It has been said that the price of a long life is outliving your loved ones. I’m realizing this is an extravagantly costly price. Processing the sudden loss of an age peer friend is beyond difficult. And as my age approaches the biblical three-score and ten, I suspect that losing family and friends will become all too frequent. Or perhaps life will be kind to me, and my loved ones will outlive me.
This most recent loss, my friend Susan Griffith Davis, has probably affected me much more than many I’ve known longer than the almost three decades I’ve been privileged to call her a friend, probably because she was a musician friend as well as a kindred Renaissance soul. As I recall our interactions, I regret to admit that much of my grief may be due to my own selfishness. She always made me feel good about myself. Her performance of my cello Nocturne was exquisite and she made a point of telling me that she loved it. And then she added that my music reminded her of Prokofiev—which felt like high praise indeed. After reading her obituary, I realized that I didn’t really know her. It was too easy see her tangentially, in relationship to her many support personae, rather than the intelligent and introspective philosopher she was.
Later, when we had the advantage of online interactions, those opened a small window to this extraordinary person’s deep thoughts. Even when we had differing opinions, her commentary was astute and well-reasoned, and was often the door that opened my mind to other viewpoints.
Death can always leave regrets. In this case, I wish I had found an opportunity to get to know Susan better. She was a truly remarkable person.