Monday, June 16, 2014


My friend Rob Zseleczky died a year ago. The one thing I have learned about losing a friend — or losing anybody — is that the losing goes on for a long time, taking different forms at different times. In other words, you keep losing.

How many times in the last year have I read or noticed something that I’ve wanted to tell Rob about? Many.

I wrote these words for Rob last year. There’s a poem of his there too that I love.

comments: 4

JuliaR said...

Yes, we have lost people we love. But maybe, in thinking of them, we keep them close in our heart. Whenever you find something you want to share with him, you keep his memory alive.

I lost both my parents within 6 months of each other. My Dad died second of the two, on March 31, 2014. Every day, after Mum died, I would find myself saying, "there's something Mum would like, I want to show her that." After Dad died, I found myself saying, "I want to tell Dad about that!" So now I call it, "show and tell for Mum and Dad."

You can't help feeling the sadness, that they are no longer there, but you can still think of them with fondness, because their presence is still felt. The fact that they were part of your life is still part of your life.

Michael Leddy said...

Show and tell is a beautiful way to think of it. I will remember it. I’m sorry for the loss of your parents.

I like what the poet Ted Berrigan said, that there are people who live outside your heart and people who live inside your heart. Those who have died, he says at the end of the poem “People Who Died,” “stay with me now.” in other words, they’re now living inside his heart.

Jim and Lu K said...

I opened the book Cross Roads: How the Blues Shaped Rock 'N' Roll, and the chapter I was up to was on Mike Bloomfield. So I laughed and said Hi, Rob. Later that morning as I leisurely read the Sunday paper, Clapton's Wonderful Tonight started playing over the radio. I looked up, smiled, and again said, Hi, Rob. You are right--you keep losing. But now the edges of my mouth curl up ever so slightly at the thought of him (instead of curling down with sadness). The sense of loss changes over time. The guitar he gave me years ago sits next to the bookcase in my living room now. I see it every day. He is close. Always. Thanks for posting, Michael.

Michael Leddy said...

On Sunday we learned that there’s a video game somehow based on Byron, Keats, and Shelley. “Rob!” I thought.