Fifty Six

I have been consumed with melancholia for the past two days.

Here's one reason.

A list of deceased classmates was published on the facebook page of my 50th high school reunion.

I don't think this is morbid, I think it is appropriate. These are people who should have been at the reunion who are instead in the grave. A sobering reality.

There are 56 people on this list. Fifty six. There were only 276 people in my class. 56 is a stunning number. Frightening.

Death is marching forward at a staggering pace for the people I went to high school with.

There were names on the list that I did not know about. Friends of mine, or at least people I had more than a glancing contact with. Keith Gilbert, Barry Jacobson, Barry Kaplovitz, Eric Solberg, Brook Tuttle. Brook Tuttle used to live in the downstairs apartment of my parents' house.

I did not know these people had died. It was upsetting to read their names.

The reunion haunts me, it is on my mind, but not because I wish I was there. I do not. I definitely do not. I am glad I skipped it.

It bothers me on one level because it is like an arrow pointing to my life on a page indicating how far behind myself I am. Indicating where I should be in life and where I really am.

On a deeper level, it is like a mortality warning bell. Clanging. Loudly.

Seeing those names in print, especially considering the high number of them, really upset me. That list is contributing mightily to my deep sense of melancholy.

Appropriately so.