and no other personal note.  There was only the common rhyme printed on every such card that somehow cheapened the sentiment.  I would never hear from these people again.  How could I think otherwise?

I did hear from them again, though, about eight months ago.  His brother contacted me via e-mail.  He wanted to know the password to get into the laptop.  I sent it to him.

I am horrified that Derek’s memory has been defiled in such a way.  It is dirty and malicious in my opinion.  I look at his final will and see how much he wanted to give to The Kids and to very specific charities.  This has not happened.  I think of where he is buried and consider how it violates his life and beliefs and desires.  I get calls from his creditors and realize that his affairs were not tended to properly.

And I am angry.  Being so is not worth the effort, so I move on.  The anger still lingers.  Now, more than anger, it feels like disappointment and confirmation.  He is betrayed.