Forget regret, or life is yours to miss

I know, I know, AGAIN with the Rent lyrics? I'm crushed right now you guys and I think you've known me long enough to realize I'm not the DRAMA variety of queen. Remember when I wrote about my friendly neighborhood (gay) buddy who grew into a pensive (gay) teen? He died last night. I'm not looking for sympathy. It was many years ago when he followed me around as a cute, precocious gayling. It is very sad, though, to think of all the potential and fabulosity that will go unspent. He was just 16. And here I sit so many times whining about things I want but I'm too scared to go out and get. I don't give a damn if you're tired of it, just please remember there is no day but today. Do something scary today. Do something fabulous today. Me? I'm doing this, scary for some of you, fabulous for me. (And no, I'm not actually in the show).

Added: OK, so maybe I am being a bit maudlin and dramatic, but in my defense, it was just Tuesday that I did the Catholic equivalent of sitting shiva for the mother of my childhood best friend. The Jews, per usual, have it right. And more festive. The Catholics have the organized grief fest. I actually considered not going after a harrowing day at work and still suffering from the time zone lag of vacation. My friend and I had lost touch over the last ten or more years. But I did spend many wonderful summer days at his house, specifically hanging out in his mom's kitchen, just talking and laughing with my buddy and his mom. So I went and the funeral brought all that flooding back. The receiving line loomed as a gauntlet (there were all ten children plus spouses). Little did I know. I offered condolences to the husband and older children fairly unscathed (notice how this is selfishly about how I felt), and then the dam burst. Kids 5-10 are five sisters and then my old buddy. They cried, they clutched, they said how much they missed me (or the "kid" me, I guess) and they all claimed that I was always their mother's favorite. I lost my shit, guys. I think they spent more time comforting me than vice versa. Not sure if all the tears I shed were for her and them or for what was or for who fucking knows. It was worth it for me, though, to know that the little gay boy I had been was appreciated, just like I appreciated my lil' gay neighbor. I seemed to be a great comfort to my friend, too. We reminisced. Rehashed old times. Caught up on our lives. Hugged a lot. He's single, btw. 41. No girlfriends in the last ten years that I'm aware of. He's gonna call me. Funny if that VERY funeral home would be the cause of me getting play TWICE, wouldn't it? AND back to me. Or did we ever leave?