This morning I had an update from the sister of my best childhood friend, he has brain cancer. I was numb to it at the moment. I just nodded, and dutifully sent a message to my family informing them and scrolled on, not yet ready to digest the news, knowing it would hit me in due time.
It hit earlier than I anticipated. Minutes after sending my family the update, I read a shared post: “At some point in your childhood, you and your friends went out to play together for the last time, and none of you knew it.”
Suddenly the room was filled with ghosts. There we were, Mike and I. Running in circles in his backyard, the lawn littered with GI Joe Toys and Transformers. Another image faded in, we’re second-graders, it’s show & tell day. I’m showing off my batman doll (action figure), the doll (action figure) had magnets on his hands and feet, he could climb refrigerators! Mike and I were sticking that thing on every metal surface we could find. Another image came up, it was a couple years later, Mike looked over his shoulder and carefully opened his backpack to show me his Christmas gift—Laser Tag. My jaw dropped. He ended up getting in trouble for bringing it to school. I saw another ghost, it’s us again, we’re older. We still slept over at each other’s houses. The toys had been retired. Now we’re playing Metroid and other NES games. Mike’s family had HBO, and (I’m fairly certain) Mike’s Dad had one of the most extensive private VHS collections in Northern IL. The Playboy channel was blocked but we swear, we nearly saw something that could have been a boob.
Another ghost appeared, his folks were driving us somewhere, Mike was trying to convince his parents that he needed a butterfly knife. I chimed in voicing my support of this. His Mom turned around from the passenger seat, Now that I look back I see that there was a suppressed smile, “Oh! So Brooks also thinks you need this knife? Well there you go!”
“Really?” He brightened up.
“No.”
We went to school together from first through eighth grade. It was a Catholic School. We were in the same classroom together all eight years.
Another ghost appeared, it was our eighth-grade graduation. After eight years of the same twenty kids going to school together, we were all going off to various high schools. My Dad took a new job in Wisconsin; we were literally moving the next day. Gen X-ers from Chicagoland are not a particularly huggy group of folks. Mike and I gave each other the most masculine handshakes we could pull off. We’re all going to High School, we’re practically grownups now! Right?
Three years later I was back in Elgin, Grandma’s for Christmas. Mike came over and visited for about an hour, we played catch-up and decided we need to do this again.
That was the last time the two of us were in the same room.
Say what you will about Social Media, but it has served me well. It could be argued that there was something mildly traumatic about my abrupt departure from a pretty insulated world when we moved to Wisconsin.
When Facebook happened, I found myself reconnecting with an entire community of old friends that I never realized I missed so desperately, including Mike. Without Facebook, I would be unaware of the fight that he is facing. Without Facebook I would not be (gratefully) haunted right now with all of these ghosts of my childhood.
Brain Cancer? Seriously? We’re still young! We’re too young for that crap.
Then an inner voice spoke. It’s a darker more somber version of my own voice. It’s the voice that tells me writer’s block is a permanent condition. It’s the voice that makes me worry about my daughters, my wife and marriage. It’s the voice that tells me “It can’t be done”. It spoke again, it said “No one is too young for cancer.”
I hate that voice, but sometimes it’s right.
I’m significantly into my life’s second act. Assuming I’ll live an average lifespan, then my life is easily half over.
This is when it starts happening. This is when you start getting calls that cause you to drop the phone. This is when you start getting the messages that stop you in your tracks.
Mortality is becoming less conceptual and health starts looking precarious.
This is part of the package that includes reading glasses and sore knees.
“At some point in your childhood, you and your friends went out to play together for the last time, and none of you knew it.”

THE last time has not happened. There is only A last time.
I write no one off. Mike is going to get through this. This collection of ghosts in front of me is not yet complete. We will make good on that decision we made back when we were high-schoolers.
Take nothing for granted, take no one for granted.
This Christmas season, and all year long, I implore you to Love your Loved ones, and be Loved by those who Love you.