When young people die it sticks with us. As we get older death comes closer, becomes more frequent and familiar. Last week’s 50th anniversary of JFK’s death brought us non-stop recollections that have refreshed our memory of him. His face is frozen in time. Our memories of him endure. It’s easy to think of him as ageless.
My best friend died young too. He committed suicide, and his 34-year-old image is embedded in my memory. Ann Patchett’s friend, the poet Lucy Grealy, was 39 when she overdosed on heroin. Ann’s posthumous portraits of Lucy, The Face of Pain (New York Magazine) and Truth and Beauty memorialize their friendship and helped her grieve.
