We learned last week that Gregory Gooch — known to the Commentariat and members of TMM and Claire’s Cabal as either gooch or capn — died last May.
Gooch was a sweetheart of a guy whose last few years were difficult and impoverished. But if he had any inkling he was headed for an early death, he never said a word about it to any of his online friends.
This is something that worries me; that online acquaintances will just disappear. With Gooch, I thought his absence was due only to the fact that he had a poor, and slow, Internet connection and couldn’t afford a better one. He was only in his 60s.
Several other Commentariat members — that I know of — have died over the years. There was Fred A. (who went by so many nyms I never quite knew who he was), who kindly revealed his true identity to Joel and me toward the end, sending us large gifts along with an explanation that he had come into a long-awaited windfall — just in time to learn his “curable” cancer was terminal. I knew when he died because after that I was in touch with his wife. But now I’ve lost touch with her, too, and I don’t know whether it’s because she decided to stop communicating or if she, too, is gone.
There was one of two commentors named Scott. One Scott (another sweetie) is still with us. I learned of the other’s passing only by happenstance, a year or so after the fact. I remember him struggling valiantly to earn a few bucks to keep himself going through chemo. I remember being hugely angry at another blogger who wouldn’t even respond to requests to publicize Scott’s endeavor, though it was right up that blogger’s alley and that blogger never hesitated to ask favors of his own. I was disappointed in myself for not being of more help.
The worst, I think, was George Potter, known online as Gloryroad. George, who could have been among the most noted writers of the 21st century. George, who called me “Sis.” George, crazy-volatile and a maker of bad choices, but always a vivid, full-of-life guy. George Potter who was so darned young and rakishly adorable that for a while I used a photo of him as my computer wallpaper. I think his brother posted to George’s FB page and the word spread from there.
Probably there have been others who’ve quietly, and permanently, slipped away. Sometimes you find out. Sometimes you don’t. Of course, sometimes you might breathe a sigh of relief that a troll or a lunatic is no longer with us. (That fond obituary hides a person who, when crossed online, would go to such extremes as attempting to get his “enemies” in trouble with the feds.)
Still, it’s a sad and strange thought that people we become very attached to, people with vivid personalities, generous spirits, delightful senses of humor, and great things to say … just leave and we may never know what became of them.
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I don’t mean to make this “all about me,” but Gooch’s death adds to a disturbing toll.
If you live long enough, of course you reach a point where friends, acquaintances, and family members start dying around you. When I first noticed it happening, I was shocked. I thought, “Wait a second. This isn’t supposed to start until a lot later.” I can understand being surrounded by premature deaths if you’re a rock musician, a hardcore alcoholic, or a war veteran, for instance. But aren’t we all supposed to be living to 85 and beyond now? Isn’t 100 becoming common?
In the last four or five years, I’ve lost friends (online and off) as young as 42 (George Potter; heart attack). The average age of the too-many dead has probably been 60. The very oldest was 70 — and even then she wasn’t OLD. She was a beautiful, active, lively, privileged woman with barely a gray hair on her head. She succumbed to the genetic doom of pancreatic cancer despite the most loving and most professional care in the world. She was also one of my dearest friends. Four years later I’m still aware of a terrible deep hole in life where Jill used to be.
That’s just wrong. When I am 90, I’ll expect to have more friends dead than alive. But not now. And to know that surely some will just slip away unnoted is too sad for words.
Perspective well taken. I turned 69 yesterday with a severe chronic pain disorder that has changed my plans for the last five years. Other friends are out of pain in the Great Beyond. My dad died of pancreatic cancer, a good reason to have a personal exit plan IMO. All we can do is make sure we get whatever good experiences we can while still here. Life has turned out to be a lot tougher than advertised, often from watching others suffer.
Birth…Life…Death; Birth…Life…Death; the Circle of Life. The only thing we don’t control is birth and with Life we make of ourselves what we truly wish. Most don’t choose when to experience Death…it just happens and many never get to say goodby to all who love or admire them. Almost making a life somewhat incomplete. Life is fleeting and we need to be glad we had the blessing to meet those who pass even if only for a short while.
I should also mention Aaron Zelman. Who made it only to 64, IIRC. That was less a personal loss to me (though I knew and respected the man) than a terrible, tragic loss to gun rights. About 18 months later, Aaron’s eldest son also died, age 25. I didn’t know him, but one of the characters in RebelFire is named after him. Both were felled by complications of the same inherited condition — a condition that leaves many people with normal-length lives. But not them.
That’s the problem with getting older, as the years pass the cohort you are in tends to get thinned out so year after year the few become fewer. The secret is for you to live well and remember. So long as you remember those who are gone they really aren’t gone at all.
As Terry Pratchett once wrote: “Don’t think of it as dying, said Death. Just think of it as leaving early to avoid the rush.”
As Terry Pratchett once wrote: “Don’t think of it as dying, said Death. Just think of it as leaving early to avoid the rush.”
Yeah, and look what happened to Terry Pratchett. 🙁
Death does seem to be working overtime. I feel especially bad about the deaths my 10 year-old daughter has been impacted by. I certainly don’t remember having people I loved ripped from me when I was her age. I sometimes wonder if it will make her stronger, or make her insecure. I don’t know how I would have responded had I been in her place.
Love is a many-splintered thing.
I’ve had more than my share, and treasure each.
Kent, I suspect your daughter will get stronger, given the example she has to follow.
On a personal note: the older I get, the more relaxed I’ve become, and the less I fear death. I’ve stopped fighting life, taken a “Que sera, sera” attitude, and will plow forward until I’m stopped. (I think many of us fight life so hard that we never get to enjoy it.)
People have been dying all around us for several years. Debbie Reynolds’ death hit me a little harder than I expected, I guess because she seemed so young and alive even after she stopped being young. She never gave up, and from all appearances, she never became cynical.
I was saddened by George Potter’s death, and Gooch’s too, because of their ages; and George because I felt he had so much more to give, and that seemed like such a loss (if one can lose something that’s never been written yet). Gooch, OTOH, may have been put out of his misery, and I can toast him happily with that thought.
We tend to think of people’s deaths from a point of sadness, but memories live on and can never die. That is the best thing of all, especially if you’ve never met the person – as is true per the internet – because you will always remember them at their best, and can bring them up at will.
Notes to myself on passing 70:
Relax- you have nothing more to prove.
Be quiet. Speak less, listen more.
Be greatful for what you have.
Do not judge. Many people live lives of quiet desperation. You too, have made many mistakes, and done things you’re not proud of.
Time passes quickly. Enjoy what time you have left.
Add Mike Vanderboegh to the list.
We all will end up dust in the wind but it is at least to me all about that fire that burns in us before we become that dust that matters.
And that’s then will be the memory that counts.
Oh damn. Yeah, Mike absolutely. Another one dying far too young. He went out with great courage and resolve, though. Where others (including me) might have curled up in a ball and felt sorry for themselves, Mike was off to the Bundy ranch, in WA giving speeches, and generally raising holy hell to very near the end.
I applaud you who’ve made peace with age and the prospect of death.
Somehow I think I could have more peace about my own death than about some of these other people who died so early and with so much still to be done.
Captain Gooch – for awhile we lost touch, but I’d sent a wheel of cheese and he sent me immaculately hemmed/patched pants which fit the Minions/myself. I knitted him Mittens (wool) for his birthday and he sent us a book on the Constitution. He named a Goat Kid, we sent pictures as Lagniappe grew up. When one of our girls was lost down in TX in the midst of teen angst, he offered to go help her and talked me through my worry – he was a good listener.
And then we lost touch again.
No matter what his circumstances, Gooch was very active in his Community (http://www.mysoutex.com/ ) and I’d smile “There he goes again, standing up.” – even up to February of this year.
And now we’ve lost touch again.
Never asked his story, figured if he wanted me to know he’d share – but he was “something a little extra” in this world and I’ll miss him.
“Never asked his story, figured if he wanted me to know he’d share – but he was “something a little extra” in this world and I’ll miss him.”
M — That is so sad but so lovingly said.
I never asked Gooch’s story, either, and I’m guessing he didn’t care to tell it. He and I were also close enough to exchange gifts (I made him a kaleidoscope with a skull-and-crossbones design in honor of his seagoing background), but I never met him and now realize I knew very little about him.